With each passing year, when the anniversary of Amy Winehouse’s death or her birthday comes along, as is the case today, September 14th, it grows into more and more of a challenge to listen to particular portions of her oeuvre. One that is actually rather robust, when considering how little time she had on this Earth (and especially if one includes all the cover songs). Among the major hits from her canon is, of course, “Rehab.” It was the very single that launched her to international fame. Something that would be both her salvation and her kiss of death. More so the latter, as we’ve been made painfully aware.
The song, written in direct response to her label suggesting she get treatment for her addiction, was an anthem of defiance, rebellion and flouting “the rules.” Especially for women, constantly told to be “good little girls” and obey the patriarchy. An ironic fact when taking into account that it was precisely because Amy’s own daddy said, “No, no, no” to her going that she figured she didn’t need to.
With Papa’s sanction (“if my daddy thinks I’m fine…”), Winehouse took it as plenty of justification to keep continuing on just as she was. That is to say, drinking like a fish and, eventually, drugging like a crackhead. Because, yes, crack would be on the menu by 2008, when images and video of Amy smoking it materialized in The Sun and other assorted UK rags. And let’s not forget heroin being a menu item either, introduced by her “true love” (more of a true asshole), Blake Fielder-Civil.
Before this all happened, “Rehab,” in its time and at Winehouse’s peak before becoming solely tabloid fodder, provided a transference of independence and boldness in listening to it. One that made the listener feel okay herself about being a bit of a lush. It was, in short, the only defense a girl really needed to keep binge drinking the night away. And the next night and the next night, and the one after that. Winehouse was an inspiration to those types of alcoholics who were looking for someone slightly more “together” than Courtney Love and slightly more “adult” than Drew Barrymore. But soon, Winehouse would be neither together, nor all that adult as her addiction overtook her like a tsunami.
Subsequently, hearing that contrarian chorus—“They tried to make me go to rehab/I said no, no, no!”—is gut-wrenching rather than empowering. For it makes one truly wonder if Winehouse might still be alive today if she had just sought help. If the people closest to her were more adamant that she did, and took it seriously. Most especially her father, who, at times, seems to give Jamie Spears a run for his (daughter’s) money on being a pretty terrible dad. For both fathers, it was more about the “celebrity” of his daughter rather than her health and well-being that was most important.
Winehouse would have been thirty-eight today, and it leaves her fans to ruminate on whether the “troubled star” of the present might have made it to a more zen place (you know, à la 00s British counterpart Lily Allen) over the course of the past decade. If a song like “Rehab” would make her laugh and roll her eyes at how she used to be, or if she might have changed musical styles altogether, adopting instead “sweet nothing” lyrics like her idol, Tony Bennett.
Obviously, we’ll never know, but we can be certain that “Rehab” would not be such a tragic song had she remained alive. One that proves alcoholism isn’t “chic” or “rock and roll,” so much as the weak person’s best line of defense for checking out emotionally. After all, sobriety is not for the faint of heart. And Winehouse, although a Virgo with an accordingly strong work ethic and devotion to achieving her goals, proved to possess that faintness. Maybe it was her moon in Capricorn and Gemini rising elements made her too moody to deal with life sans substances. Or maybe it was the incorporation of her eating disorder that eventually rendered her unable to sustain the tolerance level she had once been capable of before decimating her insides via bulimia.
In the end, we know she couldn’t deliver on the promise, “Yes I’ve been black, but when I come back/You’ll know, know, know.” Instead, she surrendered fully to the blackness of a permanent blackout called Death, never to return to us again and assure that we could all go on living as damaged, yet devil-may-care alcoholics, too.
