Winehouse and Holiday: addiction and defiance
I can’t say I knew much about Amy Winehouse until her death, although I’d vaguely heard of her. But from what I’ve read since, it appears she exemplified a type of addict who is extraordinarily difficult to help—defiant and resistant to her own best interests, and half in love with easeful death.
It’s sad, because by many accounts Winehouse had a lot of musical talent, and she was very young. She’d had a monster hit, “Rehab,” in which she voices a resounding “no, no, no” to the suggestion that she solicit help from a place that might give her some tools in cleaning up her act, and although she actually did go to rehab a few times afterwards she never stayed for very long.
It’s a sad tale that reminds me somewhat of the trajectory of the life of one of the greatest singers of all time, Billie Holiday, who sang this song of defiance and died of drug and alcohol abuse (although she lived significantly longer than Whitehouse):
“But I’m going to do just as I want to…”
[NOTE: You may have noticed the link in the first paragraph to the words “half in love with easeful death.” It’s a quote from Keats’s well-known “Ode to a Nightingale.” When I read it again, certain passages struck me as being especially relevant to Winehouse and Holiday. Keats mentions both drugs and drink in the first stanzas, and of course the nightingale is a musical bird whose song is especially beautiful. But it’s the poet, not the bird, who feels depressed and suicidal.
Here’s a passage that made me think of Winehouse, who grew painfully thin and wasted as drugs took their toll [emphasis mine]:
Here, where men sit and hear each other groan;
Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs,
Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies;
Where but to think is to be full of sorrow
And leaden-eyed despairs,
Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes,
Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow.
I also noticed, for what it’s worth, that at least one of Winehouse’s videos at YouTube has an ad—for rehab.
RIP.]
But just think of the money to be made out of making her a feminist james dean… finally a woman to match the great men who were stupid enough to kill themselves accidently in the modern age after the drug addled 60s…
problem is that no one cares that much except a few
ie… the others were sudden, amy was so slow that people figured it would be amazing if she ended up like keith richards.. this is just a fait accompli and a waste of commentary space… she wanted to die, and took a long time doing it.
I don’t understand the phenomenon of drug or alcohol addiction, but as time goes on I find myself becoming increasingly unsympathetic.
The world is full of damaged and desperate people seeking solace. They present trouble enough without adding the social drama of someone who enjoys the chaos their narcissistic nihilism causes.
Dealing for a short period with a friend’s heroin addicted son, left me in very quickly wanting to say “Go ahead. Do it.”
She of course never did say it. She persisted in rehabbing him and rescuing him, until she had a stroke and died.
He made a nice speech at her funeral though. Took pains to mention that while she had her faults and was certainly far from perfect, she had after all been his mother; the only one he had. And, as such, she had often been very “useful” – and I swear that was the word he used – to him as he grew and developed on his own journey through life … thank you very much.
Drug addicts … screw ’em.
Chesterton writes, in his essay The Diabolist “I have since heard that he died: it may be said, I think,
that he committed suicide; though he did it with tools of pleasure,
not with tools of pain.”
I would be tempted to feel as contemptuous and amused as the rest of you towards those who intentionally destroy themselves with drugs but for one an acquaintance. He was a former career marine, combat veteran with probably more than one tour in Nam. He was a good man, cantankerous but dependable and likeable in spite of his irascible personality. He shared the same admiration for Obama that we here do, which means he was a good judge of character. Shortly after returning from treatment for substance abuse he killed his wife and turned the gun on himself. I cannot see anything other than that he was a good man with a problem. If he was stupid it was that he had firearms in the house, an ailment common in the US.
If there is a moral it may be that substance abusers are victims of their physiology, not their intellect, in many cases. My wife works with substance abusers and she assures me of the high principles of some of the abusers. For some reason they are not in control of their bodies or their will.
Good riddence — she destroyed the lives of dozens if not hundreds of people around her.
**riddance
How so, nyomyt?
…the alcoholic is an extreme example of self-will run riot, though he usually doesn’t think so. Above everything, we alcoholics must be rid of this selfishness. We must, or it kills us!
If there is a hereafter, may Winehouse receive the healing which she refused in this world.
I was never a fan of Winehouse or her music, though I could tell that she had real talent and was quite beautiful before the drugs and tattoos.
Still, I knew enough about her that her death came as no surprise. Yet I was kind of taken aback by how saddened I was about it. At least her (largely self-induced) suffering is at an end. RIP.
Rickl;
Expresses my thought exactly! I am very sad about it and have no idea why! I was not a fan or knew that much about her except that she was in a downward spiral….
Have been on YouTube watching her old videos and she was a special talent.
Belladonna
Peace, I have found the effort
of seeking you every night,
a sodden bore. No accord
my soul shall give, only fight.
I know my past dues. The bill
is filed and filled and freight.
A well-deserved noxious till
waits the house whose tongue did bait
life as death; love as charade;
tricks given with lovely lines.
Mine. Better to see the parade
from the place where darkness shines.
Amy…Thank you for dying so that your young followers who idolized you can see what drugs and alcohol abuse can do to shorten a life
I can say that I wasn’t the biggest fan of hers, although she did have a few good songs, I too felt bad but not suprised at her death. It disgusts me that the people around her enabled her addiction, let it spiral out of control and stood back and watched the train wreck. I also think it’s horrible when society sees an addicts lifestyle as entertainment, having grown up with an alcoholic I can tell you it’s anything but entertaining. In due time we’ll probably talking about Lindsay Lohan’s death as she seems to be on that track too.
thanks for the link to that video, neo.
I had only known her “Rehab” song which they played a lot in my spinnnning class. I loved to hear it and spinnnn.
Her talent of course was used in the “wrong” direction, the direction of negativity. Imagine the soul who will arise with as deep and unique a talent and who will usher just as many to “Love is a Winning Game.”
gs’s quote from AA is correct.
She had no Higher Power, was stuck on selfishness and self-will. To his enduring credit, I heard GWB speak of his Higher Power once.
OMG, DNW @ 3:59 pm
What you described fit my family situation almost to a “T.” How freaky.
A nephew, my brother, and I prepared a few words to eulogize Mom at her funeral. With notes in hand, we walked up to the altar when the priest called us. After we were done, another brother who is a drug addict, an alcoholic, and takes psychotropic drugs [He has bi-polar disorder*] went up on his own. He was “sober.” Before he began his “eulogy,” he pointed out that he didn’t “need to put [his] feelings in writing. They come straight from my heart. Mom was one of a kind blah, blah, blah…”
That almost 50-year-old bum lived with our parents for the last few years [he’s divorced, one child]. They put up with not only his addictions and mental issues, but with his cruelty as well. Even while recovering in the hospital, after her stroke, the only thing that would keep Mom at peace was knowing “her little boy” was OK. And that we siblings weren’t being “mean” to him.
Things took a turn for the worst. My mom died trying to fix him and my father just stopped caring. He didn’t protect Mom; even if it meant protecting her from herself. It took a dangerous outburst by the bum that woke Dad out of his moral lethargy and led him to get a restraining order. Fortunately. it was practically after Mother’s death
After Mom’s burial, family and friends gathered for a meal, memories, and enjoying her favorite music and songs etc. He took something before the gathering and he went off insulting certain guests he zeroed in on. I guess he was upset that he wasn’t the center of attention. Luckily the police arrived and took him away. Don’t know where he is now. However, friends report seeing him around. And since he’s a master manipulator, there’ll no doubt be some stupid chick from whom he can squeeze a few bucks… He did it to Mom.
*I couldn’t believe his reaction when he was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. He seemed ecstatic that he now had a ready-made excuse for his rotten behavior. As time would prove, whenever he would hurt someone, his apology would begin with, “I’m sorry I did that. I’m sick…”
MVH Says:
July 27th, 2011 at 4:10 pm
OMG, DNW @ 3:59 pm
What you described fit my family situation almost to a “T.” How freaky….”
I suppose there are plenty of people in your shoes. It took me quite awhile to figure out just how many.
Frankly, I’m not sure how people from dysfunctional families, or those living in families tainted by a severely and disruptive dysfunctional member, manage as well as they do. Some folks are just tremendously resilient I guess.
I’ll try to lighten the tone a bit …
The first addict I had to deal with was my “cousin-in-law”, if there is such a thing.
A decade older than me, a college ball player and then a cop, I knew him while growing up. And, when after college I moved to Texas, he and my cousin were already there.
After years of his philandering and drinking she finally kicked him out, and he appeared at my place asking if I’d put him up for a bit. I did, even knowing he was kind of “dangerous”. But with two bedrooms and two baths on opposite ends of the apartment, and a kitchen, living room and half-assed dining area in-between, there was plenty of space.
As I was taller, more muscular, younger and kind of related, I didn’t figure he’d direct any aggression at me, and that he might straighten himself out given a chance.
In fact he didn’t try to intimidate me; but neither did he try to straighten out. He just craved drinking and whoring and fighting too much. Half-a-bottle of bourbon as a preliminary, into a bar to deal the women, and if all went well, end the night by jumping into her car after cold-cocking some fellow who looked at him the wrong way. That’s the best way to fight I learned. Hammer the other guy before he even gets his fists up.
Occasionally he would have periods of relative self-control, and I would even head on out with him to a Houston nightspot or two. He had an undeniable ability to “pull chicks”; somehow having an acute sense that told him which ones would respond to his fake Texan routine (they were all looking for cowboys back then) and his grinning invitation to admire the big belt buckle that held up his designer jeans.
That’s when things went well.
One night, after doing something marginally more constructive than tanking up in a honky-tonk, I got back to the apartment to find the cuz’s huz lying on the couch with a case of finished off beer cans strewn around the floor, and half the next case, which was resting on his chest, downed as well.
Disgusted, he said with the general worthlessness of humanity, he solemnly informed me that he was going to end it all, and that after he was done I could have his shotgun.
I knew what I should say, but by that time, and gauging his intent as less than totally committed, all I could muster was something like … “Yeah, well, if you feel that’s your only alternative”.
He laid there on the couch, and despite being as dazed as he was or should have been, managed to eye me narrowly (as they say) for a moment before declaring, “Yeah its all over … I’ve had enough of peoples’ BS. But first … I’m gonna have a pizza. You know where the phone book is?”
I told him that the phone book was on the end table just behind his head, wished him luck, and then went out again.
That pizza must have saved him, as he’s still alive today.
Now, for the not so funny part: just try and imagine a physically weaker woman with kids attempting to deal with that.
I read an article in today’s Wall Street Journal, the dead tree edition. Unfortunately, the web link is subscription-only, but it’s worth a read, if you have a subscription or a copy of the paper.
Amy Winehouse’s Killers
I remember reading something by an author whose name I do not recall. He basically argued the western / romantic way of ritual suicide was via drugs and alcohol. Dovetails nicely with the illness as metaphor memes.
There are a lot of people who manage to recover from drug and and/or alcohol. Those of us that do are the ones that are not so damned smart that we cannot follow simple directions.
They gave me four things to do every day when I sobered up, don’t drink or use, go to meetings, talk to my sponsor and pray.
But, but but, I said, I am an agnostic! Good, pray to a temporary Higher power. Well, my wife was about to put me out of the house and my job was going to fire me. So I did. I got down on my knees and prayed: “To whom it may concern, please help me stay sober today.” And then at bedtime I would thank that same Big Question Mark.
I’m lucky to be not near so smart as all those who thought they could learn how to drink and use when experience proved that they could not. Next month, God willing, I’ll celebrate 26 years. Damned shame about Amy. There but for the grace of God go I. I no longer pray to a Higher Power named To Whom It May Concern. I will say that if we ask for help, no matter the name we use, it will be offered. It’s up to us to take it and, yes, there will be work involved.