No one can say that Amy Winehouse's death was a surprise. Her lifestyle, filled with drugs and alcohol, was bound to lead her to a sudden death, caused by some exaggeration of a lonelier night. And the fact that we cannot face her death was unexpected is, to me, the saddest part of her story. It's the reflection of a world in which we entertain ourselves watching the stars we once loved in free falls, in which we witness their downward spirals towards the bottom of a pit with the same satisfaction we watch a catastrophe movie. While these stars fall, we eagerly anticipate by the gory details the media will serve us about the dark side of their lives.
In this freak show, few remember that it's of human beings we talk about. I don't know what reasons lead Amy into her chaotic lifestyle, but I do know that when she needed support the most she did not have it (safe for family, to be sure). There were many who profited from her problems, from record labels to journalists, but few (much fewer) were those who actually held their hands and tried to help her. Her fall was more profitable.
Sadly, this show will not end with her death. Soon we will have the detailed shocking description of her end, then we will have the books that depict her path of self-destruction, later the live records, the best ofs, the rarities, the DVDs. In the next decades there will be no shortage of new records, all in the name of the profit of those who took (and will continue to take) advantage of her and her talent.
For the real music lovers, however, what will truly remain is her voice. Bitter and anguished, carrying the whole weight of the world in itself. The two albums she left us should be the only memory that we should keep of her. Taking into account the beauty of her art, I find it hard to believe that what most people will remember is the fealty of her personal life. I, for one, prefer to toast to her music and her voice.
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