(September 14, 1983 – July 23, 2011)

“Our modern musical Eve, Amy bore the weight of original sin on her shoulders in order to birth a culture. Without her temptation, without her vulnerability, without her torment, her lust for carnal knowledge,her insatiable need to release said pain, she would not have created that which catalyzed said culture, nor that which liberated her. Winehouse indulged in that life – that very sin is the very same determining factor of our human essence. The product of her original sin, the pain in creating a legacy and a culture; an assumed personal flaw – to fall beneath the weight of temptation, to indulge in the taboo – is the very unifying feature of our humanity. Only in Eve’s fatal bite did she see mortality, only in that moment did we as a race taste the beauty in impermanence, and the passion to live a life basking forever on the edge of reality and divinity. The pain of childbirth, the burden of creating a culture from the depths of that lambasted soul, is what fueled the subsequent life and art. It doesn’t begin or end with Adele, Duffy, La Roux, Little Boots, Ellie Goulding, Florence and The Machine; it reaches beyond GaGa, ?uestlove, John Legend, Jay-Z, and Janelle Monae; it’s more than Mark Ronson, Tony Bennett, or Quincy Jones – Amy Winehouse liberated the industry from its falsified self, she resurrected a culture of humanity for the sake of humanity, and she lifted the individual from the impossible expectation to be anything and everything except what you are. She reminded us of the necessity of the melancholy, the need for the bitter in order to understand the sweet; she did not shy away from her shadows – we pulled her from them; she was an artist, perceptive and true, she was just a child through and through… and from the mouth of that broken babe, spoke truth so beautifully it was impossible to ignore – all she had were her scars… sung so beautifully blue…”

Nevermind the Mercedes-Benz, forget the Purple Haze of London’s Eclectic Ladyland, Amy Winehouse opened The Doors to the Lush silhouetted Life, liberated her own caged bird – and ours – humming and harmonizing along said Birdland’s Lullaby… this little Lady did not merely Sing the Blues, she bathed in them… this Bitches’ Brew fueled the Cold Train through said night when we needed a conductor to charge on like a Rolling Stone, and Rebirth The Cool… as the reign came and went, so did our nocturnal trek, and as those Tears did assuredly Dry On Their Own by the time we Broke On Through to the other side of day, she remained our Lullabied Lady… and even with Miles to go before her sleep, she was our haven, our despaired hope, and forever our umbrella-Ella-Ella… safe.

Related Posts: