It's been two months since Amy Winehouse died. I'm surprised by how my mourning isn't over. It catches me off guard and I slow... down... for a moment.
I won't say anything that hasn't been already said, but I think this may be the first celebrity death that has affected me so deeply. Michael Jackson came and went. I was fourteen years old and didn't understand how important Cobain was when he died. The only musician's death I might think of who would make me so profoundly sad is John Lennon, and I was a toddler.
I suppose I also don't have to re-iterate that there are much bigger problems in the world right now. I have some perspective, but I'm trying to wallow right now and it feels good; it's cathartic.
"Amy, Amy, Amy/Outro" is from Winehouse's first LP, Frank. It wasn't until her second album (where she embraced a great Motown sound), Back to Black, she really rose to fame, but all the signs of a mature jazz vocalist were there on Frank. That muted trumpet and the sexuality of this song is a perfect example of Winehouse's mix of old and new - the woman was unafraid of putting in simple terms how a man can turn on a woman.