Several years ago, I interviewed Amy Winehouse in a bland Dublin hotel. She was in Ireland to promote her debut album, Frank, and in the course of our conversation she lived up to that record's title. At one point, apropos of nothing, she told me she liked my aftershave. Flattered, I told her which brand it was. "I didn't ask you what it f***ing was," she snarled. "Jesus f***ing Christ." For a brief moment, I thought she was going to storm out. Even then, barely out of her teens, she struck me as someone with significant problems, besides an irrational ability to detect slights where none were intended. She knocked back the drink -- vodka, I think -- and smoked relentlessly. It was difficult to hold her attention. She seemed wired. It wasn't long before her lifestyle became a tabloid staple. 'Rehab' -- the big single from her hugely popular follow-up album, Back to Black -- celebrated her fondness for excess and refusal to seek help for numerous ...
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