Tom Dunne: Other-worldly, remarkable, jaw-dropping, Sinéad's passing is a bitter blow
Sinéad O'Connor in full flight at the Point Depot in Dublin in 2003. She was fun, mischievous, full of gossip and intrigue. She adored her children, and she adored music. When you got her talking about either, it was pure joy. Picture: Colin Keegan/Collins
The news of Sinéad O’Connor’s passing is a bitter blow, a true shock. She was a star. She was the reason performers are called stars. Her talent shone bright and clear. It lit up the world. The prospect of a world without her is overwhelmingly sad.
I met her many times. She was already by then a superstar, if one who had escaped its clutches somewhat. She was fun, mischievous, full of gossip and intrigue. She adored her children, and she adored music. When you got her talking about either, it was pure joy.
There was always the risk, though, that she would take out the talent; that voice, lurking in the background. If she started to sing, you were advised to stand well back. She sang like nobody else that I have ever heard. It was other worldly, remarkable, jaw dropping.
My last exposure to it was Féile 2019. It was raining cats and dogs, but Sinéad shuffled onstage; shy, meek and unassuming. When she sang, we stopped noticing the rain; the intensity, the power, the sincerity, the passion, the sheer strength of voice was mesmerising.
She seemed to pull the performance up through her bare feet from the depths of the planet. She sang like her life depended on it, like this time together was all we had, all we would ever have. It was crucial, vital, life-affirming.
She told me the “priest phase” of her life was because she felt she and priests performed a similar role. They channelled God, and she music, but both did it for the benefit of an audience. And it was beyond her, a gift from a higher power.
She was also incredibly brave, braver than I think we realised at the time. She fought to produce her own debut album and shaved her head despite dire warnings from the record company.
But, as fame beckoned, sticking to her beliefs came at a greater cost. She was already firing shots across the bow of the Catholic Church long before the incident with the picture of the Pope. It was a brave thing to do but it ended her commercial career overnight.
But how could she not have done it? She was a child of Ireland, and pre-liberal Ireland at that. She knew the score, and if musicians won’t speak truth to power who will? She helped drive much-needed change in this country and paid a price in doing so.
She wore her troubles, which seemed so often overwhelming, on her sleeve. I think that is one of the things that has so enamoured her to the Irish public. She was ferocious, but frail, and honest with it.
It hard to believe she is gone. I still see that impish smile she gave at the end of her last performance; our girl Sinéad, one of us, our beloved, funny, loving, incredibly gifted friend.
