The story of Back to Black is
one in which celebrity and the potential of commercial success
threaten to ruin Amy Winehouse, since the same insouciance and
playfulness that made her sound so special when she debuted could
easily have been whitewashed right out of existence for this breakout
record. (That fact may help to explain why fans were so scared by
press allegations that Winehouse had deliberately lost weight in order
to present a slimmer appearance.) Although Back to Black does see her
deserting jazz and wholly embracing contemporary R&B, all the best
parts of her musical character emerge intact, and actually, are all
the better for the transformation from jazz vocalist to soul siren.
With producer Salaam Remi returning from Frank, plus the welcome
addition of Mark Ronson (fresh off successes producing for Christina
Aguilera and Robbie Williams), Back to Black has a similar sound to
Frank but with much more flair and spark to it. Winehouse was inspired
by girl group soul of the '60s, and fortunately Ronson and Remi are
two of the most facile and organic R&B producers active. (They
certainly know how to evoke the era, too; Remi's "Tears Dry on Their
Own" is a sparkling homage to the Motown chestnut "Ain't No Mountain
High Enough," and Ronson summons a host of Brill Building touchstones
on his tracks.) As before, Winehouse writes all of the songs from her
experiences, most of which involve the occasionally riotous and often
bittersweet vagaries of love. Also in similar fashion to Frank, her
eye for details and her way of relating them are delightful. She
states her case against "Rehab" on the knockout first single with some
great lines: "They tried to make me go to rehab I won't go go go, I'd
rather be at home with Ray" [Charles, that is]. As often as not,
though, the songs on Back to Black are universal, songs that anyone,
even Joss Stone, could take to the top of the charts, such as "Love Is
a Losing Game" or the title song ("We only said good bye with words, I
died a hundred times/ You go back to her, and I go back to black").
by Ted Kord, Amazon.com
Amy Winehouse's second album,
Back to Black, is one of the finest soul albums, British or otherwise,
to come out for years. Frank, her first album, was a sparse and
stripped-down affair; Back to Black, meanwhile, is neither of these
things. This time around, she's taken her inspiration from some of the
classic 1960's girl groups like the Supremes and the Shangri-Las, a
sound particularly suited to her textured vocal delivery, while adding
a contemporary songwriting sensibility. With the help of producers
Mark Ronson and Salaam Remi, "Rehab" becomes a gospel-tinged stomp,
while the title track (and album highlight) is a heartbreaking musical
tribute to Phil Spector, with it's echoey bass drum, rhythmic piano,
chimes, saxophone and close harmonies. Best of all, though, is the
fact that Back to Black bucks the current trend in R&B by being
unabashedly grown-up in both style and content. Winehouse's lyrics
deal with relationships from a grown-up perspective, and are honest,
direct and, often, complicated: on "You Know I'm No Good", she's
unapologetic about her unfaithfulness. But she can also be witty, as
on "Me & Mrs Jones" when she berates a boyfriend with "You made me
miss the Slick Rick gig". Back to Black is a refreshingly mature soul
album, the best of its kind for years.
Product Description
Ivor Novello Award Winner, Mercury Music Prize and Triple Brit Nominee
Amy Winehouse, Follows the Release of her New Single "rehab" and
Recent Sell-out Mini-uk Tour, with the Hugely Anticipated Release on
October 30th of her New Album "back to Black". On "back to Black", the
Follow-up to her Platinum Debut "frank" which Established her as One
of the Most Exciting and Challenging Artists in Pop Music, Amy
Confirms, Beyond Any Reasonable Or Unreasonable Doubt, What a Truly
Remarkable Talent She Is.
by Matt Harvey, BBC
There are two clear traditions
of ‘diva’ in soul music. On one side there’s Diana Ross – and her
natural heir, Beyonce – all immaculate polish and surface. And on the
other there are the likes of Etta James – a woman whose music reeks of
desire and emotion. It’s to this ‘Dark Soul’ tradition that Amy
Winehouse aspires - she’s certainly got the voice for it.
And the music. The much praised opening track, “Rehab”, comes across
like an obscure northern soul gem, riddled with pathos and melodrama.
In fact none of the music here sounds like it was made after 1967.
Much of the rest of this pleasingly short album - eleven three-minute
or so tracks – goes on to explore the joyful misery of being young,
messy and in love/lust. And Amy doesn’t paint a particularly pretty
picture of herself; she plays the cuckold on “Just Friends”, and gets
caught out by her ‘lickle carpet burns’ on the fabulous “I’m No Good”.
But hey, she suffers for her sins. The title track, owing much to the
sonic heritage of Phil Spector and Scott Walker, is a tortured monster
of a track - Amy displaying the sort of vocal depth that Marc Almond
has always dreamed of.
The second half of the album isn’t quite as good as the first, but
that’s a minor gripe. One of the best UK albums of the year, with the
added advantage that you'll be able to pick it up at the local
supermarket checkout...
by Kerri Mason, Billboard.com
An international smash finally
seeing U.S. release, "Back to Black" is a guileless, brutal breakup
album that can sit with the best of them, set to the sounds of music's
finest early rock moments. Producers Ronson and Remi capture
Winehouse's '60s girl group vibe expertly, all piano arpeggios and
punchy horns, with one foot in theatrical doo-wop and another in
soulful Motown. But Winehouse is an entirely new creature, a product
of hip-hop and jazz, experience, not innocence. She confesses like Liz
Phair, accuses like Mary J. Blige and aches like Nina Simone in a
controlled alto that can wring emotion out of a low C. "Rehab," an
intervention rejection, sounds like a gospel work song. "You Know I'm
No Good" is as hip-hop as it is blues with a chomping breakbeat and
Ghostface Killah cameo. By album's end, you're left just like
Winehouse—spent but wanting more.
Personnel: Amy Winehouse
(vocals, guitar); Neal Sugarman (tenor saxophone); Dave Guy (trumpet);
Victor Axelrod (Wurlitzer piano, hand claps).
It doesn't take much listening to Amy Winehouse's
1960s pop period piece to realize that this is a tribute with an
edge--nice girls back then didn't sing about boozing and rehab. Since
her 2003 debut album, FRANK, Winehouse has been a frequent presence on
the gossip pages of the U.K. tabloids, and her songwriting here
candidly reflects her experiences with drinking, sex, and drugs. BACK
TO BLACK's production is an artful blend of sophisticated '60s R&B and
21st-century stylistic poaching, with "Tears Dry on Their Own"
incorporating elements of Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell's "Ain't No
Mountain High Enough," and Winehouse sounding like Billie Holiday
fronting a reggae band on the old-fashioned cheating song "Just
Friends." Densely packed with musical history and often conjuring a
dark, Portishead-esque atmosphere, BACK TO BLACK is a
sumptuous-sounding collection freighted with blunt confessionals of a
lush life.
by Darcie Stevens, Austin
Chronicle, April 13, 2007
North London's Amy Winehouse
is putting the soul back in R&B with the help of New York's Dap-Kings
(as in Sharon Jones) and a bottle of whiskey. The Jewish phenom has
been churning waves (and tabloids) overseas since the release of her
2003 debut, Frank. Now the 23-year-old's addictive "Rehab" is poised
to join the modern grit of Macy Gray with the latter-day growl of
Shirley Bassey. And damn, it feels good. Winehouse's sophomore LP,
Back to Black, oozes sweat and tears in "Me & Mr. Jones," the
shuddering title track, and Motowner "Tears Dry on Their Own." But
whoever came up with the plan to match Winehouse's sass and dirt with
Ghostface Killah's ghetto rhymes on the closing remix of "You Know I'm
No Good" is genius. If Winehouse can walk the (semi) straight and
narrow and show up to most of her gigs, this baby's gonna burn
stateside for sure.
by Philip Guppy, Cokemachineglow,
March 23, 2007
There’s this one Bugs Bunny
cartoon laid out inexplicably like a Wagnerian epic, all lightning and
bombast. Bugs is pulling his usual gender swapping, transvestite
cottontail schtick on Elmer Fudd, riding around on a portly white
stallion, laying on the coy dame act. Elmer’s falling for the whole
act like a sucker as usual, his original plan of snaring the wascally
wabbit on hold. The abstract theatrical setting blasts and bursts as
Bugs leads the hunter round by his nose, spicing his desire with false
eyelash flutters and soft, languid fingers. Thunder crashes, Valhalla
shifts on its axis, the whole deal. Of course the idea of a rabbit
managing to convince as another species is never called into question.
Cartoons don’t have to play ball with reality; the idea’s absurdity
inspires its sense of fantastical farce. It rests upon two universal
truths: that what you believe will inevitably steer your actions and
opinions, and that love is gonna mess you up.
The ability to seize upon a role and chameleonically blend with it is
a talent. To make someone believe that the person they’d already sized
up is actually someone else is a truly valuable skill, one that Amy
Winehouse knows and relies on implicitly during the course of her new
album.
Amy Winehouse came to the music world’s attention with her debut Frank
(2003), as part of a strange vocal jazz revival, her emergence
coinciding with the arrival of artists such as Jamie Cullum and Katie
Melua, to form a small yet successful subset of modern pop. Her take
on jazz was filtered through a brash, contemporary mindset, which
attempted to take the vocalisations and styling of artists such as
Billie Holiday and Sarah Vaughn and infuse them with the blood and
romance of the modern teenager. Despite Frank being by far the most
innovative and mercurial album to fall from the new jazz pop tree, it
seemed to want for something. It was a fine showcase for her chewy,
provincial singing and charmingly bolshy delivery, but it ran a little
dry on true emotion. Its edges were sanded a little too cleanly, its
songs lacking the pressure and delicate pain found in the best albums
of her predecessors. She couldn’t summon up that bruised fight feeling
in her own songs like Billie Holiday did on Lady In Satin (1958), for
example; there was none of the tender character of Sarah Vaughn’s
Sarah Sings Soulfully (1963).
Back to Black is a different story altogether. Resurfacing with a look
that’s equal parts Ronnie Spector and tattooed sailor, Winehouse has
switched her allegiance from jazz to soul, and in the process found a
true home for her particular talents. Opening the album with a
brass-bottomed piece of wall-shaking rumpus in “Rehab,” she
immediately takes her hard-drinking tabloid image to task: “I’d rather
be at home with Ray / I ain’t got seventy days / ‘Cause there’s
nothing you can teach me / That I can’t learn from Mr. Hathaway.” The
rat-a-tat-tat Motown drums and jive-stacked horns swivel and pop in
her wake, the Pips to her Gladys Knight. Tellingly, the “Ray” she’d
rather be at home with is never clarified, and the listener is left to
decide which she’s referring to, the Tanque- or -Charles variety.
The sound of the record is witness to Winehouse’s devotion to her
forebears; clearly she’s found solace in the vaults of Atlantic and Hi
Records, burning their love of melody and earthy textures through into
the album’s genetic makeup. Swinging from the Randy Crawford-inflected
glide of “Love Is A Losing Game” to the cooing Motown girl harmonies
of “Me & Mr. Jones” (although Motown probably never let a track open,
“What kind of fuckery is this? / You made me miss the Slick Rick
gig”), she effortlessly assumes each and every role with an astounding
ear for its trademark sonic signature. In most cases this would lead
to an album that’s simply a genre exercise, an amusing round of “spot
the influence.” Winehouse’s songwriting is too strong, however; these
tracks create a sort of unquestionable authenticity.
The title track, an aching black mass of heartache, is the album’s
towering achievement, its chorus swamping the listener in brittle,
bare boned grief: “We only said goodbye with words / I died a hundred
times / You go back to her / And I go back to black.” The palpable
sense of loss and crushing inevitability curls away as a potent
riptide of Spector strings climbs and then falls into a lugubrious
Morricone phantom choir. It’s one of the finest soul creations of the
00s so far, ranking alongside Antony & the Johnson’s “Fistful of Love”
in terms of sheer emotional impact and subtle devastation.
Bugs never could fool Elmer for long; the lips and lashes show was
always as much for his own amusement as it was a tool to save his own
skin. Inevitably, he was found out and once again running for his
life. Amy Winehouse played this risky game, too: a new disguise is
never assured, and switching styles early into a career can drop an
artist completely off the map if carried out poorly. But unlike Bugs,
Winehouse isn’t playing. Her efforts have crafted a soul album that is
resistant to any claims of mere charlatanism, a record that brings a
modern tongue to a classic style. This isn’t a good approximation,
it’s an excellent self-assertion.
by Gerry Hectic, Fly.co.uk,
Wednesday November 15, 2006
The return of Amy Winehouse
has been eagerly awaited as much for her feisty reputation as her
autobiographical songs of life in North London.
Although she was pleasant enough when I stopped her in Camden High
Street, she wasn’t up for an interview. Perhaps it was the day after
she’d been out on the tiles with her mate, Kelly Osborne? On the face
of it, Amy and Kelly would seem to be a dangerous combination bearing
in mind the subject matter of the first single off the album, ‘Rehab’.
Typically in her Kick Ass Attitude, this is one of the six tracks
produced by Mark Ronson (look out for the ‘Rehab’ Hot Chip remix).
It’s a bit of a coup to have New York’s Ronson while the other half of
the album is produced by Salaam Remi, who did her jazzier debut album
Frank. Her more soulful approach on the new one seems to have
attracted a wider audience than the “jazz crooner” debut album.
Amy is currently on a sell out tour and getting great reviews with
equal attention spent on her private life (See Evening Standard, Koko,
Mornington Crescent) and her music. Koko was her second “home town”
gig after previewing the album back in September at Bar Solo in
Inverness St.
‘Just Friends’ is a rock steady groover with a twist of soul. Getting
back to Phil Spector and some doo-wop, ‘Mr & Mr Jones’ is pure 50s
meets Frank Zappa.
‘Back To Black’ majors on the twangy guitar, vibes, strings wall of
sound (Mark, have you been listening to Lee Hazelwood?). Now Winehouse
could do a good cover version of ‘These Boots Were Made For Walking’.
As well done as ‘Love is a Losing Hand’ is, it’s too sugary for me but
in a similar lost love mode, ‘Tears Dry On Their Own’ is a big
modern-day Northern Soul tune that your traditionalist won’t go for,
but it’d be a shame to miss it if you are more open minded.
‘Wake Up Alone’ is another sad one and ‘He Can Only Hold Her’ has some
heavy horns to downtempo ‘breaks’ and it is a bit of a grower.
So put the Shangri-Las, Ray Charles, The Bodysnatchers and a jazz
heritage in the blender and you get the idea; now that’s what I call a
good mixer. And little known Amy fact, apparently her grandmother was
engaged to Ronnie Scott and she’s not long since moved to Muswell
Hill. Probably a good move that one and the neighbours will be
converted and will be picking up this album. Goes down well with a
drink (it’s only 35 minutes long) on the ‘virtual’ jukebox.
Hectic Mix nomination: ‘Just Friends’, My Tears Dry On Their Own’, ‘Mr
& Mr Jones’, ‘He Can Only Hold Her’
by Stuart Nicholson, Observer
Music Monthly, Sunday October 15, 2006
Watching Amy Winehouse live is
a confusing experience. There's this skinny, slightly gawky teenager
(well, she still looks like a teenager) on stage and yet, via an
amazing feat of lip-synching, the voice of a 40-year-old black woman
from Brooklyn is coming over the PA.
It is nothing short of mesmerising, as you might expect of an artist
whose quirky, eccentric and fearless lyrics explore avenues alien to
most songwriters. Witness 2003's debut album Frank, which, thanks to
risque tracks like 'Fuck Me Pumps', 'Stronger Than Me' and 'In My
Bed', was shortlisted for the Mercury Music Prize and earned Winehouse
nominations for two Brit awards.
What
was particularly intriguing about the 22-year-old was how she managed
to sound like a Fifties jazz club singer while singing outre lyrics
about life in contemporary London. This compelling duality is
continued with a deft change of backdrop on Back to Black, wherein she
assumes the role of an Aretha Franklin-style soul singer complete with
doo-wop backing groups while again singing of her contemporary urban
experiences. It should keep popular culture students busy for the next
20 years in the way that Mick Jagger in the mid-Sixties prompted
countless theses on the subliminal black person within. None the less
it works - even though this area of pop culture has been mined
remorselessly for the past 50 years - by dint of its clever melody
lines and smart lyrics.
As if to emphasise just how wise she is, Winehouse has kept each track
to around the length of a 45 (remember those?), enabling her to make
her point and move on without running the risk of outstaying her
welcome. So whether it's the rousing, churchy 'Rehab', in which
Winehouse describes how her father tries to wean her off alcohol ('Try
to make me go to rehab/ I say no, no, no'), or the serious soul of
'Love is a Losing Game', Back to Black isn't shy of betraying its debt
to pop.
What the American market will make of it, though, is anybody's guess.
Indeed during 'Me and Mr Jones (Fuckery)' I had this crazy fantasy in
which I pictured the effect of this song being pushed on the American
FM pop stations. Given the uproar in middle America a couple of years
ago when Justin Timberlake exposed Janet Jackson's left nipple at the
SuperBowl, trying to imagine what our Stateside friends would make of
Amy Winehouse and the word 'fuckery' was worth the price of the record
alone. The medium may be American but the message is very British,
which is why if Amy Winehouse continues in this fashion she could end
up being a national treasure.
Recommended: 'Rehab'; 'Me and Mrs Jones (Fuckery)'; 'Love is a Losing
Game'; 'Tears Dry on Their Own'
by Christina Warner, HMV
Wimbledon, October 2006
Two years ago, in the middle
of the campaign for her universally acclaimed debut album 'Frank', Amy
began thinking about what she'd like to do with her second record. I
didn't want to play the jazz thing up too much again. I was bored of
complicated chord structures and needed something more direct.” 'Back
to Black' is that record.
As a songwriter Amy has grown and stretched her self, vocally she is
in a new league breaking loose with Aretha-style vocal stylings on
'Just Friends' or going gospel on the opening single 'Rehab'. 'Love Is
A Losing Game' is pure classic modern songwriting: brief, to the point
and drenched in emotion. Other highlights include the Nas inspired 'Me
and Mr Jones', the beautiful 'Wake Up Alone' and 'I'm No Good' - the
personal epiphany that you can behave just as badly as all those guys
that have messed you around and stamped all over you.
With 'Back To Black' Amy confirms, beyond any reasonable or
unreasonable doubt, what a truly remarkable talent she is.
Three years later, three years older – Amy Winehouse was back,
sporting a mane of long curls, a svelte physique and the thickest
eyeliner this side of Siouxsie Sioux.
Opening with the handclaps of Rehab, Winehouse is at the top of her
game and obviously ready to give the critics what they had long been
waiting for. Moving from the jazzy tones of Frank, Back to Black sees
Winehouse apply her talents to a maturer more self-assured sound, with
melodies and backing vocals comparable to the likes of the soul
legends of motown. Admittedly heavily influenced by this Winehouse has
infused her prior jazzy sound with a newer, more edgey feel. Sticking
to lyrical themes of relationship angst, infedility and with tracks
such as Love Is a Losing Game andBack to Black – the formula has
remained a winning one for Winehouse.
Unlike the prior contendors for the nu-age queen of jazz throne, who
have remained in the folk tinged jazz genre, Winehouse stands alone as
the queen of modern day motown by still remaining true to the gutsier
lyrics that her fans have come to recognise as hers.
by Andy Gill, Independent, October
27, 2006
She's a brave lass, Amy
Winehouse. It's rare to find any artist changing their approach
between albums, and virtually unknown if their debut was a huge
success; but for her follow-up to Frank, Winehouse has shifted her
emphasis from jazz to soulful R&B. It's a measure of her talents that
the shift should be so effective: it has focused her talent on a
smaller target, with the result that the impact has been multiplied
several times over. With Back to Black, she has nothing to prove; each
time she starts a song, there's no need to impress with technique;
just a direct, immediate expression of the core emotion.
That directness applies equally to her lyrics, whose sexual frankness
and pottymouthed articulation leaves no room for misunderstanding.
Lines such as "He left no time to regret/ Kept his dick wet/ With his
same old safe bet" act like turbochargers on the emotion, bringing an
unmistakable modern slant to the loping Fifties R&B of songs such as
"Back to Black" and "Me & Mr Jones", an ironic Noughties equivalent of
Billy Paul's affair anthem. When the same candid attitude is applied
to female sexual obsession in "Wake Up Alone", the result is like
Millie Jackson crossed with Peggy Lee, a blend of unashamed
assertiveness and languid vocal power.
The lack of shame is probably the album's defining characteristic.
From the opening "Rehab" to the closing "Addicted", there's none of
the blame-shifting or hand-wringing apologia that American singers
routinely employ. In the former - all fat horns, R&B feel and tubular
bells punching up the lines - she refuses flip, therapeutic
explanations for her melancholy and drinking ("There's nothing you can
teach me/ That I can't learn from Mr Hathaway" - Donny, presumably);
and in the latter, she gives equally short shrift to a flatmate's
lover who smokes up all her stash without offering to replace it. If a
man has treated her badly, as in "Tears Dry On Their Own", she doesn't
whinge, just chides herself for placing too much faith in him: "I
should just be my own best friend/ Not fuck myself in the head with
stupid men"; and it's clearly hard for her to feel too guilty, in "You
Know I'm No Good", about keeping two lovers on the go.
Productions, split almost equally between Salaam Remi and Mark Ronson,
are perfectly sculpted to reflect the updated soul mode, with Motown-like
grooves, Otis-style horn arrangements, and a rich, smoky Southern soul
feel. But, for all its musical purchase on the past, what sets
Winehouse's album apart from those of her peers is its rejection of
genre clichés.
DOWNLOAD THIS: 'Rehab', 'Wake Up Alone', 'Back To Black', 'You Know
I'm No Good', 'Me & Mr Jones'
by Jack Foley,
IndieLondon.co.uk
THE spirit of Motown drifts
blissfully throughout the second album from Amy Winehouse, Back To
Black, which revels in old school values.
Having become bored by the complicated chord structures and jazzy
sounds of debut album Frank, Winehouse sought to shake things up a bit
and has come back with an absolute barnstormer – one that fans are
sure to be impressed with even if it’s not the same sound they were
expecting.
Hence, there’s traces of gospel and funk on Rehab, homages to Aretha
Franklin on Just Friends and a Shirley Bassey Bond vibe on slinky
performers such as You Know I’m No Good.
What’s more, the album chops and changes pace quite frequently,
drifting from out and out dancefloor romps to more serious personal
epiphanies that offer an insight into the singer’s truest feelings.
The album kicks off in familiar fashion with the Motown drenched
Rehab, the lead single. With its funky beats working perfectly in
unison with Winehouse’s sassy vocals, the song is a rousing and
defiant statement of intent that finds the singer determined to stay
away from rehab.
If anything, the singer sounds more confident in her own delivery than
ever before and the music simply echoes that with its classic sense of
style. The moody “no, no, no” backing simply adds an extra element of
attitude and style that’s as direct as she obviously intended.
The sharp, snappy beats and cracking bassline that heralds the arrival
of You Know I’m No Good is another gem, a truly funky performer that
epitomises Winehouse’s feisty style – it’s declaration that women can
behave just as badly as the men that have messed them around is
difficult not to agree with; just beware! Lyrically, it’s also
wickedly playful, delivering gems like “by the time I’m out the door,
you tear men down like Roger Moore”.
Indeed, in spite of its classic values musically, the album takes a
defiantly modern approach to songwriting, tossing in lines such as
“nobody stands in between me and my man, it’s me and Mr Jones… what
king of fuckery is this?” on Mr & Mrs Jones, another track that
instantly impresses.
Just occasionally, Winehouse is found out by the contrasting styles.
Just Friends, with its calypso trumpet approach, doesn’t work as well
and places the singer’s gravel-coated vocals at odds with the sunshine
vibe.
But for the most part, this is sassy, direct and tremendous fun. Title
track Back To Black, for instance, continues the no-nonsense approach
to the battle of the sexes with the opening line “he left me no time
to regret, kept his dick wet…”. It’s a hard-hitter in every sense,
from its brooding beats to the gutsy lyrics about drugs and lost love
– yet it’s not at all depressing.
The melancholy lyrics of Love Is A Losing Game is another case in
point, a slow-burner delivered in classic style with a lonely central
guitar riff that finds the singer at her most tender, vulnerable and
achingly beautiful. The lyrics are heartbreaking.
If anything, Winehouse is the new Alanis Morrissette in terms of her
outlook on relationships, yet the melodies and hip-shaking style of
many of the tracks belies the sentiment behind them. Hence, listeners
may find themselves dancing along to songs that actually reflect on
sadness, bitterness and pain.
It’s an interesting paradox that only serves to make this wonderful
album all the more special and attention-grabbing.
by John Jobling, Mansized,
Wednesday November 1, 2006
Amy Winehouse has balls. If
you were in any doubt about the authenticity of this statement, please
turn your attention to her aptly titled debut album Frank, a no holds
barred break up album that – for all its vicious man hating and
humorous put downs – was a courageously honest depiction of a broken
heart struggling to mend.
Indeed, like all the best jazz and soul singers down the years,
Winehouse would sooner show you her scars than trophies won (Ivor
Novello, for those of you asking).
Hard to believe it’s been three years since that acclaimed album was
released but now she’s back with Back to Black, in which she hooks up
again with Frank producer Saleem Remi and also enlists the services of
the Big Apple’s current go to man Mark Ronson (Christina Aguilera,
Lily Allen and Robbie Williams).
They say:
Word: “Possibly the best British soul album since Soul II Soul ‘Club
Classics Vol.1.”
NME: “Contender for album of the year.” The Observer: “Winehouse could
release albums of knuckles cracking from here on in: her reputation is
already assured.”
We say:
In light of Winehouse’s recently panned performance on The Charlotte
Church Show, an alcohol fuelled catastrophe that resembled a car crash
you couldn’t look away from, it is fair to say her second album was
approached with some trepidation.
What a huge relief, then, to find Back to Black surpasses its
predecessor in every way, taking its jazzy soul roots and fusing them
with gorgeous ‘50s and ‘60s Motown girl group pop that conceal the
intensely articulated emotional turmoil inside.
As her latest actions suggest, she’s once again a troubled woman,
haunted by the betrayal of an ex lover and a self imposed ghost to the
new man in her life whose name is tattooed next to her heart.
“Memories mar my mind/Love is a fate resigned,” she confides on the
smoky ballad ‘Love is a Losing Game’, while on ‘He Can Only Hold Her’
she declares, “How can he have her heart?/When it got stole”,
accompanied by a cool urban rhythm and tasteful bursts of trumpet and
tenor saxophone.
Meanwhile, on ‘You Know I’m No Good’ she’s, err, man enough to admit
her own nefarious role in the demise of her previous relationship
(“Then you notice likkle carpet burn/My stomach drop and my guts
churn”).
Fortunately, she’s lost none of her razor sharp bite or humour. ‘Me &
Mr Jones’ displays both, reminiscing about the time her old flame
forgot to get tickets for a Nas gig. “What kind of fuckery is this?”
she protests, her dirty mouth sweetened somewhat by early Martha
Reeves and the Vandellas style doo wop harmonies. “I might let you
make it up to me/Who’s playing Saturday?”
Best of the bunch, though, is the title track, an extraordinary post
break up song brought to life through soul stirring violins and a
vocal performance that conjures up the tortured spirit of Billie
Holiday and, at times, the first lady of song Ella Fitzgerald.
And it is evidence, if need be, that Winehouse is – drunken television
appearances aside – one of Britain’s greatest female artists.
Like this? Try these:
Christina Aguilera – Back to Basics
Ella Fitzgerald – Essential Ella
Martha Reeves and the Vandellas – Dance Party
by John Murphy, musicOMH.com
Why, if you were of a cynical
bent, you'd swear it was a publicity stunt. Almost exactly three years
after her well received debut Frank, Amy Winehouse suddenly reappears
(with a certain other mouthy, press-friendly female singer from London
getting the kind of publicity that she could only have dreamed of).
Cue tabloid stories of record company worry at Winehouse's alleged
excessive alcohol habits, and paparazzi photos showing a dramatic
weight loss. Then along comes a single which begins; "they tried to
make me go to rehab, I said no, no no"...
If indeed the conveniently timed newspaper stories are a PR stunt,
it's a shame as Back To Black needs no such media manipulation. Partly
produced by man of the moment Mark Ronson (fresh from work with Lily
Allen and Robbie Williams), it's an amazingly confident second album
which shows Winehouse moving on leaps and bounds from Frank.
The main difference is the sound and feel of the album - whereas Frank
was all jazzy smoky ballads, Back To Black goes for a more commercial,
poppy, yet still retro sound. Rehab itself is a great example - horns
parp and blaze, strings classily swing and smoulder while Winehouse's
extraordinary voice purrs and growls about old Ray Charles records
being better for her than the Priory. It's Motown rewritten for the
21st Century, and it's quite brilliant.
The old school soul references keep up throughout the album. The title
track deftly steals its introduction from Jimmy Mack before spiraling
off into a much darker place while You Know I'm No Good has a classy
Philadelphia soul feel and some wonderful horn work. Ronson's
influence is unmistakable - it's a long time since a producer and
artiste felt this right together.
Yet this is still Winehouse's album all over. Her voice is still
incredible - every so often, you get a shiver down the spine as you
realise that she's still only 23 with the voice of a woman two or
three times her age - but her lyrics have matured now as well.
Apparently written while she was nursing a broken heart, the spectre
of failed relationships looms large, especially during the gently
skanking Just Friends or the aching Love Is A Losing Game.
She can still swear like a trouper too. Me And Mr Jones could almost
be an old soul hit from the late '50s until you hear Winehouse purring
the quite magnificent opening line of "what kind of fuckery is this?
You made me miss the Slick Rick gig". The exuberant Tears Dry Up On
Their Own is another highlight, marrying a glorious rush of a chorus
with Winehouse's husky vocals and an another smooth production job,
this time from co-producer Salaam Remi.
It's staggering to think that Winehouse was compared to the likes of
Katie Melua when she first appeared - it's certainly hard to imagine
Melua extolling the virtues of cannabis, let alone in quite the same
way as Winehouse does in the closing Addicted ("it's got me addicted,
does more than any dick did"), or indeed conjuring up an album with
half the passion, fire and good old-fashioned soul as Back To Black.
It's a superb comeback, and one of the best albums of the year.
by Andrew Banks, News.com.au,
January 3, 2007
IF you're like me and you
believe in love at first sound, you'll want to pick up a copy of Amy
Winehouse's new album Back To Black.
Back To Black is the second album from the London-based, bona fide
chanteuse (a term I never really respected until now) and she's got me
hooked.
The rollicking and bollocking intro track, Rehab, jars you awake as
your ears contend with a heady mix of 1960s pop instrumental and
Winehouse's modern, fiery turn of phrase.
The Shirley Bassey-eqsue vocals on You Know I'm No Good seem straight
out of an old Bond film, while shades of Randy Crawford filter through
on Love Is A Losing Game.
The title track Back To Black evokes the Phil Spector sound of classic
1960s girl groups like the Supremes and the Shangri-Las.
Winehouse's style won't be for everyone, but she looks like she
wouldn't care, with her boozy personna and the string of naked lady
tattoos adorning her tanned body.
The outspoken songstress has said she now drinks just to get drunk -
but insists she is not an alcoholic. Far from being a role model, the
23-year-old rips up the rule book on this album.
I missed her first album, Frank, which is said to be "a sparse and
stripped-down affair" in comparison. But, after hearing this album, it
will be high up on my most-wanted list for 2007.
You go, girl! (But don't hurt me)
"Ivor Novello award
winner, Mercury Music Prize and triple Brit nominee Amy Winehouse,
follows the release of her new single “Rehab” and recent sell-out
mini-UK tour, with the hugely anticipated release on October 30th of
her new album ”Back To Black”. On “Back To Black”, the follow-up to
her platinum debut “Frank” which established her as one of the most
exciting and challenging artists in pop music, Amy confirms, beyond
any reasonable or unreasonable doubt, what a truly remarkable talent
she is.
Additional Synopsis
Ivor Novello award winner, Mercury Music Prize and triple Brit nominee
Amy Winehouse returns with her hugely anticipated new album "Back To
Black".
Additional Album Notes
It doesn't take much listening to Amy Winehouse's 1960s pop period
piece to realize that this is a tribute with an edge--nice girls back
then didn't sing about boozing and rehab. Since her 2003 debut album,
FRANK, Winehouse has been a frequent presence on the gossip pages of
the U.K. tabloids, and her songwriting here candidly reflects her
experiences with drinking, sex, and drugs.
BACK TO BLACK's production is an artful blend of sophisticated '60s
R&B and 21st-century stylistic poaching, with "Tears Dry on Their Own"
incorporating elements of Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell's "Ain't No
Mountain High Enough," and Winehouse sounding like Billie Holiday
fronting a reggae band on the old-fashioned cheating song "Just
Friends." Densely packed with musical history and often conjuring a
dark, Portishead-esque atmosphere, BACK TO BLACK is a
sumptuous-sounding collection freighted with blunt confessionals of a
lush life.
by Joshua Klein, Pitchfork Media,
March 28, 2007
"They tried to make me go to
rehab," wails Amy Winehouse on the opening track and first single from
her second album Back to Black. It's not typical pop song fodder, but
Winehouse isn't a typical pop singer. If she winds up as popular in
the U.S. as she is at home in the UK, it'll be despite her reluctance
to embrace the monotonous realities of promotional mechanics. Oh,
she'll talk, but there's no guarantee what she'll say. (Our favorite
is her heckling of Bono at last year's Q Awards: "Shut up, I don't
give a fuck!") She'll be scheduled to perform, but there's no
guarantee what she'll do, or even if she'll make it through the show.
And she'll sing about her problems, but she won't give a shit what you
think of them.
If this makes Winehouse read a little like Lily Allen, that's not far
off the mark. Both are larger-than-life singers who've found perfect
vehicles for their outsized personalities. In Allen's case, it's a
cocktail of pop, reggae, and hip-hop, with a cigarette in hand; for
Winehouse, it's soul, jazz, and blues with a bottle of booze. Both pay
tribute to their influences, with Winehouse's lyrics featuring
shout-outs to Ray Charles, Donny Hathaway, and Slick Rick, and the two
even share a producer: Mark Ronson, who's also worked with everyone
from Sean Paul and Macy Gray to Ghostface and Rhymefest.
But Winehouse is anything but a Lily Allen doppelgänger. After all,
soul and jazz music are typically considered the province of grownups,
and while Winehouse could be accused of slipping on these styles like
costumes, she imbues her music with a surprisingly genuine
soulfulness.
Ronson's sneaky production provides most of the album's wit: The old
school backdrop to "Me & Mr. Jones" is especially winking against
couplets like "What kind of fuckery is this? You made me miss the
Slick Rick gig." But Winehouse's zingers (in that same song she tells
her subject "'side from Sammy you're my best black Jew") and profane
interjections (the title track begins "He left no time to regret/ Kept
his dick wet") are only an occasional thing as she travels a well-worn
lyrical path to both clinical and romantic rehabilitation.
Songs like "Love Is a Losing Game" are full of regret, even if
Winehouse refuses to wallow entirely in self-pity. However, as one
might expect following the declaration of "Rehab", Winehouse does
spend much of Back to Black on the defensive, trying to explain why
she's stayed with the same guy who's done her wrong, or, in the case
of "Wake Up Alone", why her ex gives her the night sweats ("I drip for
him tonight," Winehouse less delicately puts it).
It's one of the eternal themes of soul music, here spiced up with
post-modern production where less forceful personalities might have
gone with strictly retro emulation. The references to girl groups,
northern soul, and ska are there, but no one would confuse these
approximations (split evenly between Ronson and Salaam Remi, who
produced Winehouse's since-disowned debut) with the real thing.
Fortunately, Winehouse has been blessed by a brassy voice that can
transform even mundane sentiments into powerful statements. She may be
heartbroken, but she uses that ache, twisting the emotional scars to
suit her songs-- and if she often seems like the masochistic recipient
of each knife twist, so be it. It's not until the album's final track,
"He Can Only Hold Her", that Winehouse finally switches from first
person to third, the "I"s and "me"s giving way to "he"s and "she"s,
suggesting that she's finally become an objective observer, able to
see her personal issues for what they are. "He tries to pacify her,
'cause what's inside never dies," she sings, and we can only assume
from this new vantage that Winehouse has moved on.
by Christian John Wikane,
PopMatters.com
Any artist who begins and ends
her album with songs entitled “Rehab” and “Addicted” has a story to
tell. Indeed, Amy Winehouse has many stories to tell. “Rehab”, for
one, chronicles her refusal to enter rehab at the behest of her
management company; doing so would probably anesthetize the raw
feelings that make Back to Black such an addictive listen.
The follow-up to Winehouse’s acclaimed debut Frank (2003), Back to
Black is clearly influenced by the sensibilities of 1960s pop and
soul. With production by Salaam Remi (Joss Stone) and Mark Ronson
(Lily Allen), Winehouse’s tales come alive in a stirring mélange of
Muscle Shoals and Funk Brothers-driven Motown. Thematically, Winehouse
wanders through girl-group territory, making explicit the anguish of
heartache that the Supremes only ever hinted at; her blunt lyrics are
like a foreign language to that era. It’s at first jarring to hear
Winehouse twist the sweet sound of, say, a Mary Wells song on “Me and
Mr. Jones” with a voice soaked in gin and smoke: “What kind of fuckery
are we? / Nowadays you don’t mean dick to me”. But Winehouse is
sincere: this particular marriage of words and music mirrors the
bittersweet dichotomy that sometimes frames real relationships. Like
it or not, Amy Winehouse might just be singing about you.
While the album’s first singles, “Rehab” and “You Know I’m No Good”,
are essential listening, it’s the three songs at the album’s center
that make Back to Black an artistic success worth keeping on repeat.
The ebb and flow of longing one experiences in a break-up is the
tear-stained thread that connects “Love is a Losing Game”, “Tears Dry
On Their Own”, and “Wake Up Alone”. “Love is a Losing Game” is the
beginning of the end. It’s imbued with Winehouse’s resigned
realization that a relationship is destined to fizzle. For the first
time on the album, she forsakes her brave, don’t-fuck-with-me front
and faces the “futile odds” with a nuanced sensitivity. This kind of
approach saves Winehouse from being a one-note trouble (wo)man, while
the superb singles do quite the opposite.
“Tears Dry on Their Own” recasts the spirit of its instantly
recognizable source material, “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” (the
original Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell duet). Sampling a beloved soul
classic is usually a dangerous move, but when executed with strokes of
innovation, the results give sampling a good name. Here, the song is
an ode to Winehouse’s independence, even though her heart is broken.
In contrast to Marvin Gaye’s soaring vocal, Winehouse flips the melody
in the verses so that it descends rather than ascends:
I don’t understand
why do I stress the man?
when there are so many bigger things at hand
We could have never had it all
we had to hit a wall
so this in-ev-it-able withdrawal
The way she spits out the syllables of inevitable conveys a forced
admission that she might be better off without her man. She’s walking
away (i.e., independence) but looking over her shoulder (i.e.,
longing) too. Raise your hand if you can relate.
“Wake Up Alone” dissects the low of going through the day without
someone who was a constant presence. Winehouse keeps herself busy,
trying not to concern herself with loneliness. “I stay up, clean the
house / at least I’m not drinking / run around just so I don’t have to
/ think about thinking”. “Wake Up Alone” brings Winehouse “back to
black”, if you will. The darkness of ill-fated love consumes her.
Winehouse certainly has the blessing of many muses, since high-points
abound on Back to Black. Each song is like a three-minute vignette of
romantic angst: she revels in her own infidelity on the sizzling “You
Know I’m No Good” and warns a polyamorous lover about his ways on the
ska-inflected “Just Friends” ("The guilt will kill you if she don’t
first"). The riveting title track recalls the foreboding atmosphere of
the Shangri-La’s “Remember (Walking in the Sand)”, and “He Can Only
Hold Her” boasts some of Winehouse’s best singing on the album.
Only a few tracks preclude Back to Black from being uniformly
excellent. “Some Unholy War” seems to drag well beyond its 2:22
duration, while “Addicted” is a contrived effort to glamorize the
artist’s much-publicized wayward proclivities. Closing the album is
Hot Chip’s remix of “Rehab”. It’s completely unnecessary and I’m
hesitant to even consider it an “official” part of the album ... but
there it is.
No doubt Amy Winehouse already has another album’s worth of stories to
share. Hopefully, she’ll try on a few different styles before her
unique appropriation of ‘60s soul becomes rote, but the fact that Back
to Black is markedly different from Frank indicates a rabid desire to
grow with each release. For the time being, Back to Black finds a
fearless artist saying whatever she damn well pleases. And we best
listen up.
by Christian Hoard, Rolling Stone,
February 6, 2007
"Rehab," the must-hear song
that opens the second album from British soul singer Amy Winehouse, is
a Motown-style winner with a banging beat and a lovesick bad girl
testifying like Etta James about how she won't clean up her act. It's
followed by the excellently funky "You Know I'm No Good" and "Me & Mr.
Jones (Fuckery)," the latter of which begins, "What kind of fuckery is
this?/You made me miss the Slick Rick gig." Winehouse is a nervy,
witty songstress whom indie rockers, pop fans and hip-hoppers can dig.
On Black, she gets help from producers Salaam Remi and Mark Ronson,
who turn classic soul sounds into something big, bright and punchy.
The tunes don't always hold up. But the best ones are impossible to
dislike: Witness "Addicted," a wistful gem in which Winehouse chooses
weed over a lover.
by Dave de Sylvia,
Sputnikmusic.com
What are the chances of two
artists independently sampling the same relatively obscure ‘60s pop
song at almost exactly the same time? They gotta be short, right?
Still, it happens. In 2001, British electronic acts I Monster and The
Beta Band each recorded tracks with interpolations of ‘Daydream’ by
the Belgian hippy group The Wallace Connection within weeks of each
other. The vocalists used sounded eerily similar and, even stranger,
the bands each attempted the issue their tracks as singles within
weeks of each other. The melody itself was lifted from Tchaikovsky’s
Swan Lake suite and the sample had been introduced to Britain by
Portishead’s Geoff Barrow, and the I Monster track, entitled ‘Daydream
in Blue’ has since been itself sampled on Lupe Fiasco’s single ‘Daydreamin’.’
This, plus the likelihood that the two bands probably shopped in the
same record stores anyway, this one can be chalked up to little more
than coincidence.
But how do you explain this one? The suave and sleazy face of Chicago
soul John Legend and brash, inner-city Londoner Amy Winehouse each
sample an almost-forgotten Stax take-off and release the tracks within
a week of each other on opposing sides of the globe- that’s a little
less likely. The sample in question comes from The Icemen’s ‘(My Girl)
She’s a Fox,’ a throwaway ballad that’d be forgotten were it not for
an early session spot by a very young Jimi Hendrix and is only really
attainable on bargain-bin Hendrix compilations.
Legend’s will.i.am-produced ‘Slow Dance’ samples the guitar track and
vocal chant, another example of the producer’s impeccable ear for a
tune, while ‘He Can Only Hold Her’ from Winehouse’s Back To Black
crafts an entirely different tune with just the vocal track. Unlike
Legend’s track, for Ms. Winehouse the sample serves as mere
accompaniment, a sweet counterpoint to Britain’s latest tabloid diva’s
harsh, slurred vocal performance. As if further proof was needed, Amy
Winehouse is testament to the fact that almost every great female
rhythm & blues singer is either a tough, southern black woman or a
skinny white girl from London.
Amy’s recent resurgence may smack of a media campaign- the unresolved
addictions, punching fans, the punk in drublicness, her fluctuating
weight and rumours of bulimia make her the ideal target for the media
to alternately laud and vilify- but, whether fact or fiction, Back To
Black is more than capable of standing on its own feet (which is more
than can be said for its author.) Trading in the laid-back jazz of her
award-winning debut Frank for up-tempo urban soul and traces of
hip-hop, and leaving contemporaries Joss Stone and Katie Melua in the
dust, Winehouse teamed up with New York DJ Mark Ronson (Lily Allen,
Rhymefest) and Frank producer Salaam Remi (Nas, Ms. Dynamite).
In Ronson, she seems to have found a- excuse the pun- soul-mate. The
six Ronson-produced tracks are punchy and upbeat to match the blunt,
aggressive lyrics Winehouse composes in the vein of Lily Allen and Ms.
Dynamite, and the arrangements are nothing short of superb. There can
be few left on the right side of the Atlantic who haven’t heard the
massive single ‘Rehab,’ Amy’s wild assertion that she’d rather deny
her problems and listen to Ray Charles records than set her ship
straight, while follow-up single ‘You Know I’m No Good’ is a
delightfully self-depricating ballad that falls somewhere between A
Tribe Called Quest and Jeff Buckley with reference paid to the world’s
greatest beer (Stella!)
The title track is the most seamless of all the tracks, in that it
encapsulates all of the different influences fused on the album in one
four-minute burst. The harmonised backing vocals recall Spector’s
Ronettes, the multiple tempo changes bring to mind Stax and Muscle
Shoals, while the disconcerting piano-led pulse and simple but
affecting lyrics call to mind American and UK hip hop respectively, as
a broken-hearted Amy tells her former beau “you love blow and I love
puff,” and adds, “[he] kept his dick wet.” Charming.
Remi’s half, while not quite as perfect, comes close. Less
horn-stabbing takes place in deference to Nas-like ivory-tickling on
the hilarious ‘Me & Mr. Jones’ (named for Nasir himself) which opens
with the disarming question: “what kind of fuckery is this? You made
me miss the Slick Rick gig.” The aforementioned is a highlight, as is
the half-rapped tempo-shifting ‘Tears Dry on Their Own,’ while ‘Just
Friends’ is almost Beatles-esque with a hint of two-tone thrown in.
I’m always wary of proclaiming any album the “best of” anything,
especially when it concerns a genre I have little more than a passing
interest in, but Back To Black is by far the best popular soul album
I’ve heard this year, and a welcome addition to a collection which
houses a number of players punching dangerously below their weight in
John Legend, India.Arie and Anthony Hamilton. That she’s an actual
living, breathing character and she’s all over my tv and newspaper is
an added bonus at the moment- let’s hope she plays this one sensibly
and doesn’t end up on Big Brother like that ponce from Towers of
London.
by Bernard Zuel, Stuff.co.nz,
Tuesday February 20, 2007
All hail a new soul singer
with the courage not to be smooth and the wit not to be anonymous.
When Amy Winehouse arrived in 2003 with her aptly named debut album,
Frank, she brought a sharp mind and a dirty mouth to the new British
jazz-pop scene that she was sharing with Jamie Cullum, Katie Melua et
al.
One track was called F**k Me Pumps, which may explain why she didn't
get on Parkinson.
On album No. 2, Winehouse has skipped the chance to be the soundtrack
for another Ikea household, preferring to get into something sweatier,
something closer to the mouthy, sassy world of Chess and Stax artists
such as Etta James: horns and choppy guitar, stride rhythms and amped-up
swing, Spector-ish backing vocals and husky leads.
Except, of course, with a very modern (read occasionally blue and
always direct) turn of phrase.
Whether exploring her own infidelities (exposed by a bit of carpet
burn), another weak man to be quickly forgotten or her stubbornness
("they tried to make me go to rehab, I said no no no"), she sounds
fresh and exciting.
by John Lewis, Time Out London,
Monday October 23, 2006
Winehouse’s Mercury-shortlisted
debut ‘Frank’ was a slick little mix of soul, jazz and dancehall, a
fine calling card for her full-throated gospel squawk (‘I wanna sound
like a big, fat, old black lady’ she told Time Out at the time). But
her obsession with R&B authenticity also led her into rather dreary
smooth jazz clichés which did little to hook in the punters.
Her second album explores a much more disciplined vintage of soul.
Stax-y horns rasp out over echoey Motown backbeats; dramatic Phil
Spector timpani thunder out in unison with chiming tubular bells;
neurotic, tremolo-laden guitars mesh with John Barry strings. It’s
brilliantly executed by producers Salaam Remi and Mark Ronson,
recalling the look-you’re-in-the-studio retro soul pastiches of labels
like Desco and Daptone. But, crucially, Amy’s lyrics (like the lead
single ‘Rehab’, with its splendid assault on therapy culture) retain
the contemporary man-baiting obscenities of ‘Frank’. ‘Tell your
boyfriend/Next time he’s around/to buy his own weed/and don’t wear my
shit down’ she wails on ‘Addicted’, while ‘Me And Mr Jones’ starts
with the priceless line ‘What kind of fuckery is this?’. Not something
that you could imagine, say, Diana Ross ever belting out.
by Jennifer Nine, DOT Music,
Friday November 3, 2006
Her debut was called "Frank"
and it was. So it's anyone's guess why Amy Winehouse's souled-out,
Motown-drenched follow-up isn't called "Frankly Foul-Mouthed".
Obviously, brilliant records - and frankly, you couldn't call "Back To
Black" anything else - aren't built on rudeness alone, whatever Serge
Gainsbourg and 2 Live Crew might have hoped.
Although you have to admit there is an awful lot of it about on this
album: tongue-lashings to dope-cadgers; brusque rebuffs of therapy for
the problem drinker; gratuitous use of the word "f*ckery" in an
otherwise polite song title. And recurrent references to male members
- ie men's determination to employ them in the widest possible number
of locations; their lack of appeal compared to Class A substances etc.
All of which means queen-sized attitude in a world full of eager
lickle girls with more stilettos than spine. But there's more to Amy
than that: you could strip every naughty word out of "Back To Black"
and it'd still sweat hot, sticky, black eye-linered bad-girl charisma.
Especially since vocally, her early promise has matured into a rich
bouquet of Aretha Franklin, Ronnnie Spector and Eartha Kitt;
alternately purringly seductive, commandingly tough, and teasing
delicate nuance from "Some Unholy War".
What's more, there isn't a second's worth of music here that doesn't
come mink-swathed in note-perfect retro sound, or a song that isn't
worthy of it. The smoochy, sharp-suited ska of "Just Friends"; the
stardust doo-wop of "Me & Mr Jones"; the soaring Laura Nyro-esque soul
of "Tears Dry On Their Own"; the sassy, brassy gospel of "Rehab" are
all pure class. And, crystallising "Back To Black"'s girl-group
obsession, a goose-pimplingly thrilling title track that bursts,
larger than life, from Phil Spector's melodrama-dripping Wall of Sound
and Ellie Greenwich's heartbreak couplets.
On any other record, it'd be the standout: here, it's trumped by the
Carla Thomas-esque "You Know I'm No Good". Underneath the sly Memphis
skank and the well-turned cheating-heart conventions, beyond the
neatly chosen detail of telltale carpet burns, you're left with a
picture of Winehouse poking a sharp, unflinching, fascinated
fingernail into her own self-disgust until it draws blood.
That fearless knack, along with the ability to get into the very soul
of much-aped but rarely matched pop genres, hasn't been done this well
since Elvis Costello was in his savage prime. And frankly, when you
factor in the knock-em-dead voice and the killer eyeliner, Elvis is
nowhere f*cking close.
Rehab
