The authenticity trap
The 27-year-old's addictions took her life, but gave her credibility music fans crave
Topics: Music, Celebrity, Amy Winehouse, Entertainment News
FILE - In this Feb. 16, 2007 file photo, British singer Amy Winehouse poses for photographs after being interviewed by The Associated Press at a studio in north London, Friday, Feb. 16, 2007. British police say singer Amy Winehouse has been found dead at her home in London on Saturday, July 23, 2011. The singer was 27 years old. (AP Photo/Matt Dunham, File)(Credit: AP)Amy Winehouse’s darkest days were well-documented, and the tone of the coverage — you could practically hear the cackling — was often troublingly flip. Such, of course, is tabloid culture; we are all jackals now.
The rate at which the public gobbled up glib Winehouse headlines (Amy Winehouse Performs Drunk and Falls On Stage! Drunk Amy Winehouse Gives Worst Performance In History!) was in line with both the extraordinary number of records she sold and the precise content of those records. “I cheated myself, like I knew I would / I told you I was trouble, you know that I’m no good,” Winehouse sang, salty and teasing, outing herself — gallantly, even — as a devotee of excess. “They tried to make me go to rehab, I said ‘No, no, no,’” she proudly insisted. Her voice was tough, unapologetic.
Offstage, we watched her stumbling around London in a bedraggled beehive and a pair of dirty ballet flats, buying bags of potato chips, her tiny shorts barely supported by her toothpick-thin frame, bloodied and hollering at reporters. It was impossible not to draw easy parallels between Winehouse’s art and her apparently tumultuous life. And while her fans ostensibly blanched at her mistakes, there’s little question that we also let it validate her work: Hey, she means it. She really means it.
It’s a refrain that’s followed the too-soon deaths of a slew of other singers, most notably Kurt Cobain, who, also at 27, pressed a shotgun to his face and fired, lending an eerie air of prescience to Nirvana’s anxious discography. It you didn’t believe him before, you believed him now.
Critics continue to insist that authenticity, as it applies to art (and especially performance), is a sucker’s bet — it’s a hollow construct, an impossible ideal, a dangerous, nonsensical presumption. Everything is authentic; nothing is authentic. Besides, what matters — at least theoretically — isn’t the authenticity of the rendering, it’s the authenticity of the response. If a late-era Britney Spears track makes a listener sob (or dance like crazy), it’s irrelevant whether or not Spears was cogent, or “meant it,” or even participated in its creation. The song is the thing.
Amanda Petrusich is the author of "It Still Moves: Lost Songs, Lost Highways, and the Search for the Next American Music." More Amanda Petrusich.



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