May You Know Peace, Sinéad

Dear Sinéad,

It was the late 1980s. A movie came out, the plot of which was based (rather loosely) on Patty Hearst’s story. What caught my interest, though, was the soundtrack. Regarded as a solo record by The Edge (and coming out during U2’s collaborations with Daniel Lanois and Brian Eno), I tracked down a copy out of curiosity.

The soundtrack started off with a very mid-80s U2 instrumental called “Rowena’s Theme.”

And then, I heard a voice that reached into my soul and lifted it toward the heavens. That voice belonged to a little-known Irish singer named Sinéad O’Connor. Your vocal range was unique and extraordinary, reaching from deep ancestral pain to ethereal beauty.

Mind you, we didn’t have mobile phones in the late 80s, much less phones with computers in them (much less the World Wide Web), so I had to pester my local record stores relentlessly to get my hands on a copy of “The Lion and the Cobra.”

I listened to your record non-stop for three days straight, and it rarely left my turntable over the next several months years. I don’t think anyone could listen to that album and not be changed.

Many publications and websites are counting down your “greatest hits,” but it feels like they’re missing the point. They’re missing your impact on our culture.

You were beautiful and complicated and messy and tough and tender. And so incredibly gifted.

Your lyrics could be playful but also revealed troubled waters. Over the years, the pain of your childhood would be revealed like layers of an onion. I am angry and sad and so, so sorry that the people who were supposed to love and nurture and protect you hurt you so horrifically.

I will always love you for your music, but you will forever have my respect and admiration for the courage you demonstrated over and over again.

You were a truth-teller, and you didn’t flinch, no matter how ugly the backlash got. You stood up for children who were abused by the Catholic church. You stood up for Black children and read the music industry for filth for the way they treated Black artists. You were an LTBTQ+ ally during times when governments (and their own families) left them to die either by AIDS or violence.

You were a champion of marginalized people in the way people should have stood up for you throughout your life, but so very few did. You understood the cost, but that never stopped you from speaking truth to power.

And, no, it does not escape notice that the same people who wail and screech against “cancel culture” are many of the same ones who tried to cancel you. Cowards, every last one of them.

Sinéad, I hope that grace and beauty and peace finally have you in their loving embrace. And that they never let you go.