No doubt the start of a string of posthumous credits, though a good start nonetheless.
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Patrick St. Michel: I’m guessing the bulk of attention “Cherry Wine” will get is because of the person featured. I just hope it’s for the right reasons — Amy Winehouse’s hook sounds so sweet, even as she’s asking “where is he/the man who is just like me?” It’s a gorgeous chorus, one bolstered by Salaam Remi’s dusky beat, another example of Nas lucking into a producer who knows just how to use a saxophone sample. Speaking of Nasir Jones, he handles himself well here, even with head scratchers like “I’m on my Lilo And Stitch” popping up during his verses.
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Anthony Easton: It’s good to know that what previously seemed ghoulish or at least impossible, with the post-mortem careers of Elvis or Jimi Hendrix, now seems tawdry and worn. The alchemy of turning dead flesh into live money mostly rests on nostalgia, but Winehouse has so little to be nostalgic about, and I just sort of shake my head and turn off the radio.
[5]
Alfred Soto: Indenturing a soul girl to supply the tenderness the male hip hop artist can’t condescend to provide is no longer a novelty. Nas’ rote proficiency doesn’t generate the appropriate frisson with the Winehouse bit, which in this context sounds so late nineties. A more pertinent question: other than Jermaine Stewart, who used cherry wine as a metaphor? Let me not put it past Nas to take it literally though.
[4]
Will Adams: Nas and Amy sit at a corner table in a smoky cabaret. A splayed out drum loop pitters softly on the stage opposite their table. It is late, nearing midnight, but the band plays just as lively as they did with a full house. The two friends commiserate over their shared loneliness over some deep red wine. Nas vents after a tough day at work, growing wide-eyed as a child as he spills about his dream girl. Amy listens patiently and relays her story, jokingly eyeing the rest of the club in search of her kindred spirit. She turns back to the table, looks down at the off-white linen tablecloth and says, a bit less jokingly, that she’s going to go home and drink all of her red and cherry. But just when things veer towards wading in the fathoms of melancholy, Nas surveys the beautiful scene around him, says, “Life is good,” and pours himself and Amy another glass.
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Brad Shoup: Not even bummer vibes can derail Nas’ major summer. Both players are supporting the electric piano overtones and exhaling brass… it’s a bit like being smothered to death by a cruise combo, but what a way to go!
[8]
Alex Ostroff: I’ve always preferred Amy over top of Salaam Remi beats. “Cherry Wine” recalls the breezy, saucy, fiercely intelligent woman of Frank rather than the pained larger-than-life figure on Back to Black who deployed the Daptones’ horns and her beehive and mascara as emotional armor. There’s just enough time here for Amy to make her mark, and just enough ache in her voice to let us know that when she turns to her red and cherry, she’s not seeking numbness — she’s just taking the edge off, kicking off her pumps, and maybe throwing on some Sarah Vaughan. The sole disappointment is that on the two collaborations between she and Mr. Jones, Nas never manages to prompt as much emotion as missing his concert did.
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Jonathan Bogart: My favorite Nas song is, contra the rap-nerd gatekeepers, “If I Ruled the World.” Amy was never Lauryn Hill, but they both chose to subsume their incredible talent in living lives that should have been — that should be — better respected. Nas is one of the few rappers open enough, smart enough, and similarly incredibly talented enough to be in a position to draw those parallels. The fact that he generously gives over the extended outro to Amy’s improvising only underscores that fact.
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Edward Okulicz: The individual components are fine — the beat is good and sounds retro-cool under Winehouse and modern-summer-slick under Nas — it’s just that it’s more of a thing than a track. It doesn’t have the stench of something that wouldn’t have made it past the quality control of a living artist, but it still sounds overly-constructed, confected, artificial, and the chorus’ superficial magic wears out fast for mine. I’m glad it exists, and it harms neither Amy Winehouse’s legacy nor Nas’ sky-high cred, but it feels little more than fond.
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Andy Hutchins: I have a hard time listening to this without thinking Nasir and Amy should’ve been able to make a collaborative album. But as rap songs performed “with” best friends about not finding your soulmate, you’re going to have a hard time beating this, which also has the good grace to let Amy sort of scat. If this is Nas’ last goodbye to her, it’s the right note.
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