OPEN LETTER TO AMY WINEHOUSE

Amy Winehouse,
I didn’t go to your show, but my friend Rachael did. And she sent me this letter:
“From: Rachael
To: Julianne
Subject: Someone Send Amy Winehouse to Rehab
i think i know her lyrics better than she does.
Let me begin by saying that, as you know, I ADORE her Back to Black album. I think it’s an instant classic and listen to it regularly, still. I mean, for me, this album might reach the status of The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill in my listening library.
So I knew there was a risk that she wouldn’t even show up, after canceling her last two gigs in London. I knew that despite the lyrics to her single “Rehab”, her daddy no longer “thinks [she’s] fine”. I knew she might come out and start the show, only to puke her way off stage. I thought I was prepared for whatever was to come – a few booze jokes? No problem!
WELL. Then she slinks on stage, ratty beehive hairdo frizzing everywhere (does she keep her smokes in there maybe?). Her body seemed to be in an invisible straightjacket for much of the show — at best, begrudgingly acknowledging the music, and at worst (and more often) virtually lifeless. Particularly in the beginning before she had a few obligatory drinks (and, yes, made the booze jokes (check!).). I wanted to get a better look at her tattoos, but her arms barely moved (I never got a good angle to try to figure out why any woman would want someone else’s breasts permanently displayed on her body). Her face would have better fit on the body of a poor girl suffering through her first mom-mandated OB/GYN exam. (I don’t know if she was even drunk or not to be honest.)
I was certainly feeling her songs much more than she seemed to be (she sounded pretty great), but I had to shut my eyes tight to really go back to being a fan. Looking at her while she was singing was just too distracting and disconnected from the sound. How can you produce such a rich, textured sound from somewhere deep within — without your body or face appearing to recognize it? Apparently, besides those killer vocal chops, she’s got some mad abilities in the domain of disassociation.
And yes, she flat-out blanked on her lyrics once – and then several times slurred lyrics or tried to cover up forgetting words with melisma. Most of the audience probably didn’t catch the slurs or makeshift runs, not knowing the actual lyrics themselves – but me singing along, I was like “WTF? This is the UK’s Best Female Artist and I know her shit better than she does?”. The voice that sounds soulful and smoky on the record is still recognizable live — her live performance definitely confirmed that she’s got massive pipes and skills. Yet, live, you also hear the unmistakable prickly residue of too much nicotine/tar, Jack Daniel’s and nights by the toilet on the bathroom floor. That kind of rasp doesn’t really sound sexy; it sounds ominous. I kept thinking to myself, “SOMEONE PLEASE SEND HER TO REHAB.” The world needs this voice. Aren’t there laws about the proper protection of public/historical treasures that can be applied here? LISTEN UP TONY BLAIR: this talent – it qualifies! And if we can save the clearly tortured girl in the process, that’d be really lovely too.
I do empathize with her pain, even while I am more than a bit disenchanted as a fan/consumer.
I honestly do hope she goes to rehab though.”