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- MUSIC, Page 65Approach of a Desolation Angel
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- Sinead O'Connor is current pop's most haunting, unlikely star
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- By JAY COCKS -- With reporting by Elizabeth L. Bland/New York
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- Lights out. The voice, hushed and full, sings of private
- places and deep secrets. Hearing it is like a long, seductive
- and slightly sinister climb up winding stairs to a dark room
- where someone waits. Or, perhaps, lurks.
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- The music is not customary hit material. It is a little too
- odd and altogether too witchy for these flighty, dance-heavy
- times. But a first hearing of Sinead O'Connor might tempt
- anyone to believe that, for the moment, lite's out.
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- Her just released second album debuted in one trade
- publication at the very top of the charts. Her first single,
- a rhapsodic rendering of Prince's ballad Nothing Compares 2 U,
- is also a runaway hit, currently No. 4 on the Billboard Top 100
- and threatening to scale the peak. No wonder she can title her
- album I Do Not Want What I Haven't Got. Easy for her to say.
- It looks very much like Sinead (say it Shin-aid) O'Connor will
- have it all.
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- Hearing such personal, even introverted music making such
- a commercial impact is like a time trip back to the late '60s.
- Indeed, O'Connor's writing (with few exceptions she does both
- music and lyrics) strikes a strong spiritual bond with Van
- Morrison, who is Irish, as she is, and who uses rock, as she
- does, as a vehicle for self-examination and psychic
- speculation. O'Connor, 23, speaks with reverence of Morrison
- but adds, with subdued asperity, "I don't particularly want to
- have any Irish connection. I hate `scenes' of any kind. I'm
- just a girl, and it doesn't matter where you come from or what
- you look like."
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- Well, all right. When O'Connor was last in the U.S., in
- 1988, she had shaved her head bald, an attention-grabbing
- device that suited a time when she could hide behind the
- intricacies of her songs. Her hair these days is a half-inch
- black corona of fuzz, but she has never been shy about speaking
- out. "I would rather be compared to Patti Smith than anybody,"
- she says. "I don't want to be compared to people like Suzanne
- Vega, because I don't like wishy-washy music." She declines to
- analyze her own work but is keen about rap, reggae and Michael
- Jackson ("He's a doll, he's a god") and is open as a wound
- about the lacerating Irish upbringing from which many of her
- lyrics spring ("I'm walking through the desert/ And I am not
- frightened although it's hot/ I have all that I requested/ And
- I do not want what I haven't got/ I have learned this from my
- mother").
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- Born in Dublin, O'Connor watched her parents split up "quite
- violently" when she was eight. Her brother responded to the
- domestic tumult by "fainting all the time." O'Connor's sister
- began having extensive conversations with strangers in bus
- stations. And Sinead turned wild. She was busted for
- shoplifting and sent off first to reform school, then to
- boarding school. By the time her mother died in a car crash,
- her daughter hadn't seen her for nearly two years. "Her life
- never got better," O'Connor says, "and I suppose it was just
- as well that she died. But she was the person who, I suppose,
- meant the most to me. If it wasn't for her, I wouldn't be
- singing. She instigated that." The first album was dedicated
- to her mother. The new one is dedicated "to my father, with
- love," another sign that the healing has begun.
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- O'Connor is married now (her husband is her drummer, John
- Reynolds) and has a 2 1/2-year-old son named Jake. But what
- makes her songs so startling and vivid is their perpetual
- tension between lyricism and a stormy, still close past that
- keeps bearing down hard. "To write harshly," she says, "that's
- my ambition." And to relive everything, rework it and maybe,
- finally, to resolve it. That's her likely destiny. And the
- listener's reward.
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