Oh, for the time when I shall sleep
First will come all the questions as to why this happened and how it could have happened. The editorial postmortems have a creature feature cause celeb now and you better believe they’ll run hard until the legs give out. Nothing is as self involved as the sensationalism of a big name dying young.
This isn’t mystery theater we’re talking. If you had two minutes worth of knowledge on Amy Winehouse, you saw a day like today coming. If you were a fan, you hoped for better despite seeing all of the worst of her demons, usually on full display right alongside all her Grammys.
She was something better than brilliant, different without the trying. It just happened that way with her. She came at you with this fantastic beehive hairdo out of the ’60s and then she’d start belting out tunes with this voice that seemed to have been stolen from jazz legend. She was a history lesson in fuck me pumps.
I guess it would be cool if we could imagine her joining up with Hendrix and Morrison, Cobain and Joplin at some 27 Club somewhere. Bitching about how hard it was to breathe down here. Riffing and carousing and playing by the rules of the moon forever after.
That’s a sexy ass way to believe in the news you never want to hear. Turn it into a Hopper painting. Pretend it’s just a fraternal order, a secret society tradition of the great ones, to steal away before age starts handing them back small change.
But man, she had a voice.