And make little Amy babies with her.
Yeah so Amy’s the new woman in my life. And she has a hold on me, in a way that I just cannot ignore. She makes me want to rush through the day just so I can get back home and we can spend some time together. Amy and I. With some wine thrown in for good measure.
I can’t say this is is a first, new love. It’s a bit like an old-new love. An old, rushed, young love, rediscovered. Only this time, I’m patient and calm, letting it fill me with joy. In a way that soothes me, easing me into from one track to another. Seriously though, when was the last time that happened? I couldn’t help agreeing with Manesh the other day, when I said I can’t remember the last time I sat and listened to an entire album right from start to finish. Nothing has held my attention, or compelled me to do so in aeons now. But Frank has this effortless flow that just sweeps over you and takes you through the entire album from end-to-end.
Two weeks ago I fished out this forgotten album that I had just put away, dismissed without really delving deeper into. Because really, when it comes to Any Winehouse, how many of us go beyond the crazy, erratic behaviour, the drug trouble and of course, rehab. But when Shashank told me about his shiny new LP, I knew I had to rescue this one from the depths of my hard disk (I’m quite the pirate, like that).
That was pretty much the beginning and the end of it all. Because it has been on loop ever since. At home, on my phone, and at work too.
And I can’t help but recollect again how underrated she is. Her warm, dusky vocals shake you up and make you sit up and take notice. Listening to Frank was and still is an instant journey to a Taverna from the 60’s. Where the air hangs thick. With dim yellow lights that deck the place, in an unflattering way. Where somewhere in a corner, under a spotlight, the local diva sings seductively. And men in tuxedos listen intently, sipping on cheap bourbon and wine.
Yeah, its that kind of dreamy album. Unapologetic, in-your-face, and just plain beautiful. Amy’s raw vocals can sweep even the most music-agnostic person off his feet. And that, is saying something. I’ve heard her second album, but it pales in comparison to Frank. Frank is bold and beautiful, in a way that gets beneath your skin and lingers on for years to come. Once you give it a listen, you’ll find it hard to shake off the ghostly melodies and that rich tone in Amy’s awesomeness. Her voice isn’t just a voice. It drips with personality. And that is what makes her so utterly unforgettable.
So give it a shot. In a dimly lit room. With a some wine thrown in for good measure. Approximately 92 hours of Frank-on-loop later, you might have that dreamy feeling, tinged with just the slightest regret, like I did.
Amy was gone too soon.