Czech singer Iveta Bartošová was born on 8 April 1966, and I think we’ll begin with the song (from 1998) this time:
Three times she won the Zlatý slavík — “Golden Nightingale” — music poll, though arguably it was more for her stage presence than for her musical chops:
I would say that to a large extent, Iveta was so successful because she was an extraordinarily beautiful ordinary girl who could sing. It doesn’t mean that she had some serious flaws as a musician; but I would say, she was no genius, either. People like me still loved her songs (which was arguably due to the composers) and the way she performed them (it’s about her).
And she did photograph well, regardless of her age:
About the turn of the century, Bartošová somehow became fair game for the tabloids, which are as annoying in Central Europe as they are here. Coping with them became increasingly difficult for her, though apparently it didn’t affect her performance:
Around 2010, she had a concert at the (main) Republic Square here in Pilsen. I came there and saw an Iveta that was incredibly full of energy and was making fun of the younger boys, dancers etc. on the stage, who were not. Her singing was still OK. What I saw was completely incompatible with the image of a zombie that has been served by the tabloid press virtually on a daily basis (I wasn’t searching for these articles but I was still drowning in them). She was in a much better shape than a typical successful teenage and post-teenage singer who surpasses 40 years of age.
Still she despaired, and in April 2014 she threw herself under a train on the outskirts of Prague. Said her husband: “Blame it on the media hyenas.” Which I shall.