Amy Winehouse Dies at 27

Just recently Monsieur Redacteur and I were talking about Amy Winehouse - a French newspaper last week had a headline about Amy and how she only had a few months to join "The 27 Club". I didn't take it seriously because I had hope, as a fan of Amy's incredible voice, that she was going to clean up and come back with some amazing album. Sadly Amy Winehouse passed away in her Camden home, most likely from an overdose.

I don't want to write much more on the topic because what is there to say? I want to blame the tabloid culture, but they're only partially to blame. The tabloids exist for a reason. I want to blame those around her who failed to protect her and steer her course better, but I have known people who had that same knack Amy had for meeting the wrong man and a few like Amy seemed to meet too many of the wrong sort of men so that by the time something better came along the hope of being able to stay better was long gone. They all had a sort of fragility and no matter how much you want to help or how hard you try to help - sometimes people just stay lost.

Of all the Amy Winehouse songs I love, I suppose "Back to Black" will always be my favourite. It's a sad song, but it was obvious from the first listen that here was someone singing their heart out.

Here's a picture of Amy that does her justice. Not the famous Amy of the signature beehive and the tattoos. I look at this picture and think there's the girl who once thought everyone could sing so she didn't quite comprehend the talent she had. But for me, what I'll remember is that the first time I heard "Help Yourself" off Amy's first album "Frank", it was the first time I heard somebody sing like her.

Amy recorded a third album that wasn't released because of some of her troubles. I am going to hold on to hope that it's the amazing album I hoped she'd record because even though she's gone maybe this third album will be her last gift to her fans.

And I just want to say in closing; in the spirit of the song clip I'm going to post that no matter why she died or what problems she had there isn't another person in the world that could sing like Amy Winehouse could and not just because she had great pipes. Would it still be a great song if it were sung like a grocery list? "I die a hundred times", Amy sang, and you feel those hundred deaths.

Tonight Amy, Amy, Amy, I feel one hundred and one.

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Flashdance Flashbacks

Ah the 80's. The decade of decadence. I was juste une petite fille in the 80's. Living as the Godfather of Soul himself sang it in 1985 "in America" was my dream.

By 1988 the then Madamoiselle had learned a few tricks. I knew how to get my hair to levitate as if by magic six inches above my scalp (Aquanet). I knew how to fray stonewash jeans to give them that chic by way of trailer park air conditioning (Razor blades and putting rocks in your dryer). I could after hours of practice perform with precision the choreography (by Paula Abdul) in Janet Jackson's video "The Pleasure Principle". If you want to understand why I still boast of this with pride even though I couldn't do a lot of those moves now that I've ripened into Madame, check out the video below.

Remember I said "with precison". Meaning down to the back flip ladies and gentlemen. And unlike Janet I didn't have a stunt dancer do it for me director to yell cut and or film editor to give me offscreen time to pick up my choreography. I shoulder shrugged. I moved my feet and didn't miss a beat in the music to the next of Janet's steps. And the chair bit? I must have face planted about a hundred times before I got it right.

In 1988 I was obsessed with absolutely everything. The 80's was nothing if not a decade full of fads that came and went. Something could be in for a week and somehow while you sat in your math class with Ms. Slater who had a nose that looked like an obtuse triangle it would be over. Poof! And punishment was severe if you didn't realise that you were out of the loop.

1988 was the year I wanted my life to be like Dirty Dancing + Flashdance + Sixteen Candles + Flight of the Navigator. I really did. I watched Star Wars repetitively, worshiped Madonna, had Teen Beat posters of Corey Haim on my wall, went to the mall, and kissed Tommy Campbell.

I was wearing tri-colour pocketed stonewash jeans with zippers on the ankle and a t-shirt with penguins on it from the Boston Aquarium. I had accessorised this look with pink and white L.A. Gear sneakers that lit up when I walked, a side ponytail held up by a hot pink plastic banana clip, and three pairs of scrunchy socks that matched the colours on the pockets of my jeans. He was wearing a Guns-N-Roses Appetite for Destruction t-shirt and Levi's. He had braces and told me that my tongue was "slippery when it's wet" and then our seven minutes in heaven (heaven being a blanket with a wolf motif on it thrown over a dining room table) were over. I would later find out that Tommy Campbell had Return of the Jedi sheets, but despite how cool this made him in my eyes, he lived all the way in town and had a mother that didn't like driving him around.

By the time the 80's ended I was no longer paying much attention to boys because they were nothing but trouble. I traded my kicks for Birkenstocks, my tight jeans for peasant skirts, and my t-shirt of penguins for one of dancing bears (Keep truckin' Jerry).

But the 90's is a story for another time because if the 80's was the decade of this and that for now not later it was always about the things but in the 90's I became a teenager and the thing that kept changing all the time was me.

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