Not long ago, probably two or three days following Amy Winehouse’s death, my grandmother called me. We made small talk about who Winehouse actually was, her drug abuse and her personal demons that made very public headlines. Almost instantly, she uttered, “Sounds just like Jimi Hendrix.”
From there, we shifted the convo to the rock icon and how his music helped define a generation. You know, all the stuff you talk about when reminiscing on a dead artist. The one thing the two of us agreed on was Jimi died far too soon for such an immensely talented artist whose impact could have been greater had he have lived longer. She blamed it on the drugs, and while I agreed, those same vices were probably the reason he created the music he did. The gift and the sometimes fatal curse of the music industry.