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Tag: Amy Winehouse Rehab

  • On Lola Young and Amy Winehouse’s Generational Divide When It Comes to Dealing With Addiction

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    While Amy Winehouse might have “glamorized” addiction (in a far less deliberate way than Lana Del Rey “glamorizing abuse”), her proverbial predecessor/the person who is now oft compared to her, Lola Young, has sought to do the opposite in her approach to songwriting about the struggle. Accordingly, her third and most recent album, I’m Only F**king Myself, is the most candid yet in terms of Young exploring her various battles with addiction. Particularly cocaine. A drug of choice that already differentiates her from Winehouse, who famously said in her signature track, “Rehab,” “I love you much/It’s not enough/You love blow and I love puff.” In effect, Winehouse says what Lana Del Rey later would with the “Born to Die” lyrics, “Sometimes love is not enough and the road gets tough/I don’t know why.”

    Young has slightly less “romantic” thoughts on the matter of l’amour (and drugs) throughout I’m Only F**king Myself, taking a more Lily Allen approach when speaking about her ex-boyfriend(s). For example, “SAD SOB STORY! :),” on which she sings, “But I don’t stalk your Instagram ‘cause I don’t care to know, mate/Who you’ve been sleeping with is no longer my business/And, damn, it feels good, it feels great/I moved on, but I just wanted to say/Best of luck to ya, and I hope you’re happy someday/But keep your sad sob story, ‘cause I won’t read it anyway.” Winehouse, too, had plenty of her own severe “over it” thoughts on exes. Indeed, she could be far more savage than Young—even to a bloke she was still dating. As is the case on 2003’s “Stronger Than Me,” the lead single from Winehouse’s debut, Frank, during which she ribs her then boyfriend, Chris Taylor, “Don’t you know you supposed to be the man?/Not pale in comparison to who you think I am/You always wanna talk it through, I don’t care/I always have to comfort you when I’m there/But that’s what I need you to do, stroke my hair/‘Cause I’ve forgotten all of young love’s joy/Feel like a lady and you my ladyboy.”

    Her dissatisfaction with most men only added to the proverbial void inside of her—the very one that prompted her to turn to drugs/have such an “addict’s personality.” Even becoming addicted to people. Most notably, Blake Fielder-Civil. The one who led her even further down a path of drug-addled darkness. This being yet another thing that separates Young from Winehouse: she’s not having her biggest moment yet in the spotlight while still dating someone toxic. A clinger/leech who only becomes more so at the slightest whiff of fame and fortune. Furthermore, in direct contrast to Young, Winehouse patently refused to go to rehab as her fame level soared. Even though going through some kind of “program” at that time might very well have caused her life trajectory to go in a totally different direction. That is to say, she might still be alive today if some early preventative measures had been taken. The same way that Young took them just as “Messy” was blowing her up on the charts in late 2024. While some “pop stars” might have jumped into high-gear promotion mode, this was the precise moment that Young checked in at a facility for her cocaine addiction. One that had been plaguing her for what she deemed “a long time.”

    On the plus side, as she noted to The Guardian, “…it teaches you a lot, being addicted to substances. It makes you more empathetic about other people that have gone through that. It’s just a constant journey.” Alas, Winehouse’s own constant journey came to an abrupt end on July 23, 2011, when she once again turned to alcohol as a substitute for the Class A and B drugs she had been dependent on in the mid-2000s. By 2008, however, when she truly was forced into rehab, Winehouse began to “turn a corner.” At least, in a sense. But just because she kicked the “harder stuff” didn’t mean she wouldn’t still turn to alcohol more than merely “now and again.” Even though she mentioned in a 2010 interview with Glamour UK, “I literally woke up one day and was like, ‘I don’t want to do this anymore’” (and yes, that is very much a Rihanna lyric).

    Of course, that wasn’t entirely true. A classic binger, Winehouse’s method was to have periods of sobriety followed by getting soused. This being what eventually led to her fatal alcohol poisoning. And, in large part, her inability to seek out the level of help she needed can be chalked up not only to her upbringing, but to her generation. For while millennials might be among the first ilk to truly push back on the general harshness of various “baby boomer philosophies,” many—especially of Winehouse’s “elder millennial” status—were still indoctrinated with the narrow-minded views imparted to them about “how to deal with things.” Especially mental health-related issues. In Winehouse’s case, it wasn’t only a matter of being from a generation that was taught to shove feelings down and/or numb them with substances. She also grew up with parents that largely ignored some of her glaring neuroses early on. Particularly with regard to bulimia. And if they did ignore her issues, it was mostly a result of their own generation’s teachings, instructed never to look too deeply below the surface of things. To just “go along to get along.” Particularly as a woman.

    But Lola Young, as a quintessential Gen Zer (born in 2001 à la Billie Eilish), has an altogether different approach to not only acknowledging her issues in the first place, but also taking them on in a constructive manner. And the number one way that her generation has done so is by seeking the necessary form of medical assistance (yes, usually that means therapy) in order to tackle their demons head-on. Winehouse was never able to fully do that, treating her demons of drugs and alcohol not as something that needed to be tamed, but as the cure itself. Worse still, she did glamorize the rush, the thrill of getting wasted all the time. Of being, as Young would say, messy. Her defiance audible in the chorus of “Rehab” as she declares, “They tried to make me go to rehab/I said, ‘No, no, no.’” The final “no” being particularly emphasized in her vocals.

    In effect, Winehouse would never be the sort of woman to say something like, “I’m a dumb little addict so I’ve been tryna quit the snowflake,” as Young does on “Not Like That Anymore.” Instead, she would bill her drinking and drugging lifestyle as the chic explanation for why “you know I’m no good.” Shrugging it off as though it’s her doomed fate. In this regard, too, Young can at least address her awareness of wanting to responsibility-shift and “blame it on the gods,” as it were. This being the line she wields in the first verse of “Spiders,” the one that goes, “Can you take, take it off my hands?/To make me feel like I had something planned/And blame, blame it on the gods/So we don’t feel like we did something wrong.”

    Winehouse’s songwriting, in sharp contrast (though not in terms of how autobiographical it is), is all about the simultaneous acceptance and guilt of being “born bad” (or, as Del Rey says on “Kinda Outta Luck,” “I was born bad, but then I met you/You made me nice for a while/But my dark side’s true”). This shines through on songs like “What Is It About Men,” “You Know I’m No Good,” “Love Is A Losing Game” and “Addicted.” As far as she’s concerned, the die is cast vis-à-vis the outcome of her life. Whether related to matters of romance, family or otherwise. So why not just knock another bottle back and take things as they unavoidably come? There’s no stopping any of it anyway.

    And yet, Gen Z does have this same sort of fatalistic worldview as a result to the very “No Future” vibes that have been further compounded by the inevitability of environmental collapse and/or an AI takeover of the world—whichever comes first. The thing is, they just don’t drink and drug about it as casually and endlessly as millennials like Winehouse. And if they do, they’re sure to take a page from Young’s book (digital though it may be) and seek help before they go down the same (back to) black hole that Winehouse did.

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    Genna Rivieccio

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  • Lola Young, Too, Would Like to Say, In Essence, “Please Don’t Try to Find Me Through My ‘D£aler’”

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    If any chanteuse (still living, at least) can identify with the struggles of addiction, it’s Lana Del Rey. After all, her teenage alcoholism is part of what landed her in boarding school exile. Hence, her numerous songs alluding to these struggles, these demons—whether written during or after the period she battled the hardest with it (hear: “Boarding School,” “Get Drunk,” “Off to the Races,” “This Is What Makes Us Girls” and “Bartender,” to name a few). And yes, her predilection for addiction has often extended toward “bad men,” to boot. 

    Her own track called “Dealer,” however, is less personal and more geared toward “someone else’s narrative.” A sweeping, tongue-in-cheek number she worked on with The Last Shadow Puppets back in 2017, when she called what they were doing “a little rock band on the side.” Among the songs to see the light of day from that project were “California” (which appears on Norman Fucking Rockwell), “Thunder” and “Dealer” (the latter two appearing on Blue Banisters). Another, “Loaded,” was “given” to Miles Kane, whose vocals might be the core of what makes the single memorable (much more memorable than the album it hails from, Coup de Grace), but there’s no denying the songwriting style is decidedly “Del Reyian.”

    As it is on Lola Young’s “d£aler,” the third single (following “One Thing” and “Not Like That Anymore”) from her forthcoming third album, I’m Only Fucking Myself (or I’m Only F**king Myself, for the more sensitive types). And, similar to “Not Like That Anymore,” “d£aler” emphasizes Young’s attempts to be less self-destructive, and more self-care oriented. Though God (or whoever) knows that’s usually much easier said than done. 

    Co-produced by Solomonophonic and Manuka (who also co-wrote the lyrics with Young), the song’s jaunty sound doesn’t quite align with some of Young’s woeful musings, including the opening verse, “I spent all day tryna be sober/I drowned in my misery, crawled up on the sofa/And I still love him/The way I did when I was nineteen, but it’s not easy to let him know/I spent all day wishin’ the day was over.” The complex, dichotomous emotions Young conveys are akin to Lana Del Rey screaming on her “Dealer,” “I don’t wanna live/I don’t wanna give you nothing/‘Cause you never give me nothing back/Why can’t you be good for something?/Not one shirt off your back.” 

    In a similar fashion, Young has grown weary of her own lover, which, in this case, doesn’t just refer to a literal person, but also drugs—and self-sabotage itself. Her greatest love. And, as she stated of the overarching theme of I’m Only Fucking Myself, “[It’s] my ode to self-sabotage, my chance to claw myself back from the edge of defeat.” In order to do so, she must give up on all her unhealthy habits/coping mechanisms that have held her back up until now, ergo her entire life. This entire version of herself that now needs to be shed like an unwanted skin. Because sometimes, running away from yourself (de facto, your problems) really is the best way to start over. Which is why Young belts out in earnest, “I wanna get away, far from here/Pack my bags, my drugs and disappear.” Okay, so she can’t quite give up the drugs just yet. But what did you expect? The “cold turkey” approach is impossible.  

    So it is that she seems to be addressing her tangible (read: fuckable) lover more than drugs when she sings, “Tell you, ‘No,’ make it clear/That I’m not coming back for fifteen years/I wanna write a note, leave it with/My next door neighbor who don’t give a shit/I wanna get away, far from here/Pack my bags and tell my dealer I’ll miss him.” Or, as Miles Kane, through Lana Del Rey’s “Dealer,” puts it, “Please don’t try to find me through my dealer/He won’t pick up his phone.” In other words, the people in both of these songs no longer want to be contacted or found by the erstwhile toxic presences in their life. Opting to start anew in one way or another, even if it’s not as drastic as leaving town and ghosting everyone in order to really “begin again.” Indeed, Enid (Thora Birch) from (the appropriately titled) Ghost World’s “number one fantasy” comes to mind when listening to Young’s song. That Enid fantasy being, “I used to think about one day just not telling anyone and going off to some random place. And I’d just disappear and they’d never see me again.” 

    Young certainly captures that fantasy in the Conor Cunningham-directed visualizer for “d£aler,” which features her looking behind her (a.k.a. at the viewer) from the back seat of a convertible with the blow-up doll version of herself (the same one that appears on her album cover) “driving.” This itself serving as a kind of metaphor for how she never really feels that in control of her own actions. As though operating from an entirely dissociated perspective. But whatever “POV” you look at it from, “d£aler” (British-ified in its spelling or not) has some marked similarities to what Del Rey and Kane are putting down in their song of the same name. Closing it out with, “555 [this indicating that they’re giving out a fake number to anyone who tries to reach them]/Please don’t try to find me through my dealer (9275, 555)/He won’t pick up his phone (now you’ve got a busy tone)/All circuits are busy, goodbye/All circuits are busy, you’re high.” 

    In addition to channeling some Del Rey energy on this single (aside from the title alone), the comparisons that Young so often gets to Amy Winehouse remain accurate as well. Except that, ironically enough, “d£aler” is, in essence, her anti-“Rehab.” Her declaration that she’s getting “clean.” Or at least trying to become less self-destructive. Not just by moving away from her dealer, but by quitting a relationship that’s ultimately unhealthy. If only Winehouse had done the same with Blake Fielder-Civil before it was too late. For if anyone needed to “tell you, ‘No,’ make it clear/I’m not coming back for fifteen years,” it was Winehouse. But hopefully, her story can still serve as a cautionary tale about the pratfalls of gravitating toward all that is bad for you to someone like Young. In turn, funneling that tale through her own music. 

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    Genna Rivieccio

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