It’s no news that pop singer Amy Winehouse died on July 23rd. This was immediately met with a media-wide mourning, as well as her induction into the “Forever 27 Club.” Though you may have heard this information in recent weeks multiple times, here’s a rehash: the Forever 27 Club is a group of five other musicians who died at the age of 27: ex-Rolling Stones guitarist Brian Jones, who died in 1969, Jimi Hendrix, who died about a year later, Janis Joplin, two weeks later, Jim Morrison, in 1971, and its penultimate member, Kurt Cobain, who famously passed away in 1994.
Of late, many people have written pieces condemning the media attention given to Winehouse’s death, especially in light of the predictability of it and the unintended attention it took from the tragedy in Norway. In my opinion, it is far too easy to simply criticize the reaction, both individual and media, to any celebrity’s death, than it is to try to understand why that reaction is occurring in the first place. Sure, the Forever 27 Club is an unnecessary, over-discussed dramatization of young death, perpetuated by the media for ratings; but isn’t there something to it?
ANAMARIJA KOROLJ/THE VARSITY
There have been many famous rock star deaths. Too many to count, given stereotypes of the rock star lifestyle that tend to lead to an early grave. But isn’t it slightly remarkable that these six musicians, who truly were icons, even Winehouse, all died at the same age of non-natural causes? Winehouse herself predicted that she would die at 27; that sort of eerie foreshadowing cannot be overlooked. There is something strange, even uncanny, in looking at the lives of these youths, not much older than us, who died too soon.
Brian Jones was a founding member of the Rolling Stones. His contributions, including the innovative use of folk instruments, led to the changing of the band’s sound. He was also a fashion icon due to his rebellious style. He was found dead at the bottom of his swimming pool.
Jimi Hendrix was widely believed to be the greatest electric guitarist in history. His influence on the rock genre is unmistakable. Hendrix was found dead in a London hotel, having asphyxiated on his own vomit.
Janis Joplin was the queen of rock and roll. The power and vulnerability of Joplin’s voice bridged the gap between psychedelic rock and soul. She was found dead in her apartment of a heroin overdose.
Jim Morrison, who was known to improvise poetry at concerts, was one of rock history’s pioneering singers. He died in Paris of a suspected heroin overdose, though controversy still surrounds his death due to the lack of autopsy.
Kurt Cobain and his band, Nirvana, were the voice of Generation X in the 90s. Cobain often felt frustrated and misrepresented, and after a failed suicide attempt, he succeeded in killing himself with a shotgun.
As for Amy Winehouse, she made jazz and soul cool again, was the first British female to win five Grammys, and has had lasting influence on some of music’s leading females, such as Adele. Her cause of death has not been conclusively established, but it is suspected by her family to have been alcohol withdrawal.
When we look at the deaths of these celebrities, these young people, we see in them problems of our own. Many of us want to craft ourselves in the images of celebrities and feel like we know them personally; perhaps this somehow makes their problems our problems. And their deaths discomfort us so much because we see a bit of ourselves in them. It may seem far-fetched, but if we see them as people just like us, it means our lives could have ended, just like theirs.
Ignore the media storm of outrageous stories and insincere mourning. Ignore the many journalists who tell you that your feelings for someone you don’t even know personally are invalid. When someone you love, who has influenced you as person, dies, do what you need to do. Take some time and mourn, and don’t let anyone tell you it’s ridiculous.
