RIP, Sinéad O'Connor
She spit truth to power, and paid the price.
Sinéad O’Connor died, and it hit me hard. She joined my life’s soundtrack in my (and her) early 20s, and lyrics from her song “The Emperor’s New Clothes” seem to crop up everywhere in my life. “All I want to do is just sit here and write it all down and rest for a while” is my default mode of being.
She was beautiful, with her luminous Irish Rose skin, shaved head, and wide eyes. Her voice was incredible. She was punk and true, singing with real energy about what it meant to be alive and talented in a world that wanted to hold you back. I didn’t see her legendary Saturday Night Live performance, but I defended her. Tearing up a picture of the Pope on live TV is about as punk rock as it gets.
My childhood parish had a creepy priest who has since been defrocked. Of course, no one listened to the kids who complained about him. Because, you know, he was a priest and we were kids. No one believed us until the Diocese announced the allegations some 30 years later. How many kids were hurt in the meantime, as Fr. Creepy bounced from parish to parish and rehab to rehab?
Now we know, about the pedophilia and the coverups, the Magdalene Laundries and the coverups, the financial crimes and the coverups. There are wonderful people in the Catholic church doing incredible work (check out the story of Sr. Dorothy Stang), but there are a lot of problems that the people in charge chose to ignore. That’s what Sinéad O’Connor was protesting. And she was right.
She was right about everything. And she told us so. “They laugh ‘cause they know they’re untouchable, not because what I said was wrong.”
No one likes an I-told-you-so. Especially not from an angry woman. She wasn’t Tom Morello of Rage Against the Machine. She couldn’t make a movement. She didn’t go to Harvard; she dropped out of high school and spent a stint at a Magdalene Laundry. She spit truth to power, and the people in power dropped her from the airwaves.
She got how a pregnancy can change you. She and I even had secret double lives as North Shore moms, me because my kid was at a Catholic high school in the suburbs, her because she was staying with a musician friend. Once I got over the surprise to find that this performer whose songs were influential to me was hanging out where I was, I was heartbroken to learn why her friends were so worried. While I was going to the post office where the staff didn’t yell at customers and picking up pre-made Italian food at Convito, she was wrestling with an illness that was breaking her brain.
I’ve always had a soft spot for Irish music, and Sinéad O’Connor followed her commercial career with a steady series of recordings of traditional songs. I listen to them a lot when I’m working, always amazed by how she uses her voice to get to the emotional truth of even a seemingly simple ditty like “I’ll Tell Me Ma”. She remained my soundtrack even as I got old and established.
Rest in power, Sinéad.
Thanks for so succinctly summing up part of what Sinead means to you. It helps me articulate why I felt such a kinship with her and appreciated what she was doing so much. One thing people don't know is that when you're talking about the North Shore suburbs, you're talking about Chicago. Like, she was living in Wilmette. That blew my mind at the time and it still does!
Those of us with Irish genes seem to find a connection. I saw her SNL performance and the rip-the-pope-picture moment. Not sure what I made of it at the time but I still remember.
Her music wasn't really my vibe (I'm more into The Pogues/Flogging Molly) but there's no denying the devastating power of her most famous song - the places where she hits the high notes with a combination of longing and rage. And that haunting video. So many talented musicians never get a single change to have that one unforgettable performance captured in a single song. She got that, and much more of course.