AMY, AMY, AMY
5 years ago, I was given an Amy Winehouse mixed CD. A couple songs from Frank and a few from Back to Black. I gave it a once over and couldn’t decide how I felt. The next day I listened again, Googled her and realized she looked nothing how I’d imagined. A few more listens and I was obsessed. Before long I couldnt get enough, and I still feel the same today. I’ve never appreciated someone’s artistry like I have hers. I saw myself in her: tom-boyish, asshole-ish, full of ‘tude, bluesy, jazzy, soulful, rough, sexual, sad, sarcastic, fun, and unaware
I used to think jazz was about precise technique. When I heard her interpretations of old jazz standards everything changed. She opened my eyes to a world of music without rules. If it weren’t for her, I wouldn’t have found my medium.
She said everything I wanted to say, the way I wished to say it, in language I related to. Her raw honesty provided a keyhole glimpse into her personality. Every song made me wish I had written it.
When I found out that Amy Winehouse had passed, I was angry yet I couldn’t stop crying. I felt I knew her, and wished I could’ve been there to shake her and tell her to straighten up. Selfish dreams, but I’m heartbroken. She forced me to love her, left me wanting more, and then just left me. I wish I had more of her time, her music, and her inspiration.
Thank you Amy.
