Amy Winehouse: Rest In Peace

I have no time for sensationalism. I don’t give a damn what colour Cheryl Cole’s hair is or whether she is back with that knobhead footballer. I don’t know or care if Lyndsay Lohan is in jail or not. So, to me, Amy Winehouse will always be the woman with the great voice rather than the caricature that appeared in the tabloids. The way that the media and the public in general take such joy in building people up and then knocking them down depresses me, especially when you consider that many of the people who are now mourning her are the same idiots who laughed at pictures of her in the magazines that contributed to this circus. When you take away the sickeningly gleeful and smug reaction to Winehouse’s passing, what you are left with is simply another tragic and pointless death of a young person.

The saddest thing about her death at 27 was its inevitability. This was always going to happen – this year, next year, whenever – and yet, despite this knowledge, nobody was able to prevent it. I don’t know whether she had an especially dark past or if her descent into drink and drugs was simply down to an addictive and destructive personality, but as her body was carried from her London home yesterday, I couldn’t help wondering what shape her life would have taken had she remained clean. Would she have been more successful and more productive, or did her creativity go hand in hand with her unhinged nature?

Whatever, because she allowed herself to become tabloid fodder – the trashed bag of bones that everyone could laugh at in the gossip magazines – it is easy to forget that, back in the day, she was a strangely beautiful, exciting and edgy character with an incredible set of pipes. And that’s how I choose to remember her.

Sadly though, if ever there was an example of literally wasted talent, it’s Amy Winehouse.

Words by Bobby Townsend