![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() Their extraordinary craft as virtuosic vocalists is the pulse of Back to Black, an album on which Winehouse mixes and matches the vocalizing of 1940s jazz divas and 1990s neo-soul queens in equal measure. The real travesty of Winehouse’s work is the way that her retro-soul draws from and yet effaces those black women–from Diana Ross to Aretha Franklin to Tina Turner–whose experiences helped to ignite the rock and soul revolution of our contemporary era.īlack women are everywhere and nowhere in Winehouse’s work. But for every polite critic who cites her work as another example of cultural “borrowing,” there are others who would argue that she is another version of Colonel Tom Parker’s white chocolate dream–Elvis reincarnated as a white woman who can “sing like a Negress.” And while some might get caught up in debating whether Winehouse is merely a hack black-music ventriloquist, the most troubling aspect of her routine is rarely discussed. It’s been a whirlwind year and a half for the 25-year-old Winehouse, whose second album, Back to Black, has sold 10 million copies worldwide and who, in February, won five Grammys, including Best New Artist, Record of the Year and Song of the Year. A few weeks later, after issuing the requisite public apology, she slurred her way through the lead vocals of the Special AKA’s New Wave radio classic “Free Nelson Mandela” in the presence of the man himself, on the occasion of his ninetieth-birthday celebration in Hyde Park. #Peoples history of pop amy whitehouse crack#This summer, the dissonance grew deafening when Winehouse was caught on video singing slurs about blacks and Asians–not to mention gays and disabled folk–to the tune of “Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes” while hanging out in what looked like a crack den. It’s quite another to set these finely crafted tales from the “gritty” English ‘hood to doo-wop hopefulness and buoyant, “Dancing in the Streets” percussive melodies that recall the upbeat tenor of King-era activism. It’s one thing in our celebreality culture of scandals and bad behavior to garner attention by singing a pop anthem about resisting rehab. What makes this act slightly less than amusing is the fact that Winehouse has built her stardom on recycling the looks and sounds–the Wurlitzer, hand claps and upright bass–of Freedom Ride-era pop music to sell her tale of rapidly unfolding decline. Winehouse’s infamous image, as anyone who has looked on the Internet lately knows, is less about dignity and more about a march toward Sid Vicious-style self-immolation–a No Future punk-degeneration dreamgirl chic, with a dash of Funny Girl Babs thrown in for good measure. It was about affirming black dignity and humanity amid the battle to end American apartheid. The mannered, elegant look that Winehouse pairs with a shot glass was, for Diana Ross, Mary Wilson and Florence Ballard, about more than Cleopatra eyeliner. Just about the only thing Winehouse hasn’t repackaged from the black music archives is the one thing she could use: a lesson from Motown’s legendary etiquette coach Maxine Powell, who taught her charges to exude grace and a classic Hollywood glow. Winehouse’s Tower of Pisa beehive, satin gowns and little black gloves invoke the styles of everyone from Lena Horne to the Shirelles, and her frothy brew of Motown girl-group melodies crossed with Etta James-era rock and blues riffs and silky-smooth 1970s soul arrangements are textbook BET lifetime achievement material. On second thought, “owing” is putting it nicely. Featuring a luminous array of vintage glitter gowns and go-go petal dresses donated by original Supreme Mary Wilson, “The Story of the Supremes” highlights the link between the groundbreaking group’s consistent execution of refined elegance and what you might call the civil right to black glamour that was dominant for much of twentieth-century black music history.Įnglish pop phenom and London native Amy Winehouse is a singer who owes as much to the sound and look of the Supremes, the Ronettes and other pioneering girl groups as she does to the vocal stylings of bygone jazz and R&B greats like Dinah Washington, Sarah Vaughan and Afro-Welsh pop legend Dame Shirley Bassey. London’s Victoria and Albert Museum is currently paying tribute to the Supremes, the queen mother of all “girl groups,” in a colorful exhibit that celebrates the more-than-passing connections between the Motown trio’s rise to pop prominence and the 1960s struggle for civil rights. ![]()
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