I’m not sure where this blog is going to take me. When I heard about the death of Amy Winehouse yesterday afternoon, I felt like blogging might help me sort things out, so here I am. The sad oddity of being involved in this wonderful overview of jazz and Motown at the time of Winehouse’s death is too poignant to pass up. Last week, we watched both Billie Holiday and Charlie Parker destroy themselves on our big screen in Room 106. Yesterday, we received the news about Amy. One doesn’t need to believe that Winehouse is comparable to the aforementioned (though I would argue that she was one of the most unique and talented artists out there) to start to ask serious questions about this repeating phenomenon.
I was a fan…or I guess I should say I AM a fan. The sad thing is that the amount of Amy’s material that we have to listen to is very limited. Frank (2003) and Back to Black (2006) comprises the entire body of her work. Back to Black is of course the album that made Winehouse a household name. It yielded five Grammy Awards, and though I like Back to Black, I have never quite understood the fuss. The single “Rehab” turned-into an absolute parody of Winehouse’s personal foibles, and is now the first thing that comes to most people’s minds at the mention of her name. This is a real shame, and I have always wondered what Amy thought of this sad reality. She never spoke seriously about it. In fact, she never spoke seriously about much of anything in interviews. If you ever read one, you will find them to be quite…well lets just say they lack cogency.
Her first release, Frank, is one of the best CDs that I have bought in the last eight years. I have practically worn it out, and introduced it to many friends and students alike. They all say the same thing: “Why haven’t I heard any of this? All I hear is that stupid Rehab song.” Though Winehouse’s vocals are striking, what has always impressed me about her work is her ability to write. Her work in Frank is filled with humor and irony, and I was drawn to that from the first time that I listened to this release. It also carried a jazz influence (much more so than Back to Black), deftly mixed with a measured R&B sound that left me hopelessly hooked. I say “hopelessly,” because as time passed, I did not want to like this woman!
As most of you (I’m guessing), I have grown tired and irritated at celebrities who fill the news with their latest personal escapades. For the last five years, as I patiently waited for another release (There were a couple of great “inside” English sources that would blog every month or so on the latest things that she was working on. I became a regular visitor to those sites), I witnessed an increasing barrage of publicly embarrassing encounters—drug busts, altercations with fans, altercations with her ex husband, forgetting lyrics on stage, etc. This incredibly talented artist had become nothing more than a freak show for most. Worse yet, it became that much harder to convince people that this was a very serious artist, with serious skills. I wonder if her death will help remedy this injustice. Will the focus shift in the years to come to Amy’s work, rather than her arrest record? I hope so.
So how does this fit into our discussion last week about the tragic lives of some of our greatest artists? Again, I wouldn’t compare Winehouse to Billie Holiday or Charlie Parker, but I do think that she represents the same kind of pitifully unfulfilled artistic potential. I can only hope that in the years to come, more time will be spent examining her work…and less time on REHAB! Maybe they could get Diana Ross to play her in a really looooong movie. Honestly, check-out Frank. You will thank me.
-- Ben Gracey
