There is something more than usually grotesque about the slow-motion downfall of Amy Winehouse being played out daily in the media. As the singer and her appalling husband holiday in St Lucia, their respective parents are fighting a shameful proxy battle at home, with her father-in-law, Giles, calling on Amy’s fans to boycott her records until she cleans up. She looks pitifully skeletal in the latest pictures, hollow-eyed and miserable. The worst of it is – beyond the horror of watching a human life collapse like a frame-by-frame car crash – is that she is, quite simply, one of the best soul singers of all time, possessed of a voice that bewitches, infiltrates the heart and defies emotional gravity. This is not just another Britney or Li-Lo celebrity rehab story. With time and the depth that comes with experience, Amy Winehouse has the chance to sit alongside Aretha Franklin, Ella Fitzgerald and Minnie Ripperton as one of the true greats.
The Spectator
Comments
Join the debate for just $5 for 3 months
Be part of the conversation with other Spectator readers by getting your first three months for $5.
UNLOCK ACCESS Just $5 for 3 monthsAlready a subscriber? Log in