Amy Winehouse fused the past with the present to make music for the future. Her own future was compromised by a series of escalating challenges that coincided with the worldwide success of her sophomore album, Back to Black. She accepted a Grammy Award while her beloved Camden burned. Her violent antics inside and outside the pub were pure paparazzi fodder. And just as she reached the upper echelon of British society, new revelations threatened to tear her down. These stories and more on the Season 4 premiere of the 27 Club.
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Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:00):
The twenty seven Club is a production of I Heart
Radio and Double Elvis. Amy Winehouse died at the age
of and she lived a life unlike any other. I
can give you twenty seven reasons why that statement is true.
Two would be the run time in minutes of eleaked
(00:20):
video with footage so damning it led to a stint
in the very place Amy swore she would never go.
Five more would be the number of Grammy Awards she
won while her beloved Holly Arms pub in Northwest London's
Camden Town burned. Another seven would be the number of
hours she spent out on the town in April two eight,
(00:43):
a night made infamous by the violent attack she committed
on two unsuspecting men. Ten more would be the number
in millions of pounds that she was estimated to be
worth in two thousand and eight when she made Britain's
Rich list for the first time, and will be the
number of years she had left to live when her
(01:03):
own father called for her to be committed to a
mental institution. All totally on this our premier episode of
season four Leaked videos, London's burning, violent attacks and Amy
Winehouse um Jake Brennan in this is the seven clock.
(02:00):
M h Amy Winehouse was in rehab, the very place
she swore she'd never go, the place she sang about
in that song, the song, the song that put her
on the map, leveled her up. She was that song
(02:21):
and that song was her defined who she was on stage,
on record, in the press, behind closed doors. There was
no artistic license involved in that one. It was a
raw declaration of a personal constitution, and that declaration was this.
She was defiant, she was brazen, She was funny as fuck.
(02:43):
Did she suffer fools? Did she take orders from anyone?
Did she want to go to rehab? No, no, and no.
But look at her now fucking rehab, even though she'd
been forced to go. She felt like she had betrayed
her own image and therefore betrayed the people who helped
that song go to number seven in the UK at
(03:05):
number nine in the US. What a hypocrite. But as
she looked around the walls of Capio Nightingale, a private
drug addiction clinic on Harley Street in London, a hypocrite
wasn't the only thing she was feeling like. She felt
like a member of the undead. The taste of the
water was bland, and the smell of the air was odorless.
(03:28):
Blues were no longer blue, at least not as blue
as the blue she thought she'd known. Reds were washed
out into a dull pink. She missed the stomach churning
feeling of being in love and out of love, and
back and love again. She wasn't happy, but she wasn't sad.
If she was at her lowest, she couldn't even feel it.
This must be what being undead feels like. She feared
(03:51):
she would never feel a thrill again, the thrill of
a high. The highs that Amy Winehouse was used to
feeling where real high. Unfortunately, those real highs were what
landed her in this zombie prison in the first place.
It was January two eight, What a way to spend
(04:12):
the new year. The Sun that London rag Amy blamed them.
They hosted a video on their website just days before,
the one that by now had bounced from one corner
of the Internet to another around the world, and a
click the thing had gone viral. It was viewed by millions.
The Sun claimed that the clip had been edited down
(04:34):
from nineteen minutes to two minutes, but two minutes was
plenty of time to do serious damage. In the clip,
Amy walks around her London home in a dark tank top.
She admits to taking six value. She goes to her
bedroom where she lights a glass pipe and takes a hit,
and then another. And the Sun said it was crack cocaine.
(04:57):
A few hits and the privacy of her own home
was the big deal. If only they knew the lengths
to which she would go to chase that feeling, the
depths to which she would go to forget that she
was famous. The public said that whoever had sent the
video to the Sun was doing Amy a favor. Her
own mother even told the Daily Mail how happy she
(05:18):
was that her daughter was getting help. Her parents told
the press everything. Some days Amy felt like she was
the press. She was all that London in the UK
talked about. America was starting to talk to, considering that
she had been now nominated for six Grammy Awards, Record
of the Year and Song of the Year, for Rehab,
Album of the Year, for Back to Black, Best New Artist,
(05:40):
Best Female Vocal Pop Performance, and Best Vocal Album. The
only other artist with more nominations was Kanye West, and
Amy Winehouse was only twenty four years old, but she
had the voice of someone well beyond her years, someone wiser.
How could a voice like that come from someone like her?
(06:01):
A skinny Jewish girl from North London, justified ft three
six ft three if you included the beehive hair, do
you that balanced precariously above her dramatic eyeshadow and lashes.
And she sounded like she was out of time. Like
her voice, it comes straight out of the past to
inhabit a very contradictory twenty one century musical landscape, a
(06:22):
voice snatched from years ago, decades, even a completely different
period in time. She was a Sara Van and a
sea of Katy Perry's House wanted to believe it old souls,
but it wasn't that exactly. The voice was the old soul.
The voice was the thing, and whether or not Amy
(06:42):
Winehouse wanted to believe it, that voice was in serious trouble,
as was Amy. Her drug use had gotten completely out
of control. It wasn't just crack, it was coke, it
was heroin, It was whatever the hell she could get
her hands on, and whatever she got her hands on,
she couldn't get enough of. Lucien Grange, head of Universal UK,
(07:02):
the media company that owned Amy's record label, Island Records,
knew that Amy's addiction had to be conquered. It wasn't
just her career on the line, it was her life,
which is why Amy's trip to rehab also coincided with
a contract from Lucien Grange for her to sign. The
contract stated that Amy would not be able to perform
at the Grammy Awards unless she was clean, drug free.
(07:26):
She'd even have to pass a piss test. Then, much
to the surprise and elation of people like Lucien Grange
and her mother and her fans, Amy did it. She
did her time in rehab and got herself clean and
prepared to appear at the two thousand eight Grammy Awards
on Sunday, February ten. But are well known and heavily
(07:47):
reported upon reputation preceded her. Her application for visa was
rejected by the United States, so she made her appearance
via satellite where she performed live in front of an audience,
and she did looked like the strung out junkie taking
hits from a crack pipe. On the Sun's website. She
looked good, she sounded even better. She kept pace with
(08:09):
her tent piece band. Her voice hit all the lows
and all the highs, and when the night was over,
she had taken home five of the six awards that
she was nominated four. But Amy still felt like a
bit of a hypocrite, singing her battle cry hit single
about the one place she wouldn't go after she'd just
well gone there, and she couldn't shake the feeling that
(08:31):
had taken her over while she was in rehab, that
she was blander than she had been before, that the
world was blander and the snare drum didn't snap the
way she remembered, and the horns didn't send shivers down
her spine. It was supposed to be an evening of renewal,
of second chances, of the beautiful, positive things that a
person could manifest if they only put their mind to it.
(08:53):
Amy's friends thought so. One of them said to her,
I can't believe this is happening. I'm so proud of you.
Amy looked back at her friend through eyes that felt
like un dead shells of their former cells. She responded
with the only thing that was presently on her mind,
this is so boring. Without drugs, you could get a
(09:42):
clear view of the fire from the bridge over Region's canal.
Flame shot thirty ft into the air. Smoke filled the
nighttime sky. London's Fire Brigade battled the blade, shooting water
from their aerial ladders. From a distance, it looked like
a losing game. Cam Mean Town was burning and history
(10:04):
was burning with it. Camden Town in London was where
the Clash played for the first time back in ninety six.
In fact, the iconic photo of the band on the
cover of their self titled debut was taken in the
alleyway just outside their Camden Town rehearsal studio. Camden Town
was also the location of the Electric Ballroom, the venue
where said Vicious gave his final UK performance fronting a
(10:26):
band called Vicious. White Kids to were a struggling new
wave ska band called Madness, began to attract the following
in a pub called the Dublin Castle. According to the legend,
Camden Town was also the spot where the famous rivalry
between Oasis and Blur began at a small two roomed
Irish bar called the Good Mixer. If you believe the legend,
(10:48):
Noeld Gallagher took one look at Graham Coxon and said,
nice music. Ship clothes. It was all downhill from there obviously,
or uphill, depending on your point of view, And in
two thousand and eight Camden remained a hot spot in
London's cultural geography, even if it's punk. The bohemian roots
had in recent years been eclipsed by strange corporate bedfellows
(11:11):
in big money. There was such a thing as too hot,
and on this particular day, as the evening of February
nine quickly became the early morning of February tenth, London's
hip Mecca neighborhood was just that, literally so hot it
was on fire. Then the fire of the tour through
Camden Market threatened to reduce vintage clothing stores, record shops
(11:33):
and pubs to ashes. Thousands were evacuated from their homes,
flats and bars. People ran down the streets screaming to
the sounds of gas canisters exploding from the heat. Entire
buildings collapsed and for several hours, the Holly Arms was
engulfed in flames. The Holly Arms on Castle Haven Road
(11:54):
was London's unofficial rock and roll hangout, and not just
for a usual suspects like Liam Gallagher and Kate Moss
and the Libertines, Pete Daugherty. The Holly Arms was the
watering hole of choice for members of the Arctic Monkeys
and the Kaiser Chiefs. Johnny Barrel of Razorlike brought his
girlfriend Kirsten Dunce there, and Tim Burgess of the Charlottean's
(12:17):
once told a story about walking into the pub one
day only to be greeted by bartender du jour Amy Winehouse,
pouring pints behind the bar for anyone who bellied up.
When she wasn't pouring the pints, she was calling for
another round for herself, like one of her favorites made
on the spot a ricks to see three parts vodka,
(12:38):
one part banana licur, one part Southern comfort in one
part Bailey's. And the pub soundtrack was just as good
as its tap list. The Angels, the Sherells, the Dixie Cups,
the Shangra Laws, the raw Netts. If you were searching
for inspiration in the glass or an old fort, the
Holly Arms was the place to be. All it took
(13:00):
was a coin in the jukebox selection and he'd step
back at time. And no one knew that better than
Emy Winehouse. Holly Arms wasn't just her local. It was
a home away from home, even if home was just
a drunken stumble around the corner to Prows Place, And
it didn't matter that it was the year two eight
and Nimy Winehouse was now v Amy Winehouse, a fixture
(13:23):
in the tabloids. Her troubles with drugs, in her tumultuous
marriage to Blakefield or civil just as much a part
of the discussion as her music. Her sophomore album, Back
to Black, had been released over a year prior, and
it was still a mainstay on both the US and
the UK charts. Honestly, though, if she could trade it all,
(13:43):
she would. If she could just hang at the Hall
the Arms every night, sing on a little stage in
the corner of a Camden Town pub when she felt
like listen to Ronnie Specter and Sara Van all night,
then she'd be happy, and the Grammy ghost to Amy
wine House. But there she was, on another stage at
(14:06):
Riverside Studios in the Hammersmith district of West London, in
front of a dinner theater audience, accepting her Grammy Awards
via satellite. Had she just seen and heard what she
thought she'd just seen and heard Tony Bennett. Tony fucking
Bennett said her name, live from Hollywood. She couldn't believe it.
Her jaw was still on the floor. She was struck dumb.
(14:29):
She couldn't believe that Tony Bennett actually knew who she was,
and she also couldn't believe that she had somehow stumbled
into this, achieved this fame, ubiquitous fame. She first gained
fame for her voice, which was both vocative of a
bygone era and uniquely futuristic. But now her talent was
(14:49):
secondary to the fame. No amount of gold trophies was
going to change that. She just had to walk down
Campden High Street in the tank top and cut off shorts,
and it was news. The real news that day. The
thing everyone should be talking about, in her opinion, was
not the Grammy Awards. It was the fact that Camden
Market was on fire. The real news was the cosmic
(15:10):
factory that had set flames to the very place she
enjoyed getting her rocks off and acting like a normal
person on the regular. Right as she came off her
first st into rehab, and on the same day that
she won an armful of Grammys, it was like the
universe was shutting a door behind her like she couldn't
go back. She had to commit to being this new person.
It was bullshit, So she fought back. She fought back
(15:33):
against the cosmic foccory, the universe, anyone who dared tell
her what she could and couldn't do. Camden Town ain't
burning down, she said defiantly into the microphone, her mother
at her side, as both the live audience and the
satellite audiences cheered on the Grammy audience in Hollywood had
no idea that Camden Market was currently engulfed in flames,
(15:54):
nor did they know that Amy's old haunt, Holly Arms,
wouldn't make it through the night. And there was a
lot that public didn't know about Amy Winehouse, even though
they were fed a steady diet of her life through
the daily news and therefore thought they knew her quite well.
Just days later, at the two thousand and eight brit
Awards on February fourteen, Amy took the stage alongside Mark
(16:18):
ronson the New York via London DJ and producer who's
collaboration with Amy on Back to Black put them both
on the map. Amy dressed in a tartan corset and
leopard print miniskirt. With her long black hair piled high,
looked like one of the pin up girl's tattooed on
her arms. Ronson, in a sharp blue suit, played a
(16:39):
double neck Gibson as Amy sang Valerie, the Zouton song
that the duo had covered on Ronson's two thousand seven
LP version. Live audience and the TV audience all thought
they knew what they were watching, a victory lap for
Amy's post rehab comeback that had begun days earlier with
her triumphant Grammy's performance. Ensure Amy was a little wobbly
(17:02):
on stage, Ronson wheelded the double neck like a protective barrier.
Should Amy stumble and pitch forward? But that was the character,
right That was Amy Winehouse the singer, even if it
was no longer Amy Winehouse the person. What audiences couldn't see, however,
was what was happening backstage at the brit Awards during
(17:23):
final rehearsals, Amy was falling over. She'd knocked back a
few stiff drinks. She was out of her head. Show
producers contemplated cutting her from the show entirely. A staffer
poked his head in Paul McCartney's dressing room and asked
if the ex Beatle could extend the medley he had
planned to perform in the event that Amy had to
sit this one out. It didn't take long for word
(17:45):
of an unreformed and unrepentant Amy Winehouse to make it
to the papers. It never took long. They couldn't wait
to give their readers a glimpse into the seed underbelly
of everyone's favorite down and out pop star, the one
they all dubbed wineh and Ink. It was the mirror
that had the scoop on this particular story, fed directly
from an anonymous source who claimed they had witnessed it
(18:07):
all behind the scenes at the brid Awards. The scoop
laid bare that there weren't two Amy Winehouses. The public
Amy and the private Amy were one and the same,
and she'd unintentionally fooled the public with this whole rehab
nonsense because the truth was that she wasn't getting better.
The truth was that she was about to find herself
(18:28):
in very grave danger. We'll be right back after this
word word word. The hand came fast and hard, so
fast that Mustafa al Mumi couldn't tell if it was
(18:49):
a palm or a fist, to slap or a punch.
One thing was for certain. It was a sucker shot
all the way. Mustafa reeled back. He dropped his old
que to the floor. His eye throbbed with pain and
his lip burned. He could already feel the swelling start.
The collective air went out of the room. A Good Mixer,
(19:10):
like many pubs in Camden Town, saw a lot of
ship go down on a nightly basis, but this was
next level. It wasn't that Mustafa had been hit, it
was who had hit him. He held the eye that
had been struck and looked out through his good eye.
Amy Winehouse wobbled in place in front of him, where
they stood next to a pool table. Her giant black
(19:32):
buffont looked like it was about the capsize. She wore
a black fishnet shirt revealed a cherry print bra denhim
capri pants. She looked about as bad as Mustafa felt,
which was saying something, seeing as though she wasn't the
one who had just been clocked in the face the
minutes earlier. She had stumbled into the Good Mixer like
she owned the place. Was it the fact that she
(19:54):
was a worldwide celebrity that made her act that way,
or was that simply the person she was Sometimes it
was hard to tell. Hell, she probably didn't even know.
It could have also been whatever the hell she was
on that night, which was definitely something Mustafa on the
other patrons the pub knew at the moment she stirred
through the door, wearing that walk of shame look that
she couldn't help but wear when she was wasted. Amy's
(20:17):
eyes rolled around in her head. She slurred her Cockney
adjacent North London accent, and she could have been on
anything and wouldn't surprise a soul in there we've coke
heroin cracks. She didn't discriminate. She made one thing clear.
She wanted to play pool, and she wasn't gonna wait
for next. She was playing now, but Mustafa and his
(20:37):
pals were in the middle of a game and she
just have to wait. Boy, fus you would That's when
her hand leapt up and caught Mustafa in the face.
The pint glass shattered on the floor. Someone pulled Amy
back as she screamed out loud that she was going
to fucking play fucking pool right fucking now, and there
was nothing any fucking one was gonna fucking do about it.
Mustafa felt the blood rushing from his face. His knows his,
(21:00):
I his she he didn't know where, but Jesus Christ.
It stunned like a mother. He stood his ground while
he was hauled from the pool table to the front door.
Then later he would say, I feel so angry. She
smashed my face hard, but I could not hit back.
She's a woman outside the paparazzi bulbs flashed. They were
(21:22):
all there, the vultures, the Daily Mail, the Daily Mirror,
the Sun Evening Standard, news of the world. Freelance photogs
just taking photos just to take photos, just because someone
would buy them. Just look at her, stumbling around from
one side of the street to the other, a cigarette
just dangling from her lips, her eyes bobbing open and closed.
(21:42):
It looked like she didn't even know who she was
or who she was, And the photogs circled her like
lions around a gazelle. They remember to save enough film
on the chance that she was going to go down
right there on the pavement, lights out d o A
and Camden Town. Now those pictures would sell. But she
didn't go down the paparazzi had to settle for photos
(22:04):
of her holding a giant spliff in her hand while
she bathed in the yellow and green lights of London's
after hours nightlife, holding hands with some bloke who played
in Pete Thherty's non Libertines band Baby Shambles. The day
hadn't been any more productive than the night for Amy Winehouse.
She was working on a theme song for the new
James Bond movie Quantum of Solace, the second to feature
(22:27):
Daniel Craig as Double O seven. Back in the producer's
chair was Mark Ronson, the Transatlantic music man who had
been her main man on Back to Black. She was
hoping to parlay that girl group garage sound into cinematic gold,
something dramatic, heartbreaking, worldly and with a killer backbeat. But
the song wasn't coming together. What the funk was a
(22:48):
quantum anyway? And how could you write a song about it?
The Bond theme was indicative of a larger problem. Back
to Black had been out for a year and a half.
It had been a wild year and a half. In
addition to winning Grammys and critical accolades, Back to Black
had recently been certified double platinum. It was still on
(23:08):
the charts, but Amy couldn't wrap her head around what
she was going to do next. The Enemy and the
Inside Dirt allegedly that reported that her new album would
be quote very dark, with many songs quote themed around
the subject of death, and they were all wrong. What
did the enemy know about it? Anyway? They all said
that Back to Black had been a dark record, to
(23:28):
one inspired by on again, off again drama with her husband,
Blake Field or civil Did they even listen to it?
That record wasn't dark. It was funny, It was snarky.
It was smart pop music, the kind they used to
make but didn't make anymore. It was Amy Winehouse, is
what it was. And now Amy Winehouse didn't even know
who she was supposed to be. She may or may
(23:50):
not have known where she was in the map. On
that evening in April of two thousand and eight, when
she walked away from Clocky Mustaphael Mumai and the Kisser
and shambled on over to Bartok, another Camden pub near
her home. It was two in the morning. She thought
about the problems she was having in the studio and
with writing the new record. She thought about the paparazzi
(24:11):
waiting for her outside. They'd be all over her as
soon as she stepped through that front door. She was frustrated,
fucked up. She threw her glass onto the floor and
then another. Her head snapped back and forth like a
rag doll. She grabbed onto a table and flipped it over.
People sipping Stella's and black and tants jumped to avoid
half empty pipes spilling onto their growing out clothes. Amy screamed,
(24:33):
and no one in particular. I am a legend, She
pointed aimlessly around the room. Get these people out. But
soon Amy herself was back on the street. She was
obviously intoxicated, high, unwell. Everyone could see it. The photogs
were doing their best to capture it in all its ugly,
(24:53):
pitiful glory. One't even got a shot of Amy walking
into a lamp post. A good Samaritan decide to help
out and tried to help Amy a cab. In her
disoriented state, Amy mistook the kind offer for some sort
of predatory advance, like the guy was trying to grab
a piece of her body because she was vulnerable and
famous and he felt entitled. Before the cab could even
(25:15):
pull up to the sidewalk. Amy had refused the offer,
and not just with a polite no thank you. She
put her face to the strangers, dramatically, leaned back, and
then headbutted him with a force not unlike the one
she had employed to hit that Mustapha dude in the
good mixer just a few hours earlier. The paparazzi was
still there around four am when she had a break
(25:36):
into her own home, and they were behind her to
either side, camera snapped and flashed. Amy found the door
at the twenty five prows place locked. She dug around
in the pockets of her jeans for her keys. Nothing fuck,
So she had a few friends helped her pry open
the garage door from the bottom, and they painstakingly lifted
(25:56):
the door out from the pavement where one of them
had squeezed his way inside, to then go and unlock
the door, and the cameras continued to click and flash
even as Amy Winehouse made her way inside her home.
The door closed behind her, and the photogs stood at attention.
They waited because they knew this wasn't the end. It
wasn't a question of if there would be more. It
(26:19):
was a question of when On April, the Sunday Times
(26:43):
published the annual Britain's Rich List, the so called quote
definitive guide to the wealth of the UK's richest people unquote.
The list offered up the lofty bottom lines of sirs,
dukes and captains of UK industry, and despite the turbulent
year Amy Winehouse had been having, not the least of
which included the violent an unhinged night out in Camden
(27:07):
Town from just four days earlier, Amy Winehouse found herself
on the list for the first time, with their estimated
worth at ten million pounds. If the music charts and
the album sales and the Grammy Awards hadn't made it
clear yet, and this certainly did, Amy Winehouse was not
just famous like tabloid fodd or famous. She was successful,
(27:32):
one of the most successful performers in the UK. She
was a star. Not everyone was happy with that particular
piece of news. Mitch Winehouse, Amy's father, the same guy
who had once inspired some of the cheekiest lines and
Amy's iconic hit song, when he disregarded the advice of
others and told his daughter that she in fact did
not have to go to rehab. That Mitch Winehouse had
(27:54):
changed his tune and was now calling for Amy to
be committed to a mental institution. This particular piece of
news was published the very same day as Britain's Rich
List in a competing publication, News of the World. I
want her sanctioned, Mitch told the paper, referring to the
legal authority that trump individual consent for admission to a
(28:14):
hospital for the UK's Mental Health Act. Quote. The situation
is getting out of control. I want her off the street.
I don't think being somewhere for six weeks going to
cure her problems. I think she needs far more radical
measures on quote. Amy Wineho has continued to insist that
she wasn't going to be told what to do, not
even by her own father. What the hell happened? And
(28:37):
my daddy thinks I'm fine anyway. But there wasn't much
one could do when Amy and made her round up.
Just ask Mustafa Elmo My. Her record company, however, agreed
with Mitch that more radical measures were needed. Lucian Grange
was not pleased that he had put expectations in place
with the contract he had Amy signed prior to the
Grammy Awards, only for Amy to leave set expected in
(29:00):
her dust as she continued to drink and drug her
way to the front page of any tabloid that would
have her. If they weren't going to go so far
as to have her committed her section to use the
UK parlans, they could at least exhibit their own kind
of control. They could issue her an ultmato. If she
wanted this life, if she wanted to be able to sing,
to make the music that she wanted to hear, the
(29:22):
music that she thought was sorely lacking in the world,
then she would have to agree to some very specific parameters,
because she obviously couldn't be trusted on her own, even
if it meant locking her down in the house, arrest
stationing guards outside her doors, some muscle to shoot away
the paparazzi, and to keep Amy inside, away from the
(29:43):
bad influences, the drug dealers and drug takers, away from
the men she wanted to punch at pool tables and
headbut on street corners twenty four seven Surveillance. It would
be record label appointed rehab. She wouldn't go to a
facility she'd just sweated out at home, but every person
sworn to make her better, from Mitch Winehouse to the
(30:05):
suits at Island Records in Universal UK. We're seriously overestimating
Amy's desire to remain famous. She hadn't asked for this.
She didn't know how to handle it, the attention, the paparazzi,
the stories and the papers. Fun did anyone know how
to handle this? Ship? She'd even said it back in
two thousand three, back when she was on a promotional
tour for her debut album Frank. Not only did she
(30:27):
think she'd never become Capital F famous, she didn't think
she'd be able to handle it if she did. She
even said that she would go Matt What did any
of them think would happen? Why were they surprised she
said what she said back in two thousand three, and
now fame was here, So it begged the question was
she going mad? At times like this? Amy Winehouse just
(30:50):
wanted to go back to two thousand three, backed before
her face was plastered on every paper in the UK.
This wasn't happiness. Happiness to her sounded like a round
of pints at her local, a place where she could
get on a tiny stage in the corner when the
feeling suited her and sing a few tunes that a
few people will be watching her, not the entire world.
(31:12):
She just wanted to turn back time, just like her
music turned back time. That is, if she didn't run
out of time first. I'm Jake Brennan and this is
the seven Club. Club is hosted and produced by me
(31:40):
Jake Brennan for Double Elvis in partnership with I Heart Radio.
Zeth Lundie is the lead writer and co producer. This
episode was mixed by Matt Bowden. Additional music and score
elements by Ryan Spraaker and Henry Lunetta. Story and copy
ending by Pat Healy. Sources for this episode are available
at Double Elvis dot com on the twenty seven Club
(32:02):
series page. Talk to me on Social act, Disgrace Sland pod,
and hang out with me live on my Twitch channel
Disgrace Sland Talks. For more news on your favorite podcast,
follow at Double Elvis on Instagram. Rock rolla, What's up
for your ears
The twenty seven Club is a production of I Heart
Radio and Double Elvis. Amy Winehouse died at the age
of and she lived a life unlike any other. I
can give you twenty seven reasons why that statement is true.
Two would be the run time in minutes of eleaked
(00:20):
video with footage so damning it led to a stint
in the very place Amy swore she would never go.
Five more would be the number of Grammy Awards she
won while her beloved Holly Arms pub in Northwest London's
Camden Town burned. Another seven would be the number of
hours she spent out on the town in April two eight,
(00:43):
a night made infamous by the violent attack she committed
on two unsuspecting men. Ten more would be the number
in millions of pounds that she was estimated to be
worth in two thousand and eight when she made Britain's
Rich list for the first time, and will be the
number of years she had left to live when her
(01:03):
own father called for her to be committed to a
mental institution. All totally on this our premier episode of
season four Leaked videos, London's burning, violent attacks and Amy
Winehouse um Jake Brennan in this is the seven clock.
(02:00):
M h Amy Winehouse was in rehab, the very place
she swore she'd never go, the place she sang about
in that song, the song, the song that put her
on the map, leveled her up. She was that song
(02:21):
and that song was her defined who she was on stage,
on record, in the press, behind closed doors. There was
no artistic license involved in that one. It was a
raw declaration of a personal constitution, and that declaration was this.
She was defiant, she was brazen, She was funny as fuck.
(02:43):
Did she suffer fools? Did she take orders from anyone?
Did she want to go to rehab? No, no, and no.
But look at her now fucking rehab, even though she'd
been forced to go. She felt like she had betrayed
her own image and therefore betrayed the people who helped
that song go to number seven in the UK at
(03:05):
number nine in the US. What a hypocrite. But as
she looked around the walls of Capio Nightingale, a private
drug addiction clinic on Harley Street in London, a hypocrite
wasn't the only thing she was feeling like. She felt
like a member of the undead. The taste of the
water was bland, and the smell of the air was odorless.
(03:28):
Blues were no longer blue, at least not as blue
as the blue she thought she'd known. Reds were washed
out into a dull pink. She missed the stomach churning
feeling of being in love and out of love, and
back and love again. She wasn't happy, but she wasn't sad.
If she was at her lowest, she couldn't even feel it.
This must be what being undead feels like. She feared
(03:51):
she would never feel a thrill again, the thrill of
a high. The highs that Amy Winehouse was used to
feeling where real high. Unfortunately, those real highs were what
landed her in this zombie prison in the first place.
It was January two eight, What a way to spend
(04:12):
the new year. The Sun that London rag Amy blamed them.
They hosted a video on their website just days before,
the one that by now had bounced from one corner
of the Internet to another around the world, and a
click the thing had gone viral. It was viewed by millions.
The Sun claimed that the clip had been edited down
(04:34):
from nineteen minutes to two minutes, but two minutes was
plenty of time to do serious damage. In the clip,
Amy walks around her London home in a dark tank top.
She admits to taking six value. She goes to her
bedroom where she lights a glass pipe and takes a hit,
and then another. And the Sun said it was crack cocaine.
(04:57):
A few hits and the privacy of her own home
was the big deal. If only they knew the lengths
to which she would go to chase that feeling, the
depths to which she would go to forget that she
was famous. The public said that whoever had sent the
video to the Sun was doing Amy a favor. Her
own mother even told the Daily Mail how happy she
(05:18):
was that her daughter was getting help. Her parents told
the press everything. Some days Amy felt like she was
the press. She was all that London in the UK
talked about. America was starting to talk to, considering that
she had been now nominated for six Grammy Awards, Record
of the Year and Song of the Year, for Rehab,
Album of the Year, for Back to Black, Best New Artist,
(05:40):
Best Female Vocal Pop Performance, and Best Vocal Album. The
only other artist with more nominations was Kanye West, and
Amy Winehouse was only twenty four years old, but she
had the voice of someone well beyond her years, someone wiser.
How could a voice like that come from someone like her?
(06:01):
A skinny Jewish girl from North London, justified ft three
six ft three if you included the beehive hair, do
you that balanced precariously above her dramatic eyeshadow and lashes.
And she sounded like she was out of time. Like
her voice, it comes straight out of the past to
inhabit a very contradictory twenty one century musical landscape, a
(06:22):
voice snatched from years ago, decades, even a completely different
period in time. She was a Sara Van and a
sea of Katy Perry's House wanted to believe it old souls,
but it wasn't that exactly. The voice was the old soul.
The voice was the thing, and whether or not Amy
(06:42):
Winehouse wanted to believe it, that voice was in serious trouble,
as was Amy. Her drug use had gotten completely out
of control. It wasn't just crack, it was coke, it
was heroin, It was whatever the hell she could get
her hands on, and whatever she got her hands on,
she couldn't get enough of. Lucien Grange, head of Universal UK,
(07:02):
the media company that owned Amy's record label, Island Records,
knew that Amy's addiction had to be conquered. It wasn't
just her career on the line, it was her life,
which is why Amy's trip to rehab also coincided with
a contract from Lucien Grange for her to sign. The
contract stated that Amy would not be able to perform
at the Grammy Awards unless she was clean, drug free.
(07:26):
She'd even have to pass a piss test. Then, much
to the surprise and elation of people like Lucien Grange
and her mother and her fans, Amy did it. She
did her time in rehab and got herself clean and
prepared to appear at the two thousand eight Grammy Awards
on Sunday, February ten. But are well known and heavily
(07:47):
reported upon reputation preceded her. Her application for visa was
rejected by the United States, so she made her appearance
via satellite where she performed live in front of an audience,
and she did looked like the strung out junkie taking
hits from a crack pipe. On the Sun's website. She
looked good, she sounded even better. She kept pace with
(08:09):
her tent piece band. Her voice hit all the lows
and all the highs, and when the night was over,
she had taken home five of the six awards that
she was nominated four. But Amy still felt like a
bit of a hypocrite, singing her battle cry hit single
about the one place she wouldn't go after she'd just
well gone there, and she couldn't shake the feeling that
(08:31):
had taken her over while she was in rehab, that
she was blander than she had been before, that the
world was blander and the snare drum didn't snap the
way she remembered, and the horns didn't send shivers down
her spine. It was supposed to be an evening of renewal,
of second chances, of the beautiful, positive things that a
person could manifest if they only put their mind to it.
(08:53):
Amy's friends thought so. One of them said to her,
I can't believe this is happening. I'm so proud of you.
Amy looked back at her friend through eyes that felt
like un dead shells of their former cells. She responded
with the only thing that was presently on her mind,
this is so boring. Without drugs, you could get a
(09:42):
clear view of the fire from the bridge over Region's canal.
Flame shot thirty ft into the air. Smoke filled the
nighttime sky. London's Fire Brigade battled the blade, shooting water
from their aerial ladders. From a distance, it looked like
a losing game. Cam Mean Town was burning and history
(10:04):
was burning with it. Camden Town in London was where
the Clash played for the first time back in ninety six.
In fact, the iconic photo of the band on the
cover of their self titled debut was taken in the
alleyway just outside their Camden Town rehearsal studio. Camden Town
was also the location of the Electric Ballroom, the venue
where said Vicious gave his final UK performance fronting a
(10:26):
band called Vicious. White Kids to were a struggling new
wave ska band called Madness, began to attract the following
in a pub called the Dublin Castle. According to the legend,
Camden Town was also the spot where the famous rivalry
between Oasis and Blur began at a small two roomed
Irish bar called the Good Mixer. If you believe the legend,
(10:48):
Noeld Gallagher took one look at Graham Coxon and said,
nice music. Ship clothes. It was all downhill from there obviously,
or uphill, depending on your point of view, And in
two thousand and eight Camden remained a hot spot in
London's cultural geography, even if it's punk. The bohemian roots
had in recent years been eclipsed by strange corporate bedfellows
(11:11):
in big money. There was such a thing as too hot,
and on this particular day, as the evening of February
nine quickly became the early morning of February tenth, London's
hip Mecca neighborhood was just that, literally so hot it
was on fire. Then the fire of the tour through
Camden Market threatened to reduce vintage clothing stores, record shops
(11:33):
and pubs to ashes. Thousands were evacuated from their homes,
flats and bars. People ran down the streets screaming to
the sounds of gas canisters exploding from the heat. Entire
buildings collapsed and for several hours, the Holly Arms was
engulfed in flames. The Holly Arms on Castle Haven Road
(11:54):
was London's unofficial rock and roll hangout, and not just
for a usual suspects like Liam Gallagher and Kate Moss
and the Libertines, Pete Daugherty. The Holly Arms was the
watering hole of choice for members of the Arctic Monkeys
and the Kaiser Chiefs. Johnny Barrel of Razorlike brought his
girlfriend Kirsten Dunce there, and Tim Burgess of the Charlottean's
(12:17):
once told a story about walking into the pub one
day only to be greeted by bartender du jour Amy Winehouse,
pouring pints behind the bar for anyone who bellied up.
When she wasn't pouring the pints, she was calling for
another round for herself, like one of her favorites made
on the spot a ricks to see three parts vodka,
(12:38):
one part banana licur, one part Southern comfort in one
part Bailey's. And the pub soundtrack was just as good
as its tap list. The Angels, the Sherells, the Dixie Cups,
the Shangra Laws, the raw Netts. If you were searching
for inspiration in the glass or an old fort, the
Holly Arms was the place to be. All it took
(13:00):
was a coin in the jukebox selection and he'd step
back at time. And no one knew that better than
Emy Winehouse. Holly Arms wasn't just her local. It was
a home away from home, even if home was just
a drunken stumble around the corner to Prows Place, And
it didn't matter that it was the year two eight
and Nimy Winehouse was now v Amy Winehouse, a fixture
(13:23):
in the tabloids. Her troubles with drugs, in her tumultuous
marriage to Blakefield or civil just as much a part
of the discussion as her music. Her sophomore album, Back
to Black, had been released over a year prior, and
it was still a mainstay on both the US and
the UK charts. Honestly, though, if she could trade it all,
(13:43):
she would. If she could just hang at the Hall
the Arms every night, sing on a little stage in
the corner of a Camden Town pub when she felt
like listen to Ronnie Specter and Sara Van all night,
then she'd be happy, and the Grammy ghost to Amy
wine House. But there she was, on another stage at
(14:06):
Riverside Studios in the Hammersmith district of West London, in
front of a dinner theater audience, accepting her Grammy Awards
via satellite. Had she just seen and heard what she
thought she'd just seen and heard Tony Bennett. Tony fucking
Bennett said her name, live from Hollywood. She couldn't believe it.
Her jaw was still on the floor. She was struck dumb.
(14:29):
She couldn't believe that Tony Bennett actually knew who she was,
and she also couldn't believe that she had somehow stumbled
into this, achieved this fame, ubiquitous fame. She first gained
fame for her voice, which was both vocative of a
bygone era and uniquely futuristic. But now her talent was
(14:49):
secondary to the fame. No amount of gold trophies was
going to change that. She just had to walk down
Campden High Street in the tank top and cut off shorts,
and it was news. The real news that day. The
thing everyone should be talking about, in her opinion, was
not the Grammy Awards. It was the fact that Camden
Market was on fire. The real news was the cosmic
(15:10):
factory that had set flames to the very place she
enjoyed getting her rocks off and acting like a normal
person on the regular. Right as she came off her
first st into rehab, and on the same day that
she won an armful of Grammys, it was like the
universe was shutting a door behind her like she couldn't
go back. She had to commit to being this new person.
It was bullshit, So she fought back. She fought back
(15:33):
against the cosmic foccory, the universe, anyone who dared tell
her what she could and couldn't do. Camden Town ain't
burning down, she said defiantly into the microphone, her mother
at her side, as both the live audience and the
satellite audiences cheered on the Grammy audience in Hollywood had
no idea that Camden Market was currently engulfed in flames,
(15:54):
nor did they know that Amy's old haunt, Holly Arms,
wouldn't make it through the night. And there was a
lot that public didn't know about Amy Winehouse, even though
they were fed a steady diet of her life through
the daily news and therefore thought they knew her quite well.
Just days later, at the two thousand and eight brit
Awards on February fourteen, Amy took the stage alongside Mark
(16:18):
ronson the New York via London DJ and producer who's
collaboration with Amy on Back to Black put them both
on the map. Amy dressed in a tartan corset and
leopard print miniskirt. With her long black hair piled high,
looked like one of the pin up girl's tattooed on
her arms. Ronson, in a sharp blue suit, played a
(16:39):
double neck Gibson as Amy sang Valerie, the Zouton song
that the duo had covered on Ronson's two thousand seven
LP version. Live audience and the TV audience all thought
they knew what they were watching, a victory lap for
Amy's post rehab comeback that had begun days earlier with
her triumphant Grammy's performance. Ensure Amy was a little wobbly
(17:02):
on stage, Ronson wheelded the double neck like a protective barrier.
Should Amy stumble and pitch forward? But that was the character,
right That was Amy Winehouse the singer, even if it
was no longer Amy Winehouse the person. What audiences couldn't see, however,
was what was happening backstage at the brit Awards during
(17:23):
final rehearsals, Amy was falling over. She'd knocked back a
few stiff drinks. She was out of her head. Show
producers contemplated cutting her from the show entirely. A staffer
poked his head in Paul McCartney's dressing room and asked
if the ex Beatle could extend the medley he had
planned to perform in the event that Amy had to
sit this one out. It didn't take long for word
(17:45):
of an unreformed and unrepentant Amy Winehouse to make it
to the papers. It never took long. They couldn't wait
to give their readers a glimpse into the seed underbelly
of everyone's favorite down and out pop star, the one
they all dubbed wineh and Ink. It was the mirror
that had the scoop on this particular story, fed directly
from an anonymous source who claimed they had witnessed it
(18:07):
all behind the scenes at the brid Awards. The scoop
laid bare that there weren't two Amy Winehouses. The public
Amy and the private Amy were one and the same,
and she'd unintentionally fooled the public with this whole rehab
nonsense because the truth was that she wasn't getting better.
The truth was that she was about to find herself
(18:28):
in very grave danger. We'll be right back after this
word word word. The hand came fast and hard, so
fast that Mustafa al Mumi couldn't tell if it was
(18:49):
a palm or a fist, to slap or a punch.
One thing was for certain. It was a sucker shot
all the way. Mustafa reeled back. He dropped his old
que to the floor. His eye throbbed with pain and
his lip burned. He could already feel the swelling start.
The collective air went out of the room. A Good Mixer,
(19:10):
like many pubs in Camden Town, saw a lot of
ship go down on a nightly basis, but this was
next level. It wasn't that Mustafa had been hit, it
was who had hit him. He held the eye that
had been struck and looked out through his good eye.
Amy Winehouse wobbled in place in front of him, where
they stood next to a pool table. Her giant black
(19:32):
buffont looked like it was about the capsize. She wore
a black fishnet shirt revealed a cherry print bra denhim
capri pants. She looked about as bad as Mustafa felt,
which was saying something, seeing as though she wasn't the
one who had just been clocked in the face the
minutes earlier. She had stumbled into the Good Mixer like
she owned the place. Was it the fact that she
(19:54):
was a worldwide celebrity that made her act that way,
or was that simply the person she was Sometimes it
was hard to tell. Hell, she probably didn't even know.
It could have also been whatever the hell she was
on that night, which was definitely something Mustafa on the
other patrons the pub knew at the moment she stirred
through the door, wearing that walk of shame look that
she couldn't help but wear when she was wasted. Amy's
(20:17):
eyes rolled around in her head. She slurred her Cockney
adjacent North London accent, and she could have been on
anything and wouldn't surprise a soul in there we've coke
heroin cracks. She didn't discriminate. She made one thing clear.
She wanted to play pool, and she wasn't gonna wait
for next. She was playing now, but Mustafa and his
(20:37):
pals were in the middle of a game and she
just have to wait. Boy, fus you would That's when
her hand leapt up and caught Mustafa in the face.
The pint glass shattered on the floor. Someone pulled Amy
back as she screamed out loud that she was going
to fucking play fucking pool right fucking now, and there
was nothing any fucking one was gonna fucking do about it.
Mustafa felt the blood rushing from his face. His knows his,
(21:00):
I his she he didn't know where, but Jesus Christ.
It stunned like a mother. He stood his ground while
he was hauled from the pool table to the front door.
Then later he would say, I feel so angry. She
smashed my face hard, but I could not hit back.
She's a woman outside the paparazzi bulbs flashed. They were
(21:22):
all there, the vultures, the Daily Mail, the Daily Mirror,
the Sun Evening Standard, news of the world. Freelance photogs
just taking photos just to take photos, just because someone
would buy them. Just look at her, stumbling around from
one side of the street to the other, a cigarette
just dangling from her lips, her eyes bobbing open and closed.
(21:42):
It looked like she didn't even know who she was
or who she was, And the photogs circled her like
lions around a gazelle. They remember to save enough film
on the chance that she was going to go down
right there on the pavement, lights out d o A
and Camden Town. Now those pictures would sell. But she
didn't go down the paparazzi had to settle for photos
(22:04):
of her holding a giant spliff in her hand while
she bathed in the yellow and green lights of London's
after hours nightlife, holding hands with some bloke who played
in Pete Thherty's non Libertines band Baby Shambles. The day
hadn't been any more productive than the night for Amy Winehouse.
She was working on a theme song for the new
James Bond movie Quantum of Solace, the second to feature
(22:27):
Daniel Craig as Double O seven. Back in the producer's
chair was Mark Ronson, the Transatlantic music man who had
been her main man on Back to Black. She was
hoping to parlay that girl group garage sound into cinematic gold,
something dramatic, heartbreaking, worldly and with a killer backbeat. But
the song wasn't coming together. What the funk was a
(22:48):
quantum anyway? And how could you write a song about it?
The Bond theme was indicative of a larger problem. Back
to Black had been out for a year and a half.
It had been a wild year and a half. In
addition to winning Grammys and critical accolades, Back to Black
had recently been certified double platinum. It was still on
(23:08):
the charts, but Amy couldn't wrap her head around what
she was going to do next. The Enemy and the
Inside Dirt allegedly that reported that her new album would
be quote very dark, with many songs quote themed around
the subject of death, and they were all wrong. What
did the enemy know about it? Anyway? They all said
that Back to Black had been a dark record, to
(23:28):
one inspired by on again, off again drama with her husband,
Blake Field or civil Did they even listen to it?
That record wasn't dark. It was funny, It was snarky.
It was smart pop music, the kind they used to
make but didn't make anymore. It was Amy Winehouse, is
what it was. And now Amy Winehouse didn't even know
who she was supposed to be. She may or may
(23:50):
not have known where she was in the map. On
that evening in April of two thousand and eight, when
she walked away from Clocky Mustaphael Mumai and the Kisser
and shambled on over to Bartok, another Camden pub near
her home. It was two in the morning. She thought
about the problems she was having in the studio and
with writing the new record. She thought about the paparazzi
(24:11):
waiting for her outside. They'd be all over her as
soon as she stepped through that front door. She was frustrated,
fucked up. She threw her glass onto the floor and
then another. Her head snapped back and forth like a
rag doll. She grabbed onto a table and flipped it over.
People sipping Stella's and black and tants jumped to avoid
half empty pipes spilling onto their growing out clothes. Amy screamed,
(24:33):
and no one in particular. I am a legend, She
pointed aimlessly around the room. Get these people out. But
soon Amy herself was back on the street. She was
obviously intoxicated, high, unwell. Everyone could see it. The photogs
were doing their best to capture it in all its ugly,
(24:53):
pitiful glory. One't even got a shot of Amy walking
into a lamp post. A good Samaritan decide to help
out and tried to help Amy a cab. In her
disoriented state, Amy mistook the kind offer for some sort
of predatory advance, like the guy was trying to grab
a piece of her body because she was vulnerable and
famous and he felt entitled. Before the cab could even
(25:15):
pull up to the sidewalk. Amy had refused the offer,
and not just with a polite no thank you. She
put her face to the strangers, dramatically, leaned back, and
then headbutted him with a force not unlike the one
she had employed to hit that Mustapha dude in the
good mixer just a few hours earlier. The paparazzi was
still there around four am when she had a break
(25:36):
into her own home, and they were behind her to
either side, camera snapped and flashed. Amy found the door
at the twenty five prows place locked. She dug around
in the pockets of her jeans for her keys. Nothing fuck,
So she had a few friends helped her pry open
the garage door from the bottom, and they painstakingly lifted
(25:56):
the door out from the pavement where one of them
had squeezed his way inside, to then go and unlock
the door, and the cameras continued to click and flash
even as Amy Winehouse made her way inside her home.
The door closed behind her, and the photogs stood at attention.
They waited because they knew this wasn't the end. It
wasn't a question of if there would be more. It
(26:19):
was a question of when On April, the Sunday Times
(26:43):
published the annual Britain's Rich List, the so called quote
definitive guide to the wealth of the UK's richest people unquote.
The list offered up the lofty bottom lines of sirs,
dukes and captains of UK industry, and despite the turbulent
year Amy Winehouse had been having, not the least of
which included the violent an unhinged night out in Camden
(27:07):
Town from just four days earlier, Amy Winehouse found herself
on the list for the first time, with their estimated
worth at ten million pounds. If the music charts and
the album sales and the Grammy Awards hadn't made it
clear yet, and this certainly did, Amy Winehouse was not
just famous like tabloid fodd or famous. She was successful,
(27:32):
one of the most successful performers in the UK. She
was a star. Not everyone was happy with that particular
piece of news. Mitch Winehouse, Amy's father, the same guy
who had once inspired some of the cheekiest lines and
Amy's iconic hit song, when he disregarded the advice of
others and told his daughter that she in fact did
not have to go to rehab. That Mitch Winehouse had
(27:54):
changed his tune and was now calling for Amy to
be committed to a mental institution. This particular piece of
news was published the very same day as Britain's Rich
List in a competing publication, News of the World. I
want her sanctioned, Mitch told the paper, referring to the
legal authority that trump individual consent for admission to a
(28:14):
hospital for the UK's Mental Health Act. Quote. The situation
is getting out of control. I want her off the street.
I don't think being somewhere for six weeks going to
cure her problems. I think she needs far more radical
measures on quote. Amy Wineho has continued to insist that
she wasn't going to be told what to do, not
even by her own father. What the hell happened? And
(28:37):
my daddy thinks I'm fine anyway. But there wasn't much
one could do when Amy and made her round up.
Just ask Mustafa Elmo My. Her record company, however, agreed
with Mitch that more radical measures were needed. Lucian Grange
was not pleased that he had put expectations in place
with the contract he had Amy signed prior to the
Grammy Awards, only for Amy to leave set expected in
(29:00):
her dust as she continued to drink and drug her
way to the front page of any tabloid that would
have her. If they weren't going to go so far
as to have her committed her section to use the
UK parlans, they could at least exhibit their own kind
of control. They could issue her an ultmato. If she
wanted this life, if she wanted to be able to sing,
to make the music that she wanted to hear, the
(29:22):
music that she thought was sorely lacking in the world,
then she would have to agree to some very specific parameters,
because she obviously couldn't be trusted on her own, even
if it meant locking her down in the house, arrest
stationing guards outside her doors, some muscle to shoot away
the paparazzi, and to keep Amy inside, away from the
(29:43):
bad influences, the drug dealers and drug takers, away from
the men she wanted to punch at pool tables and
headbut on street corners twenty four seven Surveillance. It would
be record label appointed rehab. She wouldn't go to a
facility she'd just sweated out at home, but every person
sworn to make her better, from Mitch Winehouse to the
(30:05):
suits at Island Records in Universal UK. We're seriously overestimating
Amy's desire to remain famous. She hadn't asked for this.
She didn't know how to handle it, the attention, the paparazzi,
the stories and the papers. Fun did anyone know how
to handle this? Ship? She'd even said it back in
two thousand three, back when she was on a promotional
tour for her debut album Frank. Not only did she
(30:27):
think she'd never become Capital F famous, she didn't think
she'd be able to handle it if she did. She
even said that she would go Matt What did any
of them think would happen? Why were they surprised she
said what she said back in two thousand three, and
now fame was here, So it begged the question was
she going mad? At times like this? Amy Winehouse just
(30:50):
wanted to go back to two thousand three, backed before
her face was plastered on every paper in the UK.
This wasn't happiness. Happiness to her sounded like a round
of pints at her local, a place where she could
get on a tiny stage in the corner when the
feeling suited her and sing a few tunes that a
few people will be watching her, not the entire world.
(31:12):
She just wanted to turn back time, just like her
music turned back time. That is, if she didn't run
out of time first. I'm Jake Brennan and this is
the seven Club. Club is hosted and produced by me
(31:40):
Jake Brennan for Double Elvis in partnership with I Heart Radio.
Zeth Lundie is the lead writer and co producer. This
episode was mixed by Matt Bowden. Additional music and score
elements by Ryan Spraaker and Henry Lunetta. Story and copy
ending by Pat Healy. Sources for this episode are available
at Double Elvis dot com on the twenty seven Club
(32:02):
series page. Talk to me on Social act, Disgrace Sland pod,
and hang out with me live on my Twitch channel
Disgrace Sland Talks. For more news on your favorite podcast,
follow at Double Elvis on Instagram. Rock rolla, What's up
for your ears
Host
Jake Brennan
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