“Sometimes that kind of blues will make you even kill one another … or do anything, that kind of love … that’s where the blues started.” _ Son HouseShe was in many ways the Eminem of soul and jazz. Fancy her – white, British and thinly framed – to be the one to revitalize a genre that has always been heavily rooted among African Americans. In as much she managed to sound 60-70s soul/rock ‘n’ roll, she looked nothing like your traditional soul diva. It’s easy to compare her with Aretha Franklin and perhaps Dionne Warwick vocally (despite her sometimes shocking colourful lyrics about weed, alcohol and sex), but you’d never see the long respectable evening dresses and gloves that were the standard garb of soul singers ever since. When Amy hit the stage, it was almost always in the tiniest of dresses, party cup containing some mysteriously coloured liquor in hand. Many times, the performances would get more haphazard as the party cup emptied, but that was her.
Amy at the "I Told You I Was Trouble" Concert w/ the partycup
I really liked the way she oozed out a different kind of diva in the songs she wrote – imperfect but powerfully feminine in a way that screamed for a man worth his salt to step up to the plate, and not in one of those sappy gay ways you see in soap operas, despite the weird romance she carried on with that Blake character:
“Feel like a lady, but you my lady boy,Her kind of diva was flawed but balanced and in need of being complemented, unlike the entirely obnoxious ultra-feminist manifestos I hear being sang along every day by girls around the world (hint hint):
You should be stronger than me”
“Nobody stands in between me and my manEven though her long drawn drug habits might be the possible cause of her death, it’s not the drugs that killed her. She had always been a troubled soul, struggling with her inner demons to an extent that it was amazing how she could channel this darkness into such beautiful music, kinda like the blues singers of old. She possessed the kind of blues that could kill a man or woman for that matter, and she succumbed. Considering it was her talent that probably kept her sane and at the same time managed to win almost every single award capable trying to stay sane, I think she’d done well and she’d done enough.
'Cause it's me and Mr Jones (Me and Mr Jones)
What kind of fuckery are we?
Nowadays you don't mean dick to me (dick to me)
I might let you make it up to me (make it up)
Who's playing Saturday?”
“Don't make no difference if I end up alone
I'd rather have myself a smoke my homegrown
It’s got me addicted, does more than any dick did
Yeah I can get mine and you get yours”