While refreshing BBC news for the hundredth time today to learn the latest on the tragedy that unfolded in Norway, I see it: Amy Winehouse found dead in her house, age 27.
Still in shock, I play ‘Back to Black’ and my mind wonders back to the time I first discovered her songs and started playing the album back to back for days in a row. I still remember my sister shouting that she had enough of listening to her – but I couldn’t stop pressing replay.
Who was this woman with this amazing, deep voice that stirred so much emotion when you listened to her songs? Whose lyrics became a soundtrack to your heartbreaks, your blues, your mischief, your falling in love? Not a poppy, soppy clean cut girl but a woman who wrote and sang lyrics of what she felt and chose to lead her life the way she wanted to.
I always loved this song because of the lyrics, the music and Amy’s voice so painful and honest when singing the words. Tonight I’m going to paint my eyes like she used to do, wear my fuck me pumps and hope that my tears will dry on their own.