Winehouse v Feist.
The Grammys are round the corner and nominated for the Best New Artist are both Feist and Winehouse. That’s Leslie and Amy, two girls who couldn’t be less alike if they tried.
Bone thin and wasted, Amy Winehouse nightly prowls the frigid London streets in singlets and mini-skirts and ballet pumps. Married in haste to Blake Fielder-Civil, junkie, jailbird, she counts Kelly Osbourne among her friends. Famous for cancelling shows or showing up late and wasted, she has been arrested for drugs on tour and now may be ineligible for a US visa, making success there near-impossible. She is regularly photographed with white powder fringing her nostrils and a mad look in her dark eye.
Feist, on the other hand, flicks her fashionable long fringe and bounces from gig to gig across continents positively emanating love for life and for her art. Always appearing stylish and somehow fresh but knowing in photos, she’s rarely in the press for anything but accolades and adoration. Without exception reported as intelligent, witty and just plain nice, Feist comes across as a likeable Canadian chick. And she probably is just that. Oh, with the voice of an angel and a huge knack for catchy riffs and vocal harmonies. I can’t imagine her snorting cocaine, but I can imagine her skinning up a doobie and chilling with her guitar.
Winehouse is stage-trained at the BRIT school for the performing arts, in Croydon, London. Her music is highly derivative, more black than white north-London Jew, and catchy. I must admit that I like her Back to Black album a lot, and liked her a lot when she first appeared all sulky and curvy back in 2004 before I left London. She paints a death mask of black eyeliner and pale foundation on her belle-laide face and is never without a towering beehive of scraggly, frazzled hair. It would be hard to recognise the girl if she covered the sailor tats and sallied forth in a sleek bob and natural makeup. She *is* Amy Winehouse, 24-hours a day. Her performances merit mixed reviews. Sometimes brilliant and other times bumbling, I’m sure that half the frisson of her live appearances in the wolf-like hunger of watching a disaster happen and hoping that it doesn’t teeter off the edge of the known world…just yet.
Feist is a self-trained musician who’s spent more time in collaborations and mate’s projects than on her own solo career. She released a solo album in 1999, but only became known in 2005 with a mixture of original and cover songs. Hangin’ out in the Canadian music scene since she was 16, she forged a strong cadre of musician friendships, many of whom perform on her highly collaborative records. The girl stuck it out and honed her craft and almost certainly lived a lot in the meantime. She shares a flat with Peaches, for heaven’s sake. Her live shows – which I’ve never had the pleasure of knowing – are reported to turn into a giant chorus as she leads her audience in a harmonising sing-along. Hallelujah!
Two artists more different I cannot imagine. I know who I’m rooting for. It’s not that every celebrity is a role model, but the behaviour of some people makes it hard to have faith in human civilisation. The depths to which we’ve sunk, oh lord, are fathomless. Overdoses and divorces and Scientology nudge each other in the gossip rags. Wealth and luxury manifest their opposites as depression and self-abasement. The bleak non-believer of the modern metropolis staggers from pub to club to after-party unconcerned with their liver or their psyche. That’s why examples like Amy Winehouse are not trivial. Her level of self-hatred is probably shared by the high school gunmen, tired serially shagging socialites and thrice-divorced plastic surgeons of this world. We reject the normalising influences of family and faith and end up hating ourselves for our excesses and appetites, all the while reading adverts for ice vodka and pink Champagne and holidays abroad.
We need more people like Feist in our mind’s eye and our public eye. Every time I listen to her music I have an insatiable urge to pick up my guitar and start playing. Her music inspires me, makes me feel happy. Feist deserves to win a Grammy for putting smiles on people’s faces, being polite and nice, for being talented and genuine and with-it. So, Leslie Feist, good luck on your adventure, keep your head and have a great time. I’ll try to make it to your Madrid or Barcelona show this June. Nice one, eh.