A Vulnerable Goddess

Adriana Carcu

She steps onto the stage and you never know what is going to happen next. Is she going to hurt herself with the mike because she can’t remember the words, is she going to stumble on her high heels making you hold your breath, or is she going to look around touching the red ribbon in her amazing hair pile, say thank you, turn and leave again. She makes you want to protect her saying, “girl, eat a bit more”; she makes you want to stand up and support her or just turn your head and close your eyes because you can’t see her so fragile, so firm in the resoluteness of self destruction.

And then she starts singing. Her voice pouring out like a force of nature, a voice like a steel blade in a velvet sheath, breaking the barriers of any musical convention, touches you in a most intimate way, reaches into the secret folds of your yearnings and expands your perception. At the beginning you can’t believe that this deep voice so rich in nuance and modulation, so tender and so edgy, is coming from the small figure in the middle of the stage. And then at some point you start understanding her, you perceive the ardor put into every living moment, the hunger of “now”, the despair of the dreamer, the rage of the rebel, the sadness of the falling angel.

Amy Winehouse does to you what every true artist ever did: she sets you in fear and awe, she makes you worry and makes you dream; she scandalizes and consoles you. She frees your spirit.

Don’t miss her; you don’t know how long she’s going to stay.