Nothing Compares 2 Sinead O'Connor--and her Byron Bay, Australia, audience

BluesFest, 21 March 2008

A one-day trip to the Byron Bay BluesFest seems like a teaser, an appetiser to a fabulous many-coursed meal at which it’s not possible to even SAMPLE every dish; and to only sample some is to do them an injustice, so you have to choose. Better a full palate of great musicians than the frustration of racing around, tasting but never satiated.

But Good Friday 08 was a feminine feast of musical love and talent that was enough to satisfy in just one day.

Michelle Shocked got the love-fest started by calling her partner—her sweetheart, her oh-so-obviously-true-love—and for a sharp East Texas stringbean like Michelle—she gets longer and leggier every time I see her—what could’ve been a sentimental washout for any other performer was as honest and forthright an expression as anyone has ever given.

Of course, the comic unreliability of mobile phones lightened the episode considerably when, after hearing his first “Hello?” Michelle launched into an outpouring of, “I swore I wasn’t going to cry, I can’t cry here in front of all these people, but I miss you so much, I wish you were here, these four weeks have been so hard, I miss you …” only to have him reply with another, staticky, puzzled-sounding, “Hello?” And we all laughed in sympathy with the frustrations of contemporary high-tech communication.

Friday’s set was a collage of new songs from an upcoming album, a few old favorites: she opened with “Anchorage”; sang a paen to Mavis Staples, gospel queen, who performed a rousing, raucous, quite un-holy set later in the day; and included quite a few of her own spirit-based works, appropriate to the day and season. Her Southern roots seem to be making themselves more and more evident as she gravitates toward the gospel/spiritual element of music—and yet, again, her honesty protects it from the insipidity or preachiness that style sometimes generates.

As the sun went down, the dusky-voiced Mavis Staples belted out blues raw and rough enough to make even the most hard-edged rapper blush. Rather than the humility we often expect from faith-based musicians, Mavis gave us the passion and power of the spirit, gospel and blues music that celebrates life and glory and human potential—that makes you cry with the fierce joy of living.

But the true power of the day lay with the Keltic diva, the Irish-songstress recognized as much for her rage and outcry against injustice, hypocrisy and patriarchy as much as for her music. If, however, you were one of those who believes that it is her politics rather than her artistic genius that make her the woman she is, it took only a few notes into her opening song, “I am Stretched on Your Grave” (adapted from a 17th Century epic poem) to shatter that illusion. And 1990s “The Emperor’s New Clothes”, recorded during such a period of social change yet still so suspicious, is even more relevant today and illustrates O’Conner’s ability to combine the ultimate in artistic beauty with thematic timelessness.

For those who remember the iconic video of “Nothing Compares to You”, the Prince-written song that Sinead sang at 23 years old, with all the dewy innocence of youth and belief in the power of passion and change—those profoundly blue eyes in as vulnerable a face as has ever been projected by film—the first sight of the 41 year old mother of four might come as a shock. Gone are that perfect glowing skin, the serenity of youth, the faith in truth and beauty. A contentious professional life, personal drama, health issues (her own bout with fibromyalgia and pneumonia of her youngest child—born 19 December 2007), and most probably international climate of violence and instability have taken their toll.

Hunch shouldered, looking mostly at the stage, and seemingly fragile as she stretched her mouth and voice for those heart-stopping leaps into vocal impossibility, her performance appeared at first a valiant struggle whose effort might be beyond her. The invigorating Keltic rhythms of “You Made Me the Thief of Your Heart” lifted the set out of melancholy, although a new song—inspired, she said, by months of fascination with TV preachers during her recent residency in Atlanta, Georgia (USA, not Eastern Europe)—she apologized for, saying (and sounding like her fellow Irish activist, Bono) that it had ended up sounding more “preachy” than she intended.

Though she clearly gave it her all, and her voice held the magic and power that has attracted audiences for more than 20 years, still it was painful to watch this once-immensely powerful warrior woman/singer/poet conjure her former selves from what seemed a damaged and broken vessel.

With determination to maintain a level of professionalism and fulfill her obligation to her audience, Sinead and her band went into the opening chords of “Nothing Compares 2 U”; they were greeted by such a roar of love and approval that she lifted her head in surprise. But it was the power of the audience’s voice—strong and direct in that honest Australian way—as we fed her back the chorus, that at last elicited the dimpled smile from her face, and the angelic wide-eyed nymph returned to us for those few seconds. Aha, I though, smiling through my own tears, there she is.

And for the rest of her concert—including an absolutely breathtaking version of “This Heart”, a cappella, sung with her arms around the two other women (violinist and guitarist) of the band; dance-tempo renditions of “Mandinka” and “Fire On Babylon”; some offerings from her latest album, Theology; and the always-heartbreaking “Thank You for Hearing Me”—that Australian energy carried her through on its strength. Closing with the almost unbearably sad, “The Last Day of Our Acquaintance”, still she left the stage smiling with genuine appreciation and thanks for the audience’s love.

Later, listening to Don McLean, we laughed when he commented that he wanted to play us “one more new song before we get to the big one” with a good-natured resignation in his voice. How sick must he get of having to play that paen—that document of rock and roll history that transcends generations in its familiarity—even if it has meant he never had to work again the rest of his life.

Once again, however, the Australian audience shocked and amazed the veteran musician with their enthusiasm and return of energy—to the point where he even played the first verse one more time, just to allow us to sing along.
Good Friday at the BluesFest reminded me once again how much I love the magic of Byron Bay, but perhaps even more, how much I admire the honest appreciation of Australian audiences for what they love and support. Be it policies, sport or music, Australians are unstinting in their approval. It’s a great quality to see and feel.