Amy Winehouse

Back to Black

Island Records

By Einstein

One can argue that The Brits often make “American music” better than Americans. I’m one who will. And I’m America. What did a famous someone once say, “A bad poet steals. A good poet borrows and enhances.”

Amy Winehouse, the soul-slinging she-devil from London, has delivered her booze-soaked sophomore effort with frightening results. Nods to The Shangri-Las, The Supremes, and The Ronettes, Winehouse sounds twice her tender age of 23.

The title cut swings in the sixties, as Winehouse croons over a lost love, “You go back to her and I go back to black.” Wake Up Alone’s” 6/8 feel, watery guitars, and supreme backups, flanks Winehouse’s, “Pull myself up again, spinning, and I wake up alone.” The gospel fist of “Rehab” is making its way around the world, outside of churches of course, as the chanteuse protests, “They tried to make me go to rehab, I said, ‘No, no, no.’” On “Me and Mr. Jones,” Winehouse asks, "What kind of fuckery is this? You made me miss the Slick Rick gig.”

The Spectoresque production, provided by the fabulous Mark Ronson and Salaam Remi, complete with drenched reverb, bells, key changes, booming drums, stabbing horns, claps, strings, and Castanets, paints a perfect backdrop to a smoky night filled with clubs, flings, and other evil workings.

With a voice out to kill, Amy Winehouse is one of the best UK exports in the last ten years. Let the soundtrack to a dark period of your life begin, and get Back to Black. The only disappointment will be the next day hangover.

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