...and 'ordinary' people too.
The death of Amy Winehouse has made me do some thinking about the loss of talent and why in particular it upsets me.
I don't even have to be a huge fan of a person to be sad when they die, but that does make it worse. It makes me REALLY sad when someone dies in their supposed prime - although Amy was arguably not in her prime and hadn't been for some years - as it's such a waste. Sometimes the person may be famous, sometimes not, but I have compassion for them all.
The first person I remember grieving over was Freddie Mercury. It was 1991 and I was 17 (yes, I am really that old!) and I was a big fan of Queen. I remember keeping all the newspapers from the time after his death - they're still at my mum's somewhere.
Of course, many would argue that Freddie's death was his own fault, but all those years ago HIV and AIDS were quite new. HIV was only identified in 1983 and Freddie Mercury was allegedly diagnosed with full-blown AIDS in 1987. Everyone was shagging everyone willy-nilly (excuse the pun!)
sans condoms in those days as no one knew about
AIDS.
Freddie wasn't open about his illness and that meant his death was a bit of a surprise (to me at least, even though he'd been looking rather 'peaky' before he died), and I think shock is a major part of celebrity grieving. At least he'd lived a fairly long life before he died, unlike many of the other people I'll mention.
Another person I grieved for was Andrew Wood from
Mother Love Bone. I'd never heard a word of their music at the time I read about his death in an American rock magazine (it was about a year after his death as it was hard to get hold of issues in this country) and the article was so poignant, it made me cry for 3 days. He'd been clean of drugs for months when he had a hit, but old habits die hard (literally in this case) when he used the same amount as before and in his now clean state, didn't have the same tolerance. He had a brain aneurism and had to have his life support machine switched off. I read how his girlfriend cut his lovely long hair off (a bit odd, but grief is an odd thing sometimes) then held him tight until his heart stopped beating. I was so affected that afterwards I became a fan of the music.
Next up was Kurt Cobain. I was mad about grunge music. I liked Nirvana and loved Pearl Jam (still do) and lived in lumberjack shirts (now just called checked shirts) at the time.
I think the circumstances surrounding Kurt's death were so odd (and remain so) it's hard to reconcile. The whole different handwriting in the latter half of his 'suicide' note and Courtney Love being as mad as a box of LSD-infested frogs will always make me wonder if she didn't just 'off' him herself.
I've lost count of all the various people I've grieved over, but the death of Princess Diana is one of those defining moments where you remember exactly where you were and who you were with, as was 9/11, or our own 7/7 or the latest moment of horror in Norway. Moments like those are so shocking you'd have to have a heart of stone not to be affected.
Of course, grieving for celebrities is nowhere near as devastating or as long lasting as grieving for a family member, as I found the year after Princess Diana died, when my nan lost her fight to cancer. I'd known she was going to die for 18 months. I was the first person she told and I was tasked with telling my mum the grim news. Having any amount of time to think about the impending death of someone should help, but it doesn't, believe me. The loss is still like a kick in the guts when it happens, and even now, over a decade later I can barely think about it without crying.
The mists of time (and too much alcohol) have robbed my memory of some of the people I've grieved over, but I remember the guy I used to work with who fell forever asleep in a nightclub on New Years Eve in his early 20s. He'd had a heart defect no one knew about. RIP Mark. I cancelled a trip to see my family, went home and clambered into bed fully clothed to sob under the duvet when I heard.
Whilst working for the same company, there was a guy who died in a fire in company property. Someone had fallen asleep with a lit cigarette in hand, there was a massive house fire and he was one of a few people who died. I hated the bloke because he hated me, but still grieved for him, as it was a terrible way to go and he was a young man.
More recently, the death of Heath Ledger was upsetting. It's always somehow worse when a death is an accident, when it's through someone's own stupidity or lack of care, as I think 'Someone could've saved them.'
I think that is the real reason I get so sad when people who are flawed and fragile die, because it's such a terrible, terrible waste. Aren't we all flawed and fragile somehow? Would we like to be pigeon-holed and written off after our death because of the manner of our passing? I think not.
Seeing Heath in The Dark Knight was ever so poignant, as it was the performance of his life in my opinion and knowing he was no longer of this earth made it hard to watch, yet so mesmerising. He may never have bettered those celluloid moments, but we can only but wonder what he may have achieved, as with all the lives famous or not that have ceased to be.
And that brings us back to Amy.
She was undoubtedly flawed, a bird with a broken wing. So often genius is linked to frailty - it's almost as if some people are weighed down by the curse of their own brilliance and are not destined long for this earth. I'm not going to romanticise her drink and drug abuse - it isn't poetic and it isn't cool. For a soul to need to anaesthetise themselves every day to be able to exist isn't a thing of wonderment, it's a crying f*cking shame.
Russell Brand put it best, when in his tribute to Amy he said: 'Not all addicts have Amy’s incredible talent. Or Kurt’s or Jimi’s or Janis’s, some people just get the affliction. All we can do is adapt the way we view this condition, not as a crime or a romantic affectation but as a disease that will kill. We need to review the way society treats addicts, not as criminals but as sick people in need of care.'
This is why I grieve for Amy....because she was afflicted, because despite the amount of people who loved, liked and respected her, she was unwilling or unable to take the help offered to her. I wish I could've given Amy a bloody great big cuddle, but it wouldn't have done any good. She was lost to everyone, and the only person who could've saved Amy was Amy.
My friend Sarah put it brilliantly when she said 'People don't seem to realise sometimes that making bad choices doesn't make you a bad person.'
The sad thing is for a lot of people, Amy will be remembered for her excesses and not her talent, and again, that makes me sad.
