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Laurie Penny: Amy Winehouse never, ever let us down

Winehouse was never interested in the normal rules of female celebrity.

We live in a hard, spiteful world that gorges on gossip and outrage and tramples on talent. As the tributes pour in for Amy Winehouse, who died on 23 July at the age of 27, we should remember that throughout her short career, the young singer was bullied by the press for the same vulnerability that made her music so powerful.

Winehouse was always more than an amazing voice. Her songs are as remarkable for their emotional authenticity as they are for the raw, precocious power of her singing. Her breakthrough album, Back to Black, is one of the great records of the early 21st century, and it is sublime precisely because it is about suffering: the ugly intimacies of addiction, the untidy angst of being young and lovesick and desperately unhappy, distilled into something rich, bitter and fine.

In a music industry that seems set on a trajectory of icy, impenetrable perfection, of inoffensive singer-songwriters with cookie-cutter good looks making coffee-table records for the curtain-twitchers of Middle England, Winehouse wore her flaws as brazenly as her 13 tattoos. And she was hounded for it to the point of breakdown.

The gossip press loves nothing better than to watch a young woman fall to pieces. The tabloids scented blood long before Winehouse appeared in public with flecks of it spattered on her ballet pumps, and began to hunt her through the streets of London and New York. Her song lyrics were quoted back at her in endless dissections of her obvious distress, mocking her refusal to "go to rehab" when she eventually did just that. In 2009, she had to take out a court order to stop press photographers from camping outside her house.

With the ethics of the tabloid press under scrutiny, it is worth asking why hacks felt the need, as the science writer Martin Robbins observed, "to pursue so aggressively and mercilessly a talented, but vulnerable, young woman". The day before the Sunday Mirror broke the news of her death, its sister paper sneered about Winehouse's appearance at a gig "like the embarrassing auntie you don't want at a family reunion". The same papers that gloated over Winehouse's deteriorating health and published grisly pictures of the car crash that was her personal life now carry solemn tributes to her achievements. The same papers that called Winehouse fat when she arrived as a fresh young talent in 2003, then gloated over her emaciated appearance as she succumbed to the pressures of fame, are saying how worried they always were about her weight.

A recurring motif of the many articles taunting Winehouse as her addictions lurched out of control was her failure to be “a good role model". Photographs of the "troubled singer" were regularly used to illustrate hand-wringing pieces about how young women everywhere were spiralling into a moral soup of loose-knickered, hard-drinking degeneracy.

Part of the joy of Winehouse as a pop phenomenon, however, was that she was never interested in the normal rules of female celebrity. When asked in 2007 why Amy Winehouse meant so much to me, I wrote that she was the only woman singer who you could never imagine releasing her own perfume - and if she did, you wouldn't want it near your pressure points any more than you'd dab yourself with Essence of Keith Richards.

It should not be the job of every female who achieves success through her own talents to be a model of ladylike good behaviour. Pete Doherty, whose substance misuse has likewise furnished the gossip papers with almost a decade of slobbering disapprobation, was never asked to be a role model. Young women need role models, but we also need artists and icons.

Winehouse was consistently iconic, from her trademark scruffy beehive and eyeliner to the raw soul of her voice. It is one of the many ways in which she never, ever let us down.

Much has been made of how her premature passing places her in the macabre coterie of musicians, from Morrison and Hendrix to Joplin and Cobain, who died suddenly at the age of 27. The superstition surrounding the so-called 27 Club is no more than a tasteless attempt to attach meaning and order to the senseless waste of young talent. Yet perhaps the association will allow Winehouse to be remembered not as a frail addict, but as the damn fine music star that she was.

Laurie Penny is a contributing editor to the New Statesman. She is the author of five books, most recently Unspeakable Things.

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Is defeat in Stoke the beginning of the end for Paul Nuttall?

The Ukip leader was his party's unity candidate. But after his defeat in Stoke, the old divisions are beginning to show again

In a speech to Ukip’s spring conference in Bolton on February 17, the party’s once and probably future leader Nigel Farage laid down the gauntlet for his successor, Paul Nuttall. Stoke’s by-election was “fundamental” to the future of the party – and Nuttall had to win.
 
One week on, Nuttall has failed that test miserably and thrown the fundamental questions hanging over Ukip’s future into harsh relief. 

For all his bullish talk of supplanting Labour in its industrial heartlands, the Ukip leader only managed to increase the party’s vote share by 2.2 percentage points on 2015. This paltry increase came despite Stoke’s 70 per cent Brexit majority, and a media narrative that was, until the revelations around Nuttall and Hillsborough, talking the party’s chances up.
 
So what now for Nuttall? There is, for the time being, little chance of him resigning – and, in truth, few inside Ukip expected him to win. Nuttall was relying on two well-rehearsed lines as get-out-of-jail free cards very early on in the campaign. 

The first was that the seat was a lowly 72 on Ukip’s target list. The second was that he had been leader of party whose image had been tarnished by infighting both figurative and literal for all of 12 weeks – the real work of his project had yet to begin. 

The chances of that project ever succeeding were modest at the very best. After yesterday’s defeat, it looks even more unlikely. Nuttall had originally stated his intention to run in the likely by-election in Leigh, Greater Manchester, when Andy Burnham wins the Greater Manchester metro mayoralty as is expected in May (Wigan, the borough of which Leigh is part, voted 64 per cent for Brexit).

If he goes ahead and stands – which he may well do – he will have to overturn a Labour majority of over 14,000. That, even before the unedifying row over the veracity of his Hillsborough recollections, was always going to be a big challenge. If he goes for it and loses, his leadership – predicated as it is on his supposed ability to win votes in the north - will be dead in the water. 

Nuttall is not entirely to blame, but he is a big part of Ukip’s problem. I visited Stoke the day before The Guardian published its initial report on Nuttall’s Hillsborough claims, and even then Nuttall’s campaign manager admitted that he was unlikely to convince the “hard core” of Conservative voters to back him. 

There are manifold reasons for this, but chief among them is that Nuttall, despite his newfound love of tweed, is no Nigel Farage. Not only does he lack his name recognition and box office appeal, but the sad truth is that the Tory voters Ukip need to attract are much less likely to vote for a party led by a Scouser whose platform consists of reassuring working-class voters their NHS and benefits are safe.
 
It is Farage and his allies – most notably the party’s main donor Arron Banks – who hold the most power over Nuttall’s future. Banks, who Nuttall publicly disowned as a non-member after he said he was “sick to death” of people “milking” the Hillsborough disaster, said on the eve of the Stoke poll that Ukip had to “remain radical” if it wanted to keep receiving his money. Farage himself has said the party’s campaign ought to have been “clearer” on immigration. 

Senior party figures are already briefing against Nuttall and his team in the Telegraph, whose proprietors are chummy with the beer-swilling Farage-Banks axis. They deride him for his efforts to turn Ukip into “NiceKip” or “Nukip” in order to appeal to more women voters, and for the heavy-handedness of his pitch to Labour voters (“There were times when I wondered whether I’ve got a purple rosette or a red one on”, one told the paper). 

It is Nuttall’s policy advisers - the anti-Farage awkward squad of Suzanne Evans, MEP Patrick O’Flynn (who famously branded Farage "snarling, thin-skinned and aggressive") and former leadership candidate Lisa Duffy – come in for the harshest criticism. Herein lies the leader's almost impossible task. Despite having pitched to members as a unity candidate, the two sides’ visions for Ukip are irreconcilable – one urges him to emulate Trump (who Nuttall says he would not have voted for), and the other urges a more moderate tack. 

Endorsing his leader on Question Time last night, Ukip’s sole MP Douglas Carswell blamed the legacy of the party’s Tea Party-inspired 2015 general election campaign, which saw Farage complain about foreigners with HIV using the NHS in ITV’s leaders debate, for the party’s poor performance in Stoke. Others, such as MEP Bill Etheridge, say precisely the opposite – that Nuttall must be more like Farage. 

Neither side has yet called for Nuttall’s head. He insists he is “not going anywhere”. With his febrile party no stranger to abortive coup and counter-coup, he is unlikely to be the one who has the final say.