By Mitch Winehouse
The intimate, inside of tale of the eventually tragic lifetime of a number of Grammy Award-winning singer and songwriter Amy Winehouse (“Rehab,” “Back to Black”) is advised by way of the only individual such a lot capable of inform it—Amy’s closest consultant, her proposal, and ally: her father, Mitch. Amy, My Daughter contains specific, never-before-seen photographs and paints an open and sincere portrait of 1 of the best musical abilities of our time.
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Extra info for Amy, My Daughter
Indd 32 1/15/13 2:10 PM Last Light “We should swing by and see if Jaha wants to wet a line,” I said. Jaha, short for Jeremy Anderson Hard Ass, a nickname earned in middle school for holding his ground against bullies half again his size, was the most natural-born fisherman I’d ever known, an angling genius who could practically talk a fish into skipping the drama and hopping straight into his cooler. My favorite image of him came from a day at that same fishing hole we’d just left down the highway.
Over the course of the three-day festival, we discovered we shared a go-with-the-wind, howl-at-the-moon spirit, and during down times had long discussions about Aldo Leopold’s A Sand County Almanac, which John carried around with him like a bible. Both of us were getting over heartbreaks that neither had seen coming. Both of us were more interested in fishing, even if we ended up getting hosed, or climbing some mountain in rinse-cycle weather than pursuing new girlfriends. indd 26 1/15/13 2:10 PM Last Light I had taught John how to roll a kayak, and had turned him on to the euphoria of skiing in deep, backcountry powder.
I had to fight to stay alive, no matter what it took. I remember this as a conscious decision. I remember promising myself that if I fought and lived, I would never look back and regret it. I didn’t know the mauling had left me blind. Once I’d made my decision, my mother vanished but I was not alone. A figure materialized off in the distance, showing itself as a silhouette backlit by a starburst of blue light. My long-dead grandfather. I recognized his lanky legs and the outline of his favorite ball cap.