Pop music had often cast women as sweet, bright creatures, but Winehouse’s lyrics revealed something mulchier, messier. Here was a woman who refused to conform – not in the eccentric mad woman in the attic mould of Kate Bush or Björk, but a woman who chose to live a little wild, follow her heart and sing of the simple stew of being female. Her songs were filled with broad talk, cussing, drink and drugs and dicks, songs that could hinge on one magnificent, unladylike question: “What kind of fuckery is this?”
i’ve had all these classy Tumblrs, follow me, that i have been a tad reluctant to get back to my blog’s general mission… the exploration of the intersections between music and sexuality which frequently has been best explored by pictures of fully naked people with musical instruments. ima gonna fix that tonight. i’ll start with the generally more acceptable pics of naked girls from the “NAUGHTY” era. but as a head’s up to my more “senskitive” followers? there will be erect PEEN!
“Birds…scream at the top of their lungs in horrified hellish rage every morning at daybreak to warn us all of the truth. They know the truth. Screaming bloody murder all over the world in our ears, but sadly we don’t speak bird.”—