Sunday Music: Sinéad

Two people on Sinéad who kicked my a** in all the good ways:

My older sister fell in love with O’Connor’s music first and then gifted me with The Lion & the Cobra for my birthday.

I remember excitedly ripping the cellophane, pulling out the liner notes, and locking my bedroom door as I sunk into my bed to listen. As soon as the opening notes of “Troy” hit, I emotionally transformed.

My sister had let me in on an otherworldly secret. The voice of an angel expressed the angst growing deep within my soul — angst I could not yet articulate.

Powerful, emotionally-wrought poetic lyrics stirred me, and blood rushed to my head.

In a world of preteen bubble-gum pop and emotionally disconnected singers, I had never heard anything like this before. I wanted some of the magic this phenomenal voice oozed.

A year later, my sister surprised me with tickets to my first Sinéad O’Connor concert. We stood in an outdoor amphitheater and belted our own warbled, off-key rendition of “Mandinka.” Goosebumps covered my body as this lithe, ethereal, shaved-headed woman and her guitar invited me to enter their world — if only for a while.

This is what great artists do. They inspire more art. Sinéad gave us that. 

I wrote about Sinéad once before, right around when her book came out and the NYT nearly moved me to tears: “Sinead O’Connor On The Beauty Of Imperfection.” 

There’s a million moments in her songs, but I’ll go out with this one. It’s on theme with this post, showcasing how artists inspire more art (h/t Ryan M.) It’s also one I remember really catching my attention in 1994. And as a bonus, why is this duet still the sweetest?

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