Farewell Miss Winehouse

There is something very eery about being 27, talented and slightly disturbed these days. Amy Winehouse? Kurt Cobain? Jimi Hendrix? It's almost as if you have to die for your talent - an exchange made simply by being born different.

I decided to have my very own “in aide of Amy Winehouse” shindig in my room last night. With a fashionable spoon acting as a mic, I stumbled through “Rehab”, to my personal favourite “Tears dry on their Own”. It’s weird how today’s society really only acquires any sense of togetherness when somebody passes on. I’m convinced that most of those who have sat mourning the Rehab soul singer’s death, tweeting consistently about how depressed they are, are really masking their own guilt. It’s only when a troubled soul is gone do people suddenly appreciate their greatness, and attempt to understand their discord.

Amy was troubled. Lost. Scared of her own talent. Scared of her own greatness. Born different. Her music speaks for itself, I challenge anyone to listen to “Valerie”, and to tell me that she’s just another useless, drugged up wannabe singer.

Goodbye dear Winehouse. May your beehive live on!

“I cheated myself, like I knew I would. I told you I was trouble, you know I’m no good.”

                   -Amy Winehouse (You Know I’m no Good)