A Tribute to Amy Winehouse

By Patrick May

Where does one start when talking about Amy Winehouse? It makes
sense to start off addressing the tragedy that was her life, the international
fame and relationship problems that led her down a dangerous and
ultimately fatal path. Amy wasn’t made to be a star, she was made to love
and to be a musician. It’s important to first acknowledge her troubles, if
only to get them out of the way. They have nothing to do with Amy and her
musical legacy.

As a lover of soul music, I am often unimpressed by the majority
of throwback soul records that come out every year, attempting to
recapture “real” music but coming off as cheap imitations. I’m talking to
you Joss Stone, Duffy and even you, Adele. None of these women even
remotely touches the level of genius that Amy possessed. On her first
album, Frank, she showed us she could sing and write a kick ass song, on
Back to Black, her second and last, she showed us that she was a musical
movement.

Back to Black was not just some British girl pretending to have soul;
it was a revolutionary reworking of old school Motown arrangements
from the 60s, with the hip hop swagger of the 90s, sung in the style that
Dinah Washington and Sara Vaughan made popular in the 50s. All of this
coupled with Amy’s blunt, humorous, painful and eye opening observations
about real life made for a perfect storm of a record, an instant classic.
When she sang, she often looked off into the distance, seemingly unaware
that the best voice of our generation was coming from her. She created
magic simply by opening her mouth and her seemingly oblivious stage
behavior made her seem like a musical inevitability, something that had to
happen. It didn’t have to, but we’re so lucky it did.

Amy Winehouse sang her brilliantly poignant lyrics with the same
nonchalance, taking her musical statement to a new level. They
transmitted the feelings of a woman who was suffering breakups and
crushes and frustration in a way few can do. Each word was given intense
weight, and the jazzy way she strung them together made the listener
double-take: “wait, did she really just say ‘kept his dick wet?’” She did.
And it sounded amazing. And above all, it was truth! Some men are
unfaithful, most keep their dicks wet, some men look at you adoringly
while others “lick [their] lips as [you] soak your feet.” Her way of discussing
relationships—and sex—was so human that it hurt sometimes. When
she sings “I stay up / clean the house / at least I’m not drinking / run
around just so I don’t have to think about thinking,” the picture is clear and
identifiable: we’ve all been there.

That was Amy’s legacy; using the music of the past and the language of
now to create music that makes our modern day troubles seem timeless
and just as important as Aretha’s or Etta’s. Amy was self aware and
vulnerable, but brutishly so. Anyone who listens to her music can tell that
she was a sensitive person who felt deeply and lost herself to everything
she did, whether it was writing autobiographical lyrics, falling for Blake
or ingesting entire pharmacies worth of drugs. On her first album she
sings, “I’ll take the wrong man as naturally as I sing,” a lyric she surely
had no doubt would go on to define her life and her career. Maybe no
one can really sing like that unless they feel as much as she was feeling.
Amy communicated her darkness through her golden, glowing voice and
created fireworks on records and disaster in the streets of Camden. She let
everything in, and in the end, all of it took her out.

Rest in peace, Amy.