Like Elliott Smith, another artist whose insight into pain elevated the art while burying the maker, Winehouse grew ever more erratic and finally made a last worst mistake. She seemed locked in a battle with the media - her observers both fretted over her and demonized her, and she responded with self-damaging defiance. Winehouse's unbalanced lifestyle, which sometimes seemed like her idea of an antidote to today's robotic professionalism, became a hindrance, both personally and professionally. What followed this early promise was one of the saddest downward spirals in recent music history. But her insistence on exposing herself within the drama she had constructed - and her gift for convincing us that, in music's realm at least, it was all real - made Back to Black one of the great albums of the new century. Her ragged alto could also feel ugly in the ears. With her performances, which were not just confessional but determinedly hyper emotive, Winehouse risked a full embrace of classic rhythm and blues. The chances she took in its heart-wrenching songs made Back to Black stand apart. The Amy Winehouse I met is the one we hear on Back to Black, the album that made her reputation, won her five Grammys and which is now her towering legacy.
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