“Amy” and the Unsolved Mystery of Amy Winehouse

73467020150318184209

Amy, the new documentary about Amy Winehouse, is an unsolved mystery and an all-too-familiar one. You know the story: a mercurial artist dies before her time, leaving behind grieving fans and an unfinished body of work. The movie leaves us pondering why she self-destructed and provides no easy answers.

Over the course of two hours, Amy offers several possible reasons why the critically acclaimed singer spiraled out of control and died of alcohol poisoning in 2011, just three years after winning multiple Grammy Awards for her triumphant album Back to Black. Those reasons include:

  • Her parents’ separation when Winehouse was 9 years old — in particular, her father’s infidelity and leaving home. These events led to some serious daddy issues, which clouded Winehouse’s judgment in men, especially when it came to her husband Blake Fielder-Civil. The movie portrays him as a ne’er-do-well leech who dumped Winehouse but then returned when she achieved fame, enabled her drug abuse, and distracted her with his own destructive behavior.
  • Her fragile soul, unsuited for fame. Throughout her life Winehouse was treated for depression and suffered from bulimia, two widely misunderstood afflictions whose serious impacts she probably failed to comprehend fully. She was also a dependent personality, which made her vulnerable to the pressures and temptations of fame, especially drug use. Near the end of her life, she was tired of being Amy Winehouse, the star, and wanted to return to the simpler times she lived. But there was no turning back.
  • An insatiable appetite for drugs and alcohol. Like Brian Jones before her, Winehouse consumed drugs like candy, living off crack cocaine, meth, and heroin on top of alcohol binges. It was clear to everyone but her that she had no business taking drugs given her vulnerabilities. Why didn’t she stop? When she was alive, she offered no clear reason beyond her admission that life just is less fun without drugs. But the movie provides a clinical perspective: she was an addict who could not stop drinking once she started, an answer so obvious and yet too easy to overlook in a society that still largely treats alcohol as a social lubricant instead of the drug that it really is.

You’ve heard this tale before, haven’t you? Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison, Brian Jones, and Jimi Hendrix are among the gifted artists who lived their own variations of Amy with the same results. During Amy, one of the narrators is quoted as saying that Amy was living a high-pressure star life for which there was no template. I disagree. The tragedy of Amy is that by the time she came of age, the industry of celebrity had evolved to the point where any number of stars such as Mick Jagger and Paul McCartney had learned how to manage its trappings. But it doesn’t matter. The movie argues that she would never have listened to anyone’s advice. The disease of alcoholism dictated her choices. And yes, she is to blame for failing to treat her addiction properly. It’s easy to judge; but it is not so easy to watch Amy Winehouse throw her incendiary talent away as she fights and loses one struggle after another with her demons. Her loss is ours, too.

Amy reveals other sides to Amy than the train wreck. We gain an appreciation for why she was an artist. Not only was her singing style original, but she also wrote her own songs, with lyrics that conveyed vulnerability, irony, sass, and self-awareness. She took whatever life gave her and molded her experiences into music, most notably with the hit “Rehab,” which now reads like a diary of self-denial. One of my favorite moments of the movie occurs when, in a voice-over, she explains that she started writing songs because she was bored by music she heard on the radio. She shares an inspired lesson: if you don’t like the status quo, create something better.

We also come to understand her own innate grasp of her musical influences. She consciously molded the styles of the jazz greats along with the soul genre. Questlove of the Roots cites her deep knowledge of jazz. Tony Bennett raves about her ability to create a true, pure vocal style. Late in the movie, we witness a tender scene in which Bennett and Winehouse record a duet for his album Duets II. She is clearly spellbound by Bennett, whom she idolizes, and her passion for nailing the perfect vocal is evident. And yet, only a few months after the footage was shot, she would be dead.

But, ultimately, Winehouse’s death overshadows her life in Amy, not because her demise was sudden or shocking, but because she died a little every day. And we may never solve the mystery.

 

Whitney Houston’s great comeback

Whitney Houston was a fading musical star when she died suddenly on February 11. Within the past decade, her moments of glory – a Top 10 single in 2001 and a chart-topping album in 2009 – were infrequent and overshadowed by embarrassments such as her short-lived reality TV series with Bobby Brown. But upon her death, she became hot again. As The New York Times reported, her music “rocketed back on the charts and radio,” with a nearly 60-fold increase in album sales and 2.4 million streams of her songs on Spotify (up 4,000 percent from the day before her death was reported). Houston is not the only star whose death has launched a second career, with Amy Winehouse providing another recent example. Which begs the question – why?

I think the answer is this: artists like Whitney Houston become brands for their audiences, and brands have indefinite shelf lives. The content they create – in Houston’s case, music – is but a small part of their brand persona, which is perpetuated through news coverage of their lives (whether positive or negative) and chatter on social media (Houston’s death was reported initially on Twitter). And, as well stated by Business Insider, when stars die young, they seal in our minds an all-important element of any brand: their visual identity, forever preserved the way we remembered them (unlike say, Mick Jagger, who destroyed his own brand as a sexual icon by simply growing old).

When Amy Winehouse’s death triggered her own career comeback, I asked a similar question. I uncovered the following answer from blogger Ryan O’Connell – an analysis that rings true as I consider the rebirth of Whitney Houston:

In American culture especially, we worship celebrities. They’re our version of royalty and I suppose that’s why we take celebrities’ deaths so personally . . . Americans love to tear celebrities down . . . and then we love to bring them back up. We love a comeback even more than a downfall. And what’s perhaps most tragic about Winehouse and the reason why so many people flipped out over her death is that she never got her happy ending. We were never able to rehabilitate her and put a bow on her next album. That’s what we wanted most of all, right? To see her happy and healthy? But it’s hard to tell if those wishes were ever genuine. It’s hard to discern whether or not we truly gave a shit about Amy Winehouse or if we just needed her to fit the typical celebrity narrative.

Like any brand persona, Whitney Houston’s belongs to her audience to shape as we see fit. In a provocative Slate article, “Who Killed Whitney Houston?” J. Bryan Lowder even suggests that Houston played the role of troubled diva that her audience expected of her. “If the public bears any responsibility in this case, it’s in not admitting that a peaceful, well-adjusted Whitney simply wouldn’t have worked,” he writes. “We didn’t just enjoy watching her fall apart; we required it as a condition of our allegiance. And, like any good diva, in the end, she delivered.”

Today she’s delivering by assuming another role the public loves from a brand persona: the great comeback. Had she lived, it’s unlikely she could have fulfilled this role. Her once pristine voice was ravaged by drug abuse, and her recent live shows had earned her less-than-stellar reviews in the United Kingdom and Australia. But now that Houston is gone, her audience need not be distracted by such inconvenient realities. Her comeback belongs to us to create as we see fit.

From Eminem to Warhol: creating art out of vinyl

Daniel Edlen makes art out of vinyl LPs. Yup, I’m talking about the shiny black LPs that defined how we experienced music in the pre-digital era, which have become in vogue again more than 60 years after vinyl was introduced. Daniel’s business, Vinyl Art, offers stunning images of iconic musicians via portraits hand painted with white acrylic on vinyl.

His website offers a compelling challenge: “Gone digital? Get back to what you lost” by exploring the tactile world of vinyl as experienced through Daniel’s portraits of musicians ranging from Eminem to Elvis. For $350, you can bring Johnny Cash’s brooding face or Aretha Franklin’s soulful gaze to your home — or have a piece of your own commissioned.

By celebrating the joy of the physical musical experience in a digital world, Vinyl Art is succeeding. His work has been exhibited in locations such as the VH1 Corporate Gallery, commissioned by the David Lynch Foundation, and owned by the likes of Lou Reed.

According to Electric Moustache, “Vinyl Art is badass,” and I agree. I recently interviewed Daniel to find out more about Vinyl Art — what inspires him to do what he does and how he uses digital to build his business. He also discusses a brand new Andy Warhol triptych he created to celebrate Warhol’s iconic album designs for The Velvet Underground & Nico, Sticky Fingers, and John Lennon’s Menlove Ave. In the interview, Daniel shares not only a passion for music and art but for giving, as well. To view more Vinyl Art, check out a free eBook of his work here.

Why vinyl art? What inspires you to do what you do?

Giving inspires me. Not giving to get but giving to contribute. I like the question “Are you a miner or a farmer?” Miners take and don’t give back. Farmers take but then replenish, remix, restore. Throughout my earlier years I took from culture, incorporating sights and sounds into who I am today. The opportunity to create my Vinyl Art is an opportunity to give back to our culture in my way. Continue reading

The reincarnation of Amy Winehouse

Amy Winehouse is the latest example of how sudden death ignites the career of a down-and-out, self-destructive artist. You see it happen time and again: a troubled celebrity dies unexpectedly. Said celebrity then realizes a surge in PR popularity and revenue.

I blogged about the phenomenon in 2008 in the wake of the death of Heath Ledger. And Rolling Stone more famously did so back in 1981 by analyzing the wild popularity of dead rocker Jim Morrison (“He’s Hot, he’s sexy, and he’s dead”)

And now Amy Winehouse – who only weeks ago was booed offstage in Belgrade – is a star again.

Her break-through album Back to Black, released in 2006, re-entered the Billboard charts, and her lesser known effort, Frank, saw a surge in units sold.

She has became a social media phenomenon, with her Facebook page gaining 200,00 fans a day, and Twitter reacting with a predictable surge of activity as people remember her (and breathlessly report her death long after her demise is patently obvious).

Meantime, Microsoft got itself a black eye for encouraging people to honor her memory by purchasing her music on Microsoft Zune. (Apple escaped criticism although it was featuring her music on iTunes.)

And you can be sure we’ll see some unreleased Amy Winehouse music on the market.

So why do self-destructive artists become so popular in death – especially the likes of Michael Jackson and Amy Winehouse, whose careers were obviously in decline at the time of their passing? I think Ryan O’Connell offers a telling perspective in his Thought Catalog post, “Why Do We Care So Much about Amy Winehouse’s Death?”

In American culture especially, we worship celebrities. They’re our version of royalty and I suppose that’s why we take celebrities’ deaths so personally. For some reason or another, their life meant something to us. In some ways, we might be more involved in their lives than our own. It’s for that reason that I found myself annoyed that people were going apeshit about Amy Winehouse dying. I felt like I and many others grieved her death out of some misguided sense of duty. It hit us so much harder because Amy Winehouse never got her shit together. Americans love to tear celebrities down (Amy included. I’m sorry but the American press and “fans” weren’t particularly kind to her. She was mocked relentlessly.) and then we love to bring them back up. We love a comeback even more than a downfall. And what’s perhaps most tragic about Winehouse and the reason why so many people flipped out over her death is that she never got her happy ending. We were never able to rehabilitate her and put a bow on her next album. That’s what we wanted most of all, right? To see her happy and healthy? But it’s hard to tell if those wishes were ever genuine. It’s hard to discern whether or not we truly gave a shit about Amy Winehouse or if we just needed her to fit the typical celebrity narrative.

Americans love the arc of the comeback story. When a celebrity won’t give us the comeback that we want, we create it ourselves.