Ahead of the Curve: A Deep Dive into Amy Winehouse’s Back to Black

Where were you the first time you heard Amy Winehouse? I very distinctly remember my boss pulling me aside one afternoon and saying “listen to this.” “This” was “Rehab,” the cheeky opening track of Amy’s second album. Back to Black was still a few months away from a U.S. release, but was already being widely heralded in the UK. Amy’s voice, the lyrics, the music: it was soulful, it was passionate, it was irreverent, it looked backward and forward at the same time. I was sold within minutes and wanted to hear more immediately. I ended up walking to the Virgin Megastore just a few blocks away from my office, buying an import copy of Back to Black that same night, and recommending it to all my music-loving friends just a short while before Americans caught the wave and turned it into a Platinum-selling Grammy-winning sensation. It feels good to be (ever so slightly) ahead of the curve.

We live in messy times, to say the least. Despite being nearly two decades old, Back To Black -filled with stories of heartbreak, busted (or just complicated) relationships and war-related tumult-would fit perfectly in this era, lyrically. Of course, there’s also the fact that, musically speaking, the pop charts have been filled with Amy’s spiritual descendants, from Olivia Dean to Adele to Raye. Which isn’t to say that Amy didn’t also have spiritual predecessors–the metaphorical fingerprints of Dusty Springfield, Annie Lennox and even George Michael (to say nothing of The Ronettes and The Shirelles) cover this album like Cheeto dust. A lot of the past, a little bit of the future.

The music (much of it provided by Brooklyn’s own funk band The Dap Kings) cooks, steeped in soul and jazz. The production (by DJ-turned-producer Mark Ronson and hip-hop legend Salaam Remi) is note-perfect. The lyrics and vocals (all Amy) take Back to Black into legendary territory. While the overarching theme is love, the mood of the album swings from longing (“He Can Only Hold Her”) to resignation (the dramatic title track), from righteous indignation (“Me & Mr. Jones” not only has one of the greatest opening lines in music history–the immortal “what kind of fuckery is this?”-but also serves as a love letter to rap legends-and now labelmates- Nas & Slick Rick). There’s also the sassy “You Know I’m No Good” and the heartbroken ballad “Love Is A Losing Game,” a song so perfect it was covered by no less an icon than Prince Rogers Nelson.

I love Back to Black dearly, all these years later it has yet to feel old or stale. But my appreciation of this piece of music is tempered by the fact that Amy-despite the clear genius exhibited over the course of this record, or maybe because of it- didn’t record a follow-up. As you all know, the demons that she turned into musical perfection ended up getting the best of her, and the next few years were a non-stop descent into illness and addiction that ultimately led to her death at the ridiculously young age of 27. It’s sad and tragic and to an extent, this album inadvertently telegraphed much of what was to follow. I’m grateful that Back to Black exists–it’s a tentpole album of the 21st century, in my opinion. I just wish that the person that made it hadn’t burned so bright so quickly.