Lily Allen, Duffy, Amy Winehouse and Florence Welch: The struggles of a seemingly cursed generation of singers

At the beginning of the year, singer and actress Lily Allen, 39, announced that she was going to take a break from her successful BBC podcast Miss Me? — which she co-hosts with her friend Miquita Oliver — due to her mental health struggles.

“I’m finding it hard to be interested in anything. I’m really not in a good place,” she said on Thursday’s episode. “I know I’ve been talking about it for months, but I’ve been spiralling and spiralling and spiralling, and it’s got out of control.”

Allen revealed that panic attacks had led her to cancel social commitments and discussed the pressure she faced from the press and social media, particularly regarding her alleged marital issues and her struggles with alcohol and drugs.

This is not the first time Allen has announced a temporary hiatus. The artist has a long history of addiction and mental health challenges. Despite this, she remains one of the most successful British pop artists of this century. In 2005, she posted her first demos on MySpace, and by the following year, she hit number one in the U.K. with the song Smile, instantly becoming a best-selling, award-winning artist with critical acclaim.

Allen released four albums between 2006 and 2018, but since then, she has struggled to return to music, despite multiple announcements of upcoming projects. Her most recent update came a year ago, when, in response to fan comments on X (formerly Twitter), she shared that she had written about 50 songs and promised new music soon.

A pivotal generation in British pop

Lily Allen’s story is often seen as an individual and highly specific case, but in reality, it is not. When she released her second album, It’s Not Me, It’s You, in 2009 — which was even more successful than her debut — she was hailed as the spearhead of a new wave of female solo artists poised to redefine British pop. Allen followed in the footsteps of Amy Winehouse, who was two years older and had already made her mark with two albums released in 2003 and 2006.

That year, 2009, was celebrated by the British media as “the year of the women,” especially after five female artists appeared among the 12 finalists for the Mercury Prize. The winner, however, was an under-the-radar artist, Speech Debelle, who unexpectedly triumphed over Florence & The Machine, Bat For Lashes, La Roux, and Lisa Hannigan. A year earlier, Adele and Laura Marling had been among the nominees.

One common thread links nearly all the successful British singers of that generation. Amy Winehouse and Lily Allen, along with Duffy (born in 1984), Florence Welch (1986), Adele and Jessie J (1988), and Laura Marling (1990), have all struggled to fully enjoy their artistic triumphs. At some point in their careers, each has faced mental health challenges of varying severity.

The most tragic case is that of Winehouse, who died in 2011. In many ways, her death served as a wake-up call for her peers, prompting reflection on the importance of mental well-being in an industry that, at the time, paid little attention to it.

“Young artists today are much more aware of this,” says Rosana Corbacho, a psychologist specializing in the music industry. “There’s now a movement that encourages self-care, therapy, and healthier lifestyles, and these things are widely accepted. The singers of that generation didn’t have that. I feel they were pioneers — partly because they witnessed those around them struggling. Back then, the mental health of an artist with depression was not discussed as much. It was only talked about in cases of suicide, addiction, and very striking issues.”

The pernicious myth of the tortured artist

Adele was among the first stars to openly discuss her struggles with mental health, and many fans interpret her hit Rolling in the Deep as a reflection of her experiences with depression. Marling also admitted that she temporarily stepped away from music at the height of her success to become a yoga instructor after battling depression.

How much of Winehouse’s mythologization and canonization stems from the tragic circumstances of her death at 27? And, since she was unable to enjoy that posthumous adoration, who truly benefited from it?

In her book Touring and Mental Health: A Handbook for the Music Industry, British psychotherapist Tamsin Embleton writes: “Our understanding and response to depression is shaped, in part, by cultural discourse. We see it symbolized in art or through the tragic tales of those who have perished in the grip of this potentially fatal affliction. It’s also found in the mythos of the ‘tortured artist’ or the fictitious ‘27 club’ that romanticize suffering and promote the fallacy that suffering is a prerequisite for making great art. These misconceptions distract from the grim reality that many of those people died as a result of mental ill-health, which often responds well to treatment.”

The second question is addressed by Pablo Garnelo, a psychologist and musician who also writes for music publications such as Ruta 66. “The entertainment industry, where recognition and validation are markers of success, acts as a temporary sedative — an experience that tends to hide the person behind the public persona seen on stage at a concert. This relentless pursuit of external approval turns the artist into both a victim and a slave to a perverse system that commodifies psychological suffering and sells it as something innovative and avant-garde to benefit the industry executives — not the artist.”

According to Garnelo, “we are witness to how the industry exploits public discontent and frustration, where anything unprofitable is penalized, and the romanticization of the ‘cursed artist’ has become just another cog in a machine that never stops turning, always seeking to maximize profit of the show, which is increasingly in the hands of fewer people. The entertainment industry, which today even absorbs political discourse, will do anything as long as it sells tickets.”

Florence Welch — whose debut album Lungs (2009) reached number one in the U.K., won a Brit Award, and set the stage for a career that has remained consistently successful — has been candid about her struggles with anxiety, alcoholism, eating disorders, and post-traumatic stress disorder. Unlike the industry’s tendency to romanticize suffering, she has openly criticized this narrative. “I managed to be successful despite my demons, not because of them,” she told Vogue in 2019.

Is the situation different for female artists?

“Research tells us that incidences of mental ill-health are substantially higher than in the general population. A popular 2017 study by Help Musicians UK conducted by Gross and Musgrave revealed that 71.1% of musicians reported incidences of anxiety and/or panic attacks, and 68.5% experienced incidences of depression. Gross and Musgrave wrote that, ‘music making is therapeutic, but making a career out of music is destructive,’” writes Embleton in her book.

“Addictions and behavioral disorders, which are very common in these cases, are often just the tip of the iceberg — symptoms of more complex issues, including experiences of harassment and rejection, as well as neglect in both early childhood and adulthood. The industry exposes and exacerbates individual vulnerabilities,” explains Garnelo.

Lily Allen and Florence Welch entered the music industry carrying these personal burdens, but women in the business often face additional pressures compared to their male counterparts. External scrutiny over physical appearance, expectations of youthfulness and desirability, and challenges like postpartum depression — experienced by both Allen and Adele — are just a few of the factors that disproportionately affect female artists.

Jessie J, for example, revealed last summer that becoming a mother had intensified her struggles with obsessive-compulsive disorder and ADHD. Meanwhile, Allen admitted to becoming addicted to Adderall, a drug prescribed for ADHD, during a tour with Miley Cyrus, because it helped her to stay thin. At the time, she felt her body was being judged in comparison to Cyrus, whose hypersexualized image dominated the industry.

Embleton, founder of the Music Industry Therapists Collective, tells EL PAÍS via email that “there is a constant emphasis on women working in showbiz to remain young, thin, sexually attractive and available. Beauty is commodified and sometimes equated with moral virtue. This increases the pressure to conform to beauty ideals and promotes self-consciousness.”

According to Embleton, “women’s images are scrutinised for flaws to a degree that men do not experience. When you are constantly confronted with other people’s opinions, it can distort your sense of self and lead to an identity crisis, and eating disorders can give you a means to control an aspect of your life when others may feel out of control.”

Rosana Carbacho, a psychologist with years of experience in the U.K., highlights the unique intensity of British pop culture and its relentless media environment, where musicians are under constant public scrutiny. “There is a lot of demand and exposure for public figures,” she explains, recalling the era of “heroin chic” — a fashion trend that glamorized extreme thinness and was heavily promoted by the press. “It was terrible for health, but not for advertising and record labels.”

The devastating case of Duffy

Aimée Ann Duffy, known professionally as Duffy, was one of the most successful singers of her generation. Her debut album, Rockferry, was the best-selling album of 2008 in the U.K., Sweden, and Denmark, topping charts in six countries and earning her three Brit Awards and a Grammy. However, she didn’t replicate that success with her follow-up album, Endlessly, in 2010, which produced just one single before she vanished from public life.

For nearly a decade, her disappearance remained a mystery — until 2020, when she revealed the devastating reason behind her absence. In a deeply personal Instagram post and a long open letter on her website, Duffy disclosed that while celebrating her birthday, she had been drugged and kidnapped, held captive in a hotel in a foreign country, and repeatedly raped by the same perpetrator over an extended period. She was then drugged again at home for four weeks. The singer never revealed the identity of the attacker or went to the police, explaining she was told she would be killed if she ever spoke out.

After the traumatic episode, Duffy said that she was completely alone for 10 years, and even contemplated suicide, before seeking psychological help.

Duffy’s case — while an isolated event — fits into a broader, troubling pattern of gendered violence and exploitation in the music industry. Lily Allen, for instance, endured years of harassment from a stalker who initially contacted her on Twitter before escalating his behavior, eventually attempting to break into her home and threatening to kill her.

Garnelo points to findings from the 2024 Be The Change study on gender equality: three out of five women in the music industry have experienced sexual harassment, and one in five has suffered sexual assault. Yet the culture of silence remains pervasive — 70% of those affected do not report incidents, fearing professional retaliation or dismissal. Among those who do speak up, 56% say their complaints were ignored, and 38% report being blacklisted.

Embleton explains that, in the U.K., 78% of stalking victims are women, and 87% of perpetrators are men. She offers some key insights: “Fame and wealth would put someone at greater risk of being stalked or kidnapped, either because they become more attractive due to their status or more valuable for ransom due to their fame and wealth. Women in the industry may also suffer from other stressors that their male counterparts are less likely to experience, such as grooming, sexual harassment or relationships that include features of coercive control or exploitation.”

She continues: “Fame increases the risk of unwanted and intrusive attention, such as intense and unsolicited interactions with fans. Through social media, we have made artists much more accessible to fans, giving them previously unseen insights into the artist’s personal life. Teams often encourage artists to regularly post and share aspects of their private life. This can intensify parasocial relationships, which are intense and one-sided, driven by a person’s fantasy about who the artist is or could be for them. Fans can feel very invested in the artists’ lives, and may even feel entitled to comment on the choices the celebrity makes.”

Corbacho explores another aspect: toxicity and power dynamics within the industry. “Sometimes we bring trauma from home and seek protection, only to find more violence in the teams we work with. The added problem with pop and with huge tours is that you don’t have much space for a normal life or for having relationships with your school friends, family, or your lifelong partner. That would protect you from the madness of being a product, and I think that something that all the women we have mentioned have in common is that they have been products,” she concludes, leaving us to reflect on the implications of that reality.

Sign up for our weekly newsletter to get more English-language news coverage from EL PAÍS USA Edition