What impressed me most was she was singing her truth, unselfconsciously, in a world where we’re all too guarded, posting on Instagram about our fabulous lives when the truth is so often we feel tortured and unsure, insecure.

Amy Winehouse was insecure. And she dealt with this by doing her best not to be too reliant on any one man, for fear he’d hurt her, the same way her dad hurt her mum.

Relationships… Does anybody stay in one place anymore? It seems the wealthy and educated stay together as a business deal and the rest of us are searching, judging and always wondering if there’s something better around the corner or whether the one who’s our heart’s desire will leave us first. Happened to me. And I’ve been forever untrusting since.

There was a hole in Amy’s heart that could never be filled. She was free, but too often empty.

The crime of this film is that it plays in the theatres. As if all of those who were fans of her music go out to see documentaries, as if we don’t live in a world of TV. If “Amy” premiered on television it’d be the talk of our nation, because it’s not only about fame, but the human condition. Somewhere, in between the clips and the music, is truth, a dirty one, the same one that has the paparazzi crowding around the name of the moment and abandoning it soon thereafter.

The weirdest thing is that Amy is so alive. We seem to only be aware of famous Amy, the one with the arm tattoos who kept falling down. But once upon a time she was a teenager, and there’s video of her. Seems that nothing is lost to posterity anymore. We all leave artifacts. And the loss of privacy is creepy, but to be able to sift through the ashes is fascinating.

Amy was on the fast track to nowhere. She was the antithesis of the American stars. She wasn’t sure if she wanted a career and she didn’t want to be world-famous. Then again, this is a movie, we’ll never know how she really felt.

She was a girl with friends who liked to get high. That’s why she moved out of her mother’s apartment, so she could smoke dope.

Amy was also extremely self-knowing. She said her mother was too easy on her, that’s why she was the way she was.

And she can certainly sing, but she’s told to write, about her life, and she does.

And that’s the heart of this movie, the songs. When they juxtapose the lyrics against the real life situations you’re touched. And you resonate. This is what music does best, reflect ourselves back upon us. But we seem to have lost our way these days. Who do we blame? The acts or the system? The acts want success, the system wants a return on its investment, and as a result everyone plays it safe.

Amy did not play it safe.

She was such an original. A sassy Jewish girl. She hid neither her identity nor her religion. When she leaves a phone message that she loves the recipient whether he returns her phone call or not, you’re touched. It’s so sweet and caring. Anything but manipulative, purely genuine.

Kind of like the look on her face when she wins the Grammy for Album of the Year. If it doesn’t bring tears to your eyes, you’re inhuman. My eyes are welling up as I write this. She’s standing on a stage in the U.K. in the middle of the night, watching the telecast from Los Angeles, and when they call her name she’s stricken, she can only stare into space, stock still. It’s not that it’s a dream come true, rather a shock that little Amy Winehouse resonates with so many, that doing what she wanted to do, without compromise, she was recognized, she won.

And little she was. Bulimic. We see these stick-thin stars and become envious. The truth is they either don’t eat or throw up. In this case, the latter, all over the studio stall. You can only hide your demons for so long.

Credit the manager who refused to go along for the ride.

Credit Lucian Grainge for making her sign a contract stating she could not perform on the Grammy telecast unless she was sober.

But the truth is the system ate her up. Everybody gets paid only if Amy works. Lucian told her she had to follow up her initial album. Despite her protestations, her second manager, a promoter, kept her working live when she shouldn’t have, because that’s what promoters do, oftentimes all they know, booking gigs.

And the acts go along with it.

It killed Kurt Cobain and it killed Amy Winehouse. Both protested before their deaths, said they no longer wanted to play, but it was too late, their lives had been turned topsy-turvy, they couldn’t find their way back to where they once belonged.

But the truth is they never really belonged. They were off-kilter. Thin-skinned. Following an inner art they weren’t fully sure they possessed. Poseurs are boasters, confident, all-knowing. Legends are unsure.

So what we have here is a woman so talented, many won’t realize it until they watch this film. Yes, viewing “Amy” makes you a fan of its protagonist. Sure, I knew “Rehab,” but I’m a much bigger fan now, Amy just oozed talent, she was the best of us.

And the worst.

True artists are not like us. They lack discipline. Order. You might not blow all of your money if you were a superstar, but the truth is you could never become a superstar, it’s not in your DNA, you couldn’t take the risks. Amy never could have had an executive career, she’d be fired from the 7-11 because she couldn’t show up on time. All she could do was this. And play pool. And do drugs. All the things your parents tell you not to, but which made her her.

But while we’re living the straight and narrow, we yearn to jump the tracks. Which is why we bond not to the act with the biggest sponsorship or the most famous boyfriend but the one who goes their own way, who does it different, who doesn’t beg for our acceptance and therefore gets it.

You won’t understand a ton of the dialogue. Between the English accents and the archival footage I missed so much.

Which is why I’m gonna watch it again. And again. On my TV. On my iPad. I’ve got to soak it all up, marinate in something that was hiding in plain sight that this film brings to life.

We’ve become so inured to fake that we’ve given up on genuine. Every story about the music business is about money being made or lost. How superstars are cleaning up on the road or acts are being devastated by streaming payments. If you’re not in the industry, you’re avoiding it. That’s the problem with music, not the economics, but the art itself. As Adele proved, if you’ve got it, the people want it.

But we haven’t had much of that spirit here since 1999, when Napster opened the floodgates and allowed everybody to play, when the barrier to entry became so low that chaos ruled. The crime is that as much as she was a paragon of excellence, Amy Winehouse’s greatness was buried by the tsunami of crap coming down the pike.

But now this film will resuscitate her image. Now she will truly be a legend.

And it’s so sad she’s gone.

You know how the movie ends, but when it does, even though it’s foreshadowed, you can’t believe it. You almost expect Amy to come out smiling, laughing that she fooled us.

But she doesn’t.

Life is no laughing matter. It’s not easy to kill yourself, but it’s possible. And when you’re gone, it’s forever.

So, take a few risks, but not too many.

Learn from Amy Winehouse, but don’t try to be her.

Because the truth is the greats are doomed. Even if they’re alive, they’re oftentimes broke and unhappy.

But without them, without their beacon, life would not be worth living.

This is the most painful viewing experience you will have all year.

But rush to the theatre now to see “Amy.”

I haven’t felt this bad after a flick since the “Deer Hunter.”

But this is real.

I know you’ll miss me
I know you’ll miss me
I know you’ll miss me blind

Actually, no. We wouldn’t have even gone to the Greek if it hadn’t been Rena’s birthday. And when the band appeared on the big screen in her office I thought it was a commercial, because who goes on tour with FOURTEEN PEOPLE?

Culture Club. Two great albums, a flurry of hits, and then nothing. We thought Boy George would go on to further success, but he flamed out and the band are now has-beens, out for a money grab.

And the way you do this is by having a lot of the show on hard drive. But Culture Club was LIVE!

I’m trying to figure out the modern paradigm. Everyone believes it’s gonna look just like the past, with recordings being the driver. But I’m not sure. Maybe it’s all about experiences, maybe it’s all about the show. And Culture Club’s was so good, so entertaining, made me smile so much that I told myself…I WANT TO SEE THIS AGAIN!

And I never feel that way. That’s why I stay home. I’ve seen everybody I want to see too many times, in their heyday and now on the rerun. It’s creepy to go again, I don’t get it. As for the young ‘uns…they tend to be gone before they get traction, or they never get traction, or it’s about hearing a couple of hits and then…

And I’m not telling you I have an aversion to hits, but the highlight of Thursday night’s show was a reggaefied version of Bread’s “Everything I Own.”

Huh?

That’s what you can do when you have a well-rehearsed band, surprise us.

And I was surprised that they were doing my favorite song first, “Church Of The Poison Mind.” I heard it coming up the steps. And it wasn’t perfect, but I didn’t expect it to be.

But Boy George… He was wearing this concoction on his head I just could not stop staring at. As if someone at the Scotch Tape store took black ribbon and twirled it up into a double crown. Who would wear such a thing, WHO COULD COME UP WITH SUCH A THING!

And when the initial number was done and we were in our seats, Mr. O’Dowd started to talk to the audience. I haven’t seen this kind of banter since Adele played the venue, the best show of the twenty first century. She was so relaxed, at ease with herself, with nothing to prove. She talked about the audience’s outfits, engaged in conversation as opposed to ignoring the hecklers. And Boy George did this too. Maybe it’s an English thing.

And the truth is Boy George has done so many shows that he’s relaxed and skillful, it’s Malcolm Gladwell’s 10,000 hours in action. Never forget that Gladwell uses the Beatles as an example in his book, how they played more gigs in Hamburg than most bands now play in a lifetime.

First and foremost it was the original band. That never happens. Someone’s dead or there’s too much infighting, usually about money, and someone is squeezed out or refuses to participate.

And I would be lying if I said they all didn’t show the years. But they were game, and so were we.

But it was a show band, with a master at its center. They could play anything and you’d enjoy it. Because that’s the power of music, what it is first and foremost, a sound, that envelops you and carries you away, makes you feel good. Music is just not a vehicle to become rich and famous. But today that’s what it is. It’s all about the money. Whereas the English were doing it on a lark. The British Invasion guys were just trying to avoid a life of drudgery in the factory. Boy George was a gay guy who didn’t fit in, so he created his own fabulous life, and we could just peak in.

But times were different. Never underestimate the power of MTV. Freddy and Demi couldn’t stop talking about Culture Club. They had MTV when it wasn’t in every neighborhood, and if you had it you were addicted and when your friends came over they couldn’t stop watching it. And sure, Duran Duran created the paradigm of throwing a ton of money at the screen in order to become successful, but Culture Club was one of the initial breakthroughs also. Although their videos were done on a lark and were often nonsensical, I know, because they showed them all on the backdrop Thursday night. But, Boy George evidenced charisma, which he still possesses, and they were all having so much FUN! You remember fun! Instead of dancing choreographed steps to perfection, you just go with the feeling.

So, you’ve got a horn section, a trio of players who don’t sound like Chicago, but something closer to what came before, the big band era, when you needed a full complement of players to get the sound across.

And a trio of backup singers… One was not enough? Two? You’ve got to pay these people. And they didn’t have perfect bodies and didn’t look like they belonged in the centerfold but when you heard them sing, you were bonded closer than you ever were to Bo Derek and the rest of the “Sharknado” has-beens. Because physical beauty is two-dimensional, whereas soul comes straight from the heart.

And two percussionists. Unnecessary, but adding flavor.

And there was one more guitarist, he looked like the band leader, but the original player, Roy Hay, did the solos.

And Jack Black came out at the end to duet on David Bowie’s “Starman” and if you grew up with “Ziggy Stardust” it was transcendent but the truth is Boy George knows his place in time. He can pay fealty to what came before, his influences, because he knows something else is coming after.

So I’m not telling you to go to this show for nostalgia, to put a notch in your belt.

And I’m not telling you to go to this show if you don’t care, after all, the band is what it is.

But if you like to go out, if you like to feel good, if you like to be transported by music, if you’re in search of authenticity in a land inundated by fake.

This is your gig.

The first album, not their whole oeuvre, because nothing thereafter was quite as good, and every Deadhead owned the initial LP. Jerry Garcia played with them, live and on record. He was into pedal steel. But the truth is the John “Marmaduke” Dawson-led New Riders opened the Dead gigs forty five years ago and it was like they were part of the same group, you expected to see them, and when they put out their first album you bought it. And it wasn’t as good as “Workingman’s Dead” and “American Beauty,” but it was accessible and the more you played it the more you came to like it.

That’s right, we paid for ’em and we played ’em. Everybody had a limited amount of music. And if an LP disappointed you and you stopped playing it, it was truly bad. I can only think of a couple in my collection. The second Vanilla Fudge LP, “The Beat Goes On,” and the second New Riders album, “Powerglide” come to mind. Oh, “Powerglide” was much better than “The Beat Goes On,” but it was such a come-down from the debut that I winced when I played it, and stopped buying New Riders albums thereafter. However, the fourth record, “The Adventures Of Panama Red,” was a return to form. But at that point I was off them, I had limited cash, and I was limited to hearing it on the radio and at other people’s houses.

PORTLAND WOMAN

My favorite track on the LP.

It’s always the slow stuff that grabs you after a few listens, that warms your heart, that you sing in your head.

When you drove south from Middlebury College, on Route 7, you go through Pittsford. I remember singing “I want to get me a Pittsford woman” over and over again, as a joke as we journeyed in search of the action.

That’s what you did back then.

No one was getting laid at Middlebury. There were only 1600 students and the girls were like your sisters, and everybody was so wrapped up in their studies they didn’t have time to party, nor did they have the inclination. So, we’d pile into Hughes’s ’66 Catalina and drive to all girl Green Mountain College and other locales. And we got high and we had some funny conversations, but that was about it. Wanna have a significant other? Move to the city, the odds are better, and no one knows who you are, and this is a relief after living in a small town.

I DON’T KNOW YOU

The opening cut, which everybody knew, you heard it pouring out of dorm rooms, it’s upbeat and catchy and was the most famous song on the debut.

HENRY

Dope-running. Back when that was still adventurous, back before it was dominated by the criminal element, at least north of the border.

Marijuana was still cool. Before everybody turned to ‘ludes and then cocaine and found out you could mess up your life real bad.

Also, it wasn’t until the middle of the seventies that sensimilla came on the scene. You could smoke a whole lid of dope with your friends and just get mildly high. Today a couple of hits will floor you.

So, so much of music was caught up in the dope culture, because the establishment pooh-poohed it. Actually, more than that, the establishment CRACKED DOWN ON IT!

The draft and dope. You had to worry about both. Getting your ass shot off in Vietnam and getting busted for a tiny amount of weed and going behind bars.

So, when the New Riders played this in concert…, when you were high in your dorm room and it came on…you smiled.

GLENDALE TRAIN

A story song that was much closer to country than rock and roll. But at this point our minds were open, between the Byrds, CSN and the Dead themselves, we were becoming inured to the sound.

“Glendale Train” is a classic that fits perfectly on Sirius XM’s bluegrass channel today. Used to be this music was more than niche, back before your image became more important than the music and pop was everything.

DIRTY BUSINESS

They still cut stuff like this today, yet few listen to it. But back when we had plenty of time, we enjoyed eight minute tracks like this. “Dirty Business” is hypnotic, play it now and you’ll find your mind set free, like you’re in the mountains and you’re high, whether naturally or substance-induced.

LAST LONELY EAGLE

Close your eyes and you almost think Jerry Garcia is singing. Well, at least in parts!

Sure, there’s the ecological element, after Kent State so many retreated to the land, before they became narcissistic and went to EST and the Me Decade was hatched, but “Last Lonely Eagle” is nothing so much as the sound Garcia ended up pursuing on his solo efforts, when his music could be more personal, when he could follow his muse without worrying about what the committee had to say. You see Garcia had enough fans to keep him alive, to buy not only his solo work but his work with Merl Saunders and so much more. This is the career you want.

LOUISIANA LADY

The album closer, the kind of track that gets you up to the point where you’re let down when the album ends. You’ve got no option but to flip it over and play it once again.

Dawson is dead. The New Riders no longer open for the Dead, they stopped doing that long ago. The band is a period piece, that everyone who was there knows and no one who wasn’t doesn’t seem to. But the truth is our less than superstar acts were so much better than so many hit acts of today. The New Riders Of The Purple Sage were not formulaic, they had melody, Dawson could sing and they all could play.

What a concept!

Rhinofy-New Riders Of The Purple Sage

Crawling from the wreckage into a brand new car

Bill Simmons has edges. To the point where ESPN’s majordomo, John Skipper, decided to fire him.

This is like the high school principal teaching you a lesson. Proving that no individual is as big as the institution.

You had contempt for the administration at your educational institution, and too often you have contempt for the business institution that employs you.

Bill Simmons started online, penning columns for AOL.

But he got a leg up with ESPN and he knows it’s too late to go independent, that talent rules if you have advisers who know how to ride on the institution’s coattails.

ESPN is challenged. Not only is it losing talent, its payments lie in the balance of cord-cutting. The cable companies will be fine, they’ll just jack up the price for internet. That’s right, when confronted with an insane bill from Time Warner I told them to cancel my television. But that would only save me ten bucks. For that same amount of money not only did I get a ton of channels, including HBO, but they bumped my internet speed up to 200.

But cable channels… They make their money by charging the providers, the cable systems, who hate to pay, because that just makes their service ever more expensive. You cable customers are paying six plus bucks for ESPN every month even if you’re not watching it, and a lot of people aren’t, they don’t want to pay for it, and when we go a la carte, ESPN is in trouble. One can argue sports are in trouble, because in many cases it’s ESPN paying a fortune for rights.

So, the outlook for ESPN does not look bright.

But the outlook for HBO looks amazing!

HBO has no advertising. The public hates ads. And, as a result, HBO’s not beholden to the advertisers, they don’t have to worry if content is too racy or if it gets enough viewers. As long as enough people pay to cover the cost of production, business is good.

Right now most are paying for HBO via their cable provider.

But now you can buy HBO independently.

And what is HBO doing?

DOUBLING-DOWN!

Making more shows than ever, increasing the value proposition.

And as a result there’s a virtuous circle, more programming begets more subscribers which begets more word of mouth which begets more subscribers and more money to make more programming.

And by perching itself at the top of the heap, by giving free rein to its talent, HBO gets the pick of the litter. Getting a show on HBO is like getting into Harvard. Something everybody wants but few achieve. You build your resume in movies and TV and if you’re lucky, you get accepted. HBO only wants the best.

Now HBO had a hiccup of its own. With the Chris Albrecht affair. But it turned out there was enough DNA in the outlet to sustain his loss and prosper. So, John Skipper you’re feeling good today, but when you get fired tomorrow…

So, there’s no better place for Bill Simmons to go than HBO.

Those who don’t know how the game is played would tell him to go independent. To have all the control, to make all the money. But the truth is in today’s cluttered world you need help. Nate Silver and Ezra Klein tried this, with Fiverthirtyeight and Vox respectively. Most of their audience did not travel. And it’s hard to gain new customers, there’s no overflow, like there is with HBO, from other shows on the network.

So Bill Simmons comes out smelling like a rose.

Illustrating that top-tier talent always wins. That anybody who claims “You’ll never work in this town again.” is living in a different era. Teaching talent a lesson is passe, especially when it’s superstar talent. Superstar talent is the grease upon which these outlets prosper.

If you’re not Bill Simmons, or Bill Maher….

You’re not exactly screwed, but you’re in trouble.

There’s only room for one in today’s world. That’s what the great unwashed wannabes don’t understand. There’s very little room at the top. And those who sustain have been at it for a long time.

And what keeps them there is not playing ball, but being themselves.

In a phony world where politicians pander and executives get along we need people to believe in. It’s the essence of Bills Simmons and Maher, as well as Donald Trump. You may not like them, but large groups of people do. Because they embody their frustration, their anger at having to conform.

Especially millennials. Who’ve been told to get along to get ahead. They need heroes.

Furthermore, HBO knows the new rules. That free is fine when you’re building.

You can stream John Oliver on YouTube. You only erect fences when people want to tear down the walls. There’s plenty of money if you’re willing to wait.

Everybody else wants it now.

But Bill Simmons is testimony to the proposition that life is long, and hard, and even if it looks like you’re losing today, you might be winning in the end.

So, have a personality. Speak your truth. It’ll alienate some, but it will bond others ever more closer to you.

And know that it’s very hard to build a star, especially one who sustains. And that he who gets to the mountaintop gets to write his own ticket.

Also, the world works best when you use someone else’s vehicle to get ahead. Better than having your own car in college is having a best friend with one. You don’t have have the headaches of insurance, repair and gas.

Bill Simmons doesn’t have to worry about promotion and distribution, he’s just got to do his act.

That’s what all talent desires, the ability to just do its act.

Dave Edmunds “Crawling From The Wreckage”