Amy, in better days
Ask anyone. I was shouting your name from the rooftops WAY before anyone had even of heard of you. I went completely NUTTY for you, Amy Winehouse. Head over heels. I bought your cd four times, for pity sake. I forced your music, then videos, down the throats of everyone I knew. People started catching ON. Yeah! The awesomeness of YOU was being felt by friends, family and finally, the whole world.
Then it began to fall apart. You CANCELLED on me. I had the coveted golden ticket to see “my girl”. NO ONE cancels a show I have tickets for…I mean, COME ON. So Paolo Nutini performed without you (he’s a dollbaby, by the way–met him in the parking lot of the Showbox and nearly peed). Jesus. I was almost as thin as you at this point and I was LOVIN’ IT. Something was wrong.
I forgave you eventually. I mean, that’s a LOT of success so fast, right? Five Grammy Awards? From my sickbed I rooted for you that night (my first night home from The Clinic in San Diego). Some people didn’t think you deserved winning because you are a “bad example” or a “terrible role model”. As IF! Since when was that part of the deal, being a role model? Psssh. Eff ’em right?
But then. Slowly…with each story, with each photo I saw of you…things didn’t feel right. You pissed off Mark Ronson so badly that the 007 theme your two were working on was scrapped. (Now Alicia KEYS is doing it? Ugh.) I realized that so much of what I found appealing about you (your heartbreak and darkness and drunkeness with that tear-stained voice) didn’t speak to my heart anymore.
I’m breaking up with you.