Shortly before Christmas last year, party-goers in the upstairs room of a hip
north London pub became aware of an exotic figure in their midst. The
heavily tattooed woman, punching above her 5ft 2in height in towering heels
and a beehive beyond Marge Simpson, wedged herself between friends in the
crowd of revellers.
Barely able to focus and leaning like the tower of Pisa, the woman cut a comic
if slightly lonely figure, but appeared entirely unconcerned. With the press
of bodies keeping her vaguely vertical, she surveyed the scene through
glazed, heavily mascara-ed eyes.
It was just another night in the life of Amy Winehouse, the singing sensation
who stepped onto the stage at last Wednesday’s ceremony to receive the Brit
award for best British female artist.
At 23 she is lauded by critics, adored by fans and feted at parties, at least
as long as she remains upright. To say that Winehouse, who likes a drink,
would have been better named Winelake would be unfair: her preferred hit is
a Rickstasy cocktail: three parts vodka, one part Southern Comfort, one part
banana liqueur, one part Baileys. To the idea that she should check into a
rehabilitation clinic she famously sings “no, no, no”.
The booze fuels a life that is three parts vocal vamp, one part north London
Jewish girl and several parts deep insecurity with a large dollop of I-don’t-give-a-damn
on top. She is the wild child of the moment, a female version of Pete
Doherty, the singer known for his attraction to Kate Moss and other
addictive substances.
Winehouse has several advantages, such as talent and wit. When she speaks her
mind, which is often, a stinging frankness swarms out from beneath the
beehive.
She has described the music of Dido, once the poster girl of pop, as
“background music — the background to death”. She has little time, too, for
clean-cut Kylie, of whom she has said: “She’s not an artist . . . she’s a
pony . . . a little, cute, beautiful pony.”
Her jazz-chic combination of vocal brilliance and personal recklessness,
wrapped up in a look where the tattoos sometimes appear more prominent than
the clothes, have made her a figure of fascination.
After winning a Brit, she is heading for a million-selling album. But the
doubters are wondering just how long it can go on before the cocktail turns
Molotov and it all explodes.
That she is a genuinely original artist is not in doubt: her songs, such as
her recent hit single Rehab, deftly combine retro grooves with hair-raisingly
candid lyrics. Her in-your-face narratives are delivered in an extraordinary
voice, inch-perfect in phrasing and control.
That she is also disturbed is increasingly clear. She has admitted to being
diagnosed with manic depression, but refuses to take any medication.
Rehab is about her manager’s attempt to get her to attend a Priory-type course
of treatment for her problems. But she would, she has said, rather drink
than eat, and it shows in her shrunken frame and shambolic public
appearances such as her slurred performance on Channel 4’s Charlotte Church
Show last autumn.
“My destructive side has grown a mile wide,” Winehouse sang on What is it
About Men?, a track on her 2003 debut album, the aptly named Frank. Four
years on it is the width of a small town as she falls out of clubs, gets
into fights and throws up during live performances.
She was recently reported to have punched a girl who had the nerve to look in
her direction. “There’s so many bitches out there, I can’t take it,” she
said four years ago. “But I’m a bitch; what can I say?”
THE talent and the demons have emerged from a surprisingly normal background.
She was born in 1983 and brought up, in her own words, “a nice Jewish girl”
in the London suburb of New Southgate. Her father was a taxi driver and her
mother a pharmacist.
They split up when she was nine and Winehouse sought solace in her parents’
record collections, singing along to Frank Sinatra and Ella Fitzgerald, and
forming a short-lived rap duo called Sweet’n’Sour.
With uncles who were jazz musicians and a grandmother who had once dated
Ronnie Scott, her course seemed set when she enrolled, aged 12, at the
Sylvia Young stage school. But within a year she had been expelled and moved
on to the Brit school for performing arts in Croydon, south London, leaving
after GCSEs.
A stint in the National Youth Jazz Orchestra caught the eyes and ears of
people in the business. After her then boyfriend passed her demo to a
record-company A&R man, she signed to Island and a management contract with
19, the company founded by Simon Fuller, the man behind the Spice Girls.
When Frank went platinum and Winehouse won an Ivor Novello award aged just 21,
things looked peachy. It also gave a boost to her talent for tipping drink
down her throat while spewing vitriol at the same time.
“I don’t say things because I’m bitter,” she said. “I say things everyone else
is thinking but no one dares to say.” And her beehive ego gives little
quarter to other female stars.
Of Christina Aguilera, the singer famous for her raunchy stage act: “She’s a
talented girl — but you couldn’t really see it until she was wearing those
chaps with her ninny hanging out.”
On the model Jordan: “She’s hilarious. She’s like our Pammy Pamela Anderson];
except Pammy is stunning and she’s a poor man’s Pammy.”
She also dislikes Madonna, Katie Melua and anyone else who makes music “that
they think people want to hear rather than what’s in their soul”.
Victoria Beckham, she notes, “was not put on this earth to sing. Posh Spice
needs to give up. She has three beautiful children and so much money, why
doesn’t she do charity? She could do so much good”.
As if that were not enough, Winehouse also said of the Beckhams: “He’s David
Beckham. He’s a genius. So what if he f**** 20 other women? She can never
leave him ’cos no one would like her and she’d just be forgotten about.
Bang. No one cares.”
Brave, incisive or just plain rude? So far Winehouse has carried the critics
with her to such an extent that they see her as epitomising a new sort of
feminism, an outspoken rejection of the gooey romanticism of Bridget Jones.
“I believe in casual sex,” she once said. “I know it’s sad that I
think cheating on people is fine. But I think it’s like smoking a spliff.”
Despite referring to her father’s infidelity in one song, she says she holds
no hard feelings against him for splitting up his marriage: “People like to
have sex with people. I don’t begrudge my dad just because he has a penis.”
The feminist writer Kathy Lette, bestselling author of How to Kill Your
Husband (and other handy household hints), says the hedonism of Winehouse
and Lily Allen is to be admired: “Our songstresses are strutting their stuff
in a way we authors can only dream of. Winehouse and Allen don’t just walk
on the wild side, they positively sprint. And in high heels, too.”
HOWEVER, it is usually a mistake to read too much into the early
pronouncements of youthful stars, sober or drunk. Success and money all too
often turn urban rebels into country landowners. Winehouse, to her credit,
is self-aware enough to see a different future for herself.
“In 10 years I’m going to be looking after my husband and seven kids,” she has
said. On another occasion she said: “Relationships with people — your mum,
your nan, your dog — are what you get the most happiness in life from. Apart
from shoes and bags.”
For the past six months she has been dating Alex, a chef and musician, and
enjoying domestic bliss with him in Muswell Hill, north London. (These
things are relative, of course, and she admits that her wildness
occasionally ruins his evening. “I’m not a sick drunk,” she says, “I’m a
violent drunk.”)
She is also close to her parents and is fortunate to have a label and
management team who are indulgent towards her eccentricities and determined
to protect her as best they can.
Professionally things are looking good. Her latest album, Back to Black, moved
her sound up a notch, with sophisticated production and arrangements
seemingly tailor-made for US radio. Suddenly, talk of a breakthrough across
the Atlantic did not seem at all far-fetched. Joss Stone had already
conquered America with her souped-up take on classic soul.
Winehouse, with her poor-me, pour-me-another-drink persona, her sassy, sexy
and dangerous public image and that jazz voice to die for, might have been
laboratory
formulated with Oprah-style sessions on the nation’s confessional television
sofas in mind. Next month she will fly to New York for a sell-out concert
and an appearance on David Letterman’s popular late-night TV chat show.
She still drinks for England and forgets to eat. And her tattoos, most of
which feature naked women, will not go away easily. Of them she says: “I
like pin-up girls. I’m more of a boy than a girl. I’m not a lesbian, though
— not before a sambuca anyway.”
If she repeats that kind of stuff on the American TV shows, Winehouse will
either be a superstar or on the first plane home.
Either way, we will be there to watch.
Rehab... yeah, yeah, yeah
Checking into rehab has become almost as popular with celebrities as stepping
out of a limo. Rehabilitation clinics were once places where the seriously
drink and drug addicted went to face their demons, but today’s celebs are as
likely to check themselves in for a stint at the Priory to do penance for
crimes against tabloid family values as for any genuine mental health
problem. Amy Winehouse may say “no, no, no” but she’s about the only
one . . .
Britney Spears
“Troubled Britney has gone into rehab after hitting rock bottom,” The Sun
revealed yesterday. The pop princess, who has just shaved all her hair off,
had been partying hard for months, during which time she invented a whole
new way of winking at the paparazzi.
Robbie Williams
The former Take That star, booked into a US clinic last week after becoming
addicted to legal drugs, including coffee. The move had nothing to do with
the fact that Take That have done spectacularly well without him and were
due to pick up a gong at the Brits, an awards ceremony Robbie would normally
have attended.
Jade Goody
Superchav Jade is doing time in rehab for “anger management”, having revealed
herself to the world to be a bigot on the last instalment of Big Brother. A
new caring, sharing Jade will no doubt emerge shortly in the pages of Hello!
magazine or similar. Already photos have started to appear of a tweed-clad
Jade strolling through the English countryside in a sad yet contemplative
mood with her children.
Kate Moss
Cocaine Kate was moved swiftly, if briefly, into rehab after being caught on
video tooting lines of charlie in a London recording studio. For a moment it
looked bad and multi-million-pound contracts were cancelled, but then the
fashion industry decided the bad girl image rather suited her. Now she is
the most famous model in the universe all over again.
Mel Gibson
The Lethal Weapon star entered therapy for alcoholism after launching an
anti-semitic rant of Goody proportions last year. Mel has since invited us
all to help him on his “path for healing”.
I'll say it again because so far it has resisted getting through but "Rehab" is nothing special and has nothing groundbreaking about it. It's a good song but not one to fuss over. If Amy Winehouse wants to criticise other artists then she only deserves the same back: and it is simply this, you'd appear to be minor in appeal & range. If this can't go online then the judges of fair & free speech have something to learn.
Richard Warwick, Croydon, UK
Perhaps now Gibson is sober he might realise what a bigoted and dumb film he made in Braveheart - portraying a French speaking Edinburgh townhouse (still there) dweilling aristocrat as a bare arse blue painted highlander. But then again keep drinking Mel keep us English in stitches.
Richard Willoughby, York, UK
I hope this sparks off more chatter than the britney talk...
Eva Phoenix, London, England
Well, everything that needs to be said about Amy has been said......But no one can say she cant sing! I saw her live if a little innebriated at a gig In Bristol last year, and she was fantastic! what would be nice to hear from her now would be some cover versions, Billy Holiday, Ella Fitzgerald, some old groovers! before she cant do it anymore!
JH , Bristol,
well,richard, you had better get back to your dido records then........
joe, paris,
I just listened to Rehab and I don't think it's anything special.
Richard Warwick, London, United Kingdom