The tragic fall of Amy Winehouse

There is something more than usually grotesque about the slow-motion downfall of Amy Winehouse being played out daily in the media. As the singer and her appalling husband holiday in St Lucia, their respective parents are fighting a shameful proxy battle at home, with her father-in-law, Giles, calling on Amy’s fans to boycott her records until she cleans up. She looks pitifully skeletal in the latest pictures, hollow-eyed and miserable. The worst of it is – beyond the horror of watching a human life collapse like a frame-by-frame car crash – is that she is, quite simply, one of the best soul singers of all time, possessed of a voice that bewitches, infiltrates the heart and defies emotional gravity. This is not just another Britney or Li-Lo celebrity rehab story. With time and the depth that comes with experience, Amy Winehouse has the chance to sit alongside Aretha Franklin, Ella Fitzgerald and Minnie Ripperton as one of the true greats. After the sensational Back in Black, she should be looking to extend her range, play different sorts of venues, experiment with more traditional forms. She is good enough to have half a century of singing ahead of her. But none of this will happen if the vampires don’t leave her alone, starting – it would appear – with her very nearest and dearest.