REMEMBERING SINÉAD O’CONNOR: THE BOLD VOICE THAT CHANGED MUSIC
The Irish singer, writer and activist was committed to leaving the world a better place, and that’s exactly what she’ll be remembered for
One of my oldest musical memories is the iPod playlist our dad would put on in the car; a true rolodex of greats. Among the hits from Fleetwood Mac and Dusty Springfield, was Sinéad O’Connor’s astonishing rendition of ‘Nothing Compares 2 U’. Her voice – brimming with anguish far beyond the cognitive grasp of my eight-year-old self – was simply infatuating. It’s delicate, agonising and arresting in a way that never quite gets old. Almost two decades previously, her version of Prince’s song had topped the charts and won her three Grammy nominations. It’s a song that was – and remains – iconic.
Those weren’t O’Connor’s only Grammy nods, either. The Irish singer was nominated eight times over the course of her career, winning in 1991 for Best Alternative Musical Performance. She didn’t collect her trophy, though; characteristically ahead of her time, she’d chosen to boycott the ceremony in protest of the music industry’s commercialism and censorship. “As artists I believe our function is [...] to always speak the truth and never keep it hidden”, she wrote in an open letter to the National Academy of Recording Arts & Sciences at the time. It was in the same vein that she’d first shaved her head at the age of twenty – defying the record executive who told her to present a more feminine image; It was in protest of America’s systemic racism that she refused to play the national anthem before her gigs – and in opposition to the Catholic Church’s concealment of abuse that she tore up Pope John Paul II’s picture on SNL. She’d also previously pulled out of an episode hosted by Andrew Dice Clay for his homophobic and misogynistic set material. In 2023 it might be normalised for musicians to take strong political stances, (to the extent that some are accused of doing so performatively or inadequately) but Sinéad was among the first to truly put her beliefs before her career. It earned her widespread criticism, including a scathing review from Frank Sinatra, who called her decision not to play the US national anthem at the Garden State Arts Centre “unforgivable”. The Governor of Florida later ruled that the anthem had to be played at the venue.
Of all the words to describe Sinéad, ‘genuine’ seems closest to a catch-all. Everything she did, in protest and in song, was heartfelt – driven by the same desire to “inspire and, in some way, guide and heal the human race” – as she told in her letter to the National Academy. Her music is as much a protest as the career she formed around it: from the unswerving lyricism of ‘Famine’ and ‘Black Boys on Mopeds’, to the visceral fury of ‘Drink Before The War’, her writing is laced with hurt and rage and catharsis. That passion transported to her live performances, which had the intensity of feeling that made her an artist like no other. “When I sing, it’s the most solitary state”, she told Neil McCormick in 2012. “Just me, and the microphone, and the holy spirit. It’s not about notes or scales, it’s all about emotion.” Or put simply: “Nobody gets between me and my microphone.”
Sinéad is unique not only for the breathtaking quality of her voice, but for the unabashed integrity with which she took on the world. If she really did hope to inspire, she succeeded. Her music has soundtracked people’s lives; become core memories for kids in the back of their parents’ cars, encouraged generations of women to stand a little taller and incentivised musicians to be more vocal in their power to influence. The music industry is slowly acknowledging its habit of putting fiscal success over artistry and representation and, undoubtedly, Sinéad’s legacy will transcend her presence within it.
