Amy Jade Winehouse could have been any young woman growing up in 1990s London — palling around with her mates, sneaking lagers, shagging dudes, getting into trouble, getting her nose pierced, and getting expelled from drama school for it. (That, and a few other reasons.) Until she opened her mouth, at which point she seemingly became possessed by a 1940s jazz chanteuse channeling centuries-old lust and sorrow. Winehouse went from a kid with a bluesy, contralto wail that almost felt like a parlor trick, considering that it was coming from a tiny white teen from Southgate,...