Amy Winehouse reviewed
Amy Winehouse
Back To Black
(Universal Republic)
Bratty, husky-voiced U.K. sensation Amy Winehouse wraps her foul-mouthed public persona in the cheeky guise of ’60s girl-group pop for her sophomore album.
Winehouse’s whole ploy for getting people to like her is by being unlikable. Where the Spice Girls espoused “girl power” in modern pop songs, creating a wholesome image and steering clear of bad publicity, Winehouse prides herself on being a tabloid magnet and being the only member of the Paris Hilton generation who can actually sing, first over jazz chords now as a Tin Pan Alley neophyte.
At first, Back To Black comes off as a marketing ploy with expensive drapes. Winehouse admits she didn’t want to replicate *Frank*’s intricate chord changes and thought she’d try her hand at the girl-group medium. That’s reason enough for purists to scoff at her credibility, and the ’50s-sound-with-a-hip-hop-beat style of “Back To Rehab” and “You Know I’m No Good” seem to encourage as much. The production values — heavy reverb, tinny, Victrola-esque EQ — have been run aground by everyone from DJ Cam to Camera Obscura to Christina Aguilera.
But goddamn that voice. Even though what she’s singing about is mostly stupid and forgettable (“Love Is A Losing Game” deserves an award), Winehouse has such control of her voice — Etta James is the most frequent comparison — the fussing and nitpicking seem to wash away. “Me & Mr. Jones” is a worthy sass-back to Billy Paul’s ’60s hit involving Mr. Jones’ missus, and “Some Holy War” comes in where Lauryn Hill’s “Everything Is Everything” left off. “Rehab” almost suffers from her masculinity; on paper it would seem the perfect vehicle for the squeaky limitations of Hilton or Britney Spears. Yet like everything else on Back To Black, Winehouse owns it, smoky, acidic, and sweet like a good brandy. (And brandy, of course, is made from wine.)
— Steve Forstneger
