Did Amy Winehouse make side bitch music?
Don't jump me
Okay, you read the title. I know what it sounds like, but let me explain. This isn’t what you might be thinking; it’s not a hate piece—it’s just a thought, a question.
Amy Winehouse started off “Frank,” her best album (argue with G-d), with scatting. Yes, scatting. That’s someone who doesn’t care about what anyone else may think. To begin an album with scatting, as if you were a 56-year-old jazz musician with a bad smoking habit and a biracial child you’re not in touch with, is fucking ballsy. Especially for a 19-year-old English woman in 2003.
Remember, this was before the photo of Adele in Bantu knots and a Jamaican flag bikini top surfaced. Before the rest of the Western world realized that the UK was as much The Wailers as it was The Beatles. The UK served as a vibrant musical melting pot, giving rise to talents like Lily Allen and Joss Stone—artists equally immersed in reggae, gospel, jazz, and punk. Think back to when today’s globally recognized English R&B sensations, like Jorja Smith or Mahalia, were in middle school (or, shall I say, primary skewl🇬🇧). This era was the era of Amy Winehouse.
Amy Winehouse holds a special place among my favorite musicians. My love of music has led to quite a lengthy list of favorites, yet she resides not only within the top 100 but so tantalizingly close to the pinnacle. Allow me to reiterate: This piece, this quasi-essay, harbors no animosity toward Amy Winehouse. This piece explores decentering nonsense, or rather, centering oneself.
Let’s travel back to the early 2000s and meet young Janiel. She spends her summers being “babysat” by her older cousins: Darnell, Danessa, Daniella, and Daressa, or as she playfully referred to them, dun dun dunnnnnnn. Like most older cousins, they don’t have time for babysitting, so Janiel is pretty much vibing in a somewhat blissful state of autonomy. Watching the homies come through to visit Darnell, the Patron shots get tossed back, the tattoos get given and carefully hidden away from Aunty, the Chinese food gets dropped off, and some other shit. Those summers weren’t as hot as the ones we have today, so the sun and a nice breeze would filter through the windows of the family home in the back streets of East New York, Brooklyn. This interplay of light and air added depth to a scene that seemed almost frozen in time.
At the heart of this frozen scene was Janiel, comfortably laid out on the couch that doubled as her makeshift bed, clad in pjs watching Music Choice, iykyk.
Okay, I’m done referring to myself in 3rd person now. Music Choice is that girl; it played an indispensable role in shaping my musical journey. Introducing me to one banger after the next, each intimately entwined with specific junctures of my life. Like Dani getting ready with her girls for her birthday, blasting “Birthday Sex” by Jeremih every time it came on, or practicing the “Let Me Hold You” dance with my cousin Rose whenever we saw Bow Wow on those steps with those beads.
But there’s one memory, one song where I can’t tell you shit about what was happening around me because I was just so focused on the video each time it played — Rehab by Amy Winehouse. I remember thinking she looked like a gorgeous-ass glazed donut. Just glowing. Glowing and dewy, and all the colors in the video were so vivid, her bandmates seemed so involved yet not at all. It wasn’t full of video vixens like a Pussycat Dolls video, didn’t have the Tyler Perry-esque plot line of a Keyshia Cole video, and it was devoid of the offbeat indie flick synchronization you’d get from an OK Go music video. It was just Amy on a couch bed.
And just like that, she had a fan in me. I became enamored, especially after finding out she was a fellow Virgo ♍️. I watched the interviews and the performances and read the articles. But eventually, life got busy with becoming a high schooler, and all the metaphorical shit that came with it hit the fan. Amy never left my listening library, but way more people were added.
I rediscovered her in late 2020; she was almost all I listened to in 2021. My comfort album was Frank. That much was reflected in my Spotify Wrapped. It was funny listening now as a twenty-something-year-old rather than a 12-year-old with enough money and experience to go to the store, get a snack and come back. This time was different: I was actively trying and failing at love. All while being a hopeless romantic with bad habits and a lust for the wrong women. I felt seen by the gentle shaming of “Amy, Amy, Amy” that only a Virgo could deliver, affirmed by the longing in her vocals on “Know You Now” and a slightly jealous admiration of the love you can tell she imagined when she sang her rendition of “(There Is) No Greater Love.”
Frank shows Amy, in all her forms, a bundle of contradictions laid bare. Her walls may have been up high, but her voice emerges from the other side—crooning, aching for someone to heed her siren call and challenge as much as provide solace. Back to Black was no different. Considered her magnum opus, It screams, ‘Take me as I am or not at all.’ Regardless of the divergences and parallels between these two records, one underlying truth remains—Amy had this tremendous desire to be loved. Once quoted saying, “Relationships with people .. is what you get the most happiness in life from.” But love’s tricky - it requires willing participants with an interest and capacity to learn the art of affection. And to top it off, I heard it only really hits when you learn to love yourself.
For those familiar with my previous posts, this year has seen me prioritize and focus on myself. Strengthening self-discipline, commitment, and setting boundaries has laid the groundwork for my future. In this process, I’ve had to say “no” to numerous things, see experiences for what they are, detach from one-sided situations, and manage expectations. It’s been a journey - it still is. I’m iight tho, you know, one step at a time on some Jordin Sparks shit.
A couple months ago, I was playing music and cleaning my place, and Amy came on shuffle. I found myself singing along, and then it hit me—FUCK did Amy Winehouse make side bitch music? It was a question that stayed with me for a couple of weeks. I talked to my homies about it, and ultimately, we all stared at one another like, hmm, I guess, kinda lol. Again no shade, no shade. Love Amy down. But did Amy love Amy down? G-d, this almost feels blasphemous.
Urban Dictionary has a couple of wild definitions listed for the phrase “side bitch”, as well as a mug with the phrase and varying definitions for sale in 7 colors. Do I think any of the descriptions suit Amy? No. Also, I’m not going front when this question first crossed my mind; I was shall we say, in an altered state (🍃😌🍃). I don't believe that phrase accurately captures my sentiment; it simply proved to be the most accessible label at the time. I've kept it as the title solely because it served as a catalyst for this discussion.
To me, that phrase signified someone who, for one reason or another, hasn't embraced the role of the “main bitch” in their own life. Which to some may sound silly because why wouldn’t you prioritize yourself. But it’s easier said than done. The idea of being the 'main bitch' might seem straightforward, yet it's often riddled with complexities that extend beyond mere words. It's a journey of self-empowerment that's hindered by a variety of factors, from personal circumstances to the perceptions we hold of ourselves. Recognizing the worthiness of our desires, dreams, and well-being may be the last thing we’re thinking about. There’s no surprise that it can be a struggle for even the biggest of stars, so let’s instead take pride in the process, an acknowledgment of trying.
Maybe Amy did make a couple tracks for the girlies. The solid but lowkey insecure overthinkers, the anxiety-riddled lover looking for their match, and yes, maybe even the “side bitches.” Representation matters, right? Amy Winehouse’s music displayed an undeniable vulnerability. She bore her soul, albeit with a tinge of self-critique. It’s as if she was her own side bitch, caught in a paradoxical dance of yearning for love yet battling her demons. Her music resonates with those who’ve experienced the intricacies of affection, its joys, and its pains. We may all experience it at some point in this process of self-discovery and reclamation.
Actually, this reminds me of when Sza dropped SOS, and all the girls in “healthy relationships’ “couldn’t relate to her anymore” because “her songs are toxic” and words are spells.
LET HER COOK — it could help someone.
Amy once said, ‘I write songs about stuff that I can’t really get past personally - and then I write a song about it, and I feel better.’ Music was her medium, a catharsis. Her songs helped pave the way for pop musicians to stray from the strict prepackaged “artist persona” and embrace their rawness. Her stories of love, loss, and shitty men resonated with men and women alike and helped listeners get past their own shit, changing the course of their story.
Unfortunately, Amy wasn’t able to finish her story. After years of personal struggles with addiction and bulimia, she passed at 27 from what the coroner labeled death by misadventure. Putting an end to the audible tug of war between her head and heart.
Amy’s family has since created the Amy Winehouse Foundation in her memory, helping “thousands of young people to feel supported and informed, so that they are better able to manage their emotional well-being and make informed choices around things that can affect their lives,” as noted per their website, where you can donate. To anyone dealing with mental health or addiction, I implore that you reach out to family and trusted friends or to the U.S. Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration National Helpline, 1-800-662-HELP (4357)
As for me, I still love Amy. The relationship with the music is just different now. Actually, I had an almost full-circle moment a while back. See, when I found Amy, I also found her trusted producers, Mark Ronson and Salaam Remi (you know, crate digging). I listened to everything they produced. Like when Salaam produced “In My Bed” for Amy and then sampled it to produce “Made You Look” for Nas, one beat bodied by two Virgos. Or when Mark dropped “Stop Me” ft. Daniel Merriweather.
I saw Mark perform at a work conference a couple years ago. He told a story about Amy, and I thought maybe one day I’ll tell him how I found her. Flash forward a couple years to 2021, and I’m working on his podcast with the Fader magazine, listening to him regale cool-ass stories any music head would nerd out about with the guest artists, sometimes dropping in little references to Amy. I didn’t get to talk to him, lol, it was all work, but it’s chill. Maybe one day. Regardless, it’s funny how life works, and I wonder what that kid on the couch would think.
-
J
“did amy love amy down” damn.