So Long, Amy
On Saturday, July 23rd, I threw in a CD in the car, a Marc Cohn album, and listened along with my family. On the same home-burned disc, it turns out, was another album, my apparent attempt at efficiency three years ago when I purchased downloads of two CDs on the same day and wanted to make a hard copy without wasting two blank discs. The second album began to play when Marc Cohn finished. It was Amy Winehouse's "Back to Black," music I probably hadn't listened to in two years. It was good to hear.
The next morning, also by chance, I flipped channels on the TV for a few minutes and stopped when I saw Amy Winehouse's image. I learned that she had died the day before, about seven hours before I played her CD.
Coincidence? Most likely. And yet...
So long, Amy. Another one lost at age twenty-seven. I think of her in-laws, who in the midst of Amy's substance abuse, begged fans to boycott her music to help her get back on track.
And I think of how I didn't listen.