One of the aspects of the documentary, Amy, the story of Amy Winehouse that struck me immediately was what a solid guitar player she was. Why is this notable? Because I had never heard anything about her musicianship. Outside of her songs themselves, what so many of us saw was her bad girl image, as exemplified by her song, “Rehab.” Yet there she was, accompanying herself on jazzy originals and moving comfortably all around the fretboard.
I knew then that I would blog about the movie – and now that I’ve seen Janis: Little Girl Blue, the time is right. Both of these films are good and serve an important purpose, which is to show the stories behind the wild images of these great singers who shared influences, strengths, and weaknesses, as well.
Amy has more of a point of view than Janis. Throughout her brief and tragic career, a number of men, including her father, her Pete Doherty worshipping boyfriend, and her managers and producers did little but ride the Winehouse gravy train until there was nothing left. The movie makes this clear but fails to ask the question, in an eight year career, why did she only release two albums? It left me wondering why no one, including Winehouse herself, was compelled to ask the question of why they didn’t work a little harder instead of milking the hits for all they were worth. It suggests another question – what is the work ethic of the music industry today? Is promotion more important than quality? With Amy Winehouse, the quality is obviously there. But she could have done so much more. Working harder might have saved her life.
Little Girl Blue is a simpler movie, more or less a valentine to a legendary performer whose memory is in danger of fading. The purpose of the film seems to be to expose the younger generation to Janis’ music and life while potentially opening up a discussion of who she was and what happened to her. In direct contrast to Amy Winehouse, Janis Joplin had no consistent collaborators or managers who could help her with her life or her musical direction. A force of nature, Joplin flashed through the landscape of the late sixties, a huge star but seemingly not much of a priority for her handlers, who included Albert Grossman, Bob Dylan’s manager, and Clive Davis, the Columbia Records president.
In a scene taken from the movie Festival Express, Janis sings and plays her soon to be biggest hit, “Me and Bobby McGee,” while members of the Grateful Dead and others join in. The irony of the situation and a question that the movie flirts with trying to answer is if Joplin had finally gained the center of attention, why did she continue to feel so much pain and loneliness?
I saw Little Girl Blue on perhaps the smallest movie screen known to man, in cinema number five at the IFC Center in Manhattan. But Janis had no trouble filling the theatre and the hearts of the audience, even from that tiny screen. I was reminded of a quote from Sunset Boulevard and its tragic, lacerating star, Norma Desmond: “I am big – it’s the pictures that got small.”
Janis Joplin would never need to make this claim. She died accidentally with her greatest success in the can, and the opportunity to continue working with better and better musicians ahead of her. Sadly, her cautionary tale is wasted on Amy Winehouse. But the biggest tragedy is that Amy and her hangers on had five years to think about it.
On Practicing Guitar 