On Mourning and Radical Music
I was doing my usual morning routine of drinking iced coffee, smoking a cigarette, and checking Twitter on Wednesday when I received a real gut-punch: Shuhada' Sadaqat (better known by her stage name of Sinéad O’Connor) was dead at 56. A beautiful soul, long-time outspoken artist and activist, and an Irish treasure. It hit harder than I’d even realized it would.
Now, to be fair, I do not have an easy time dealing with death, of anything. I sometimes get choked up seeing a cat or dog on the side of the road that has, unfortunately, been hit by a vehicle.
A good number of my personal heroes have, sadly, passed in the last 20+ years of adulthood. The first I was really affected by was Johnny Cash in 2003, but I immediately wondered why this one felt so personal. For the majority of that day I sat alone, revisiting her catalog and thinking about the reasons why. Then it dawned on me: she was one of the first musicians that truly made an impact on me from the very moment of exposure.
I must’ve been 8 or 9, in the early 90s, long before the very small town of my upbringing got MTV or Much Music. Our local TV station aired popular new wave, alt-rock, etc videos from the 80s and very early 90s. I’d stay up on Fridays, at my maternal grandparents’ house, being exposed to the likes of Devo, the Lightning Seeds, the Pet Shop Boys, and Sinéad.
I don’t exactly remember which video it was that I saw first, perhaps “Mandinka” or, most likely, “Nothing Compares 2 U”, but I distinctly remember being enthralled by something that was completely out of the ordinary and emotive, an experience I wouldn’t begin to even understand until I was much older. I was experiencing a *very* radical artist for the first time.
Now, I’m very fortunate that, for the majority of my nearly 40 years on this spinning rock, I’ve constantly been surrounded by good music. My parents are two sides of the same coin. My dad was a 70s rocker. He loves Skynyrd, Zeppelin, Bob Seger (who he’s always reminded me of), the Who, etc. Hell, he followed ZZ Top around for a while in his late teens. My mom, she was more into singer-songwriters like Neil Young, Dan Fogelberg, and, her absolute teenage favorite, John Denver (whom she invited to her high school graduation, but that’s a story for another time).
Needless to say, I had very early exposure to fantastic bands and musicians.
Now, an older cousin and her then-boyfriend enter the conversation. They loved R.E.M. (who had filmed a video in my hometown, and had album art created by a local folk artist), 10,000 Maniacs, L7, and loads of 80s “College Rock”. Her boyfriend first played me the Ramones, Minor Threat, and Black Flag around age 10. None of which I really unpacked the impact of until I was in my late mid-late teens. Thinking back on it, this early exposure set me on a course of fierce independence and learning all I could about both the musicians I loved, but also the underpinnings of what made their art special.
I remember the infamous SNL episode where O’Connor ripped up a picture of Pope John Paul II. I was nearly 10 at the time, but didn’t understand what it meant until a couple of decades later. Yet, that influence percolated, subconsciously, for so long.
Shortly after, I was exposed to the Cranberries, led by Dolores O’Riordan (another Irish treasure). I bought the cassette singles of “Linger” and “Dreams”. Then, “No Need to Argue” followed. I was immediately taken aback by it. “Zombie” is, of course, the best known song, but “Dreaming My Dreams”, “I Can’t Be With You”, “Ridiculous Thoughts”. Honestly, every track resonated with 11 year old me. I spent much of 4th grade drawing what I saw in my head as scenes from the song “Zombie”. These days I would probably have faced VERY bad consequences for that, but this was 1994. When I got my first guitar at age 12, that was the first song I learned.
In 5th grade a friend loaned me a cassette copy of the Crow soundtrack. Amidst making mix tapes of alt-rock songs off the radio, this was a turning point. Stone Temple Pilots’ “Big Empty” all but knocked me over the first time I heard it. And, as one does, I rewound and played it over and over and over.
I distinctly remember sitting outside, waiting for my grandmother to pick me up from school, with my Walkman and headphones on. I listened to that tape and my mixes (which included Gin Blossoms, R.E.M., Hootie and the Blowfish, along with many others), thinking “I’m so much cooler than all of you”.
This music was an escape. It was something that gave me life. It was something that made me feel different from everyone else stuck listening to the pop music of the era. It was special, it was my secret.
Middle school brought more discovery of punk rock (Green Day’s “Dookie”, Rancid’s “…And Out Come the Wolves”, and other typical mid-90s shit) along with ska. I was “technically” only allowed to listen to Christian music (goth bless my grandma, who didn’t give a shit one way or another, I was the favorite grandchild). This, in turn, led me to discovering Five Iron Frenzy.
They were a loosely “Christian” band that wrote songs about the removal of indigenous peoples because of manifest destiny, songs critiquing capitalism, songs about accepting people for who they were (there’s a song on a late 90s EP about the singer finding out Freddie Mercury was gay and working through it). I credit them, in retrospect, for a lot of my political and religious evolution (the band was full of communists, anarchists, and atheists).
At this point in time, the underground music scenes were pretty mixed. Very vocal bands that held varying beliefs, all played together, supported each other, exposed small-town kids, like myself, to many points of view. I read liner notes like novels, taking in every word, researching (as best I could, this was before we had the internet at home) and trying to find the bands mentioned in the “thank you” section. I was seeking out more of this feeling that had captivated me at such an early age.
I’d spend the next, nearly, 20 years playing in bands, always chasing the same feeling that felt as special as those early days of my musical journey.
I am a consummate student of music, it was (and still is) my first, and biggest love. As time has rolled on, I’ve discovered so many artists that have made me feel like I’m engaged in a secret many do not know.
In reality, that’s not at all the case. Many of these bands and musicians are widely revered, but none-the-less radical in context. From the blues of Sonhouse, to Sister Rosetta Tharpe, to Little Richard, to Link Wray, to the New York Dolls and the proto-punk of the 70s, to more modern bands like Pissed Jeans or Uniform or Soul Glo, it’s still my main love and fully has my heart.
All of this to say, I’m so happy that Ms. O’Connor, in some way, played a part in this. That, at almost 40 years of age, these artists still keep me on my toes. They continue to bring me joy and comfort. I’m eternally grateful that the ones named (and the thousands I didn’t name) existed/continue to exist, in some way. I hope they continue to inspire and change the lives of other kids like me that find out about them and feel like they hold the secret to life.
Rest in power to her and the other real heroes we’ve lost. Their impact will continue to be felt because of the art they created, and those who continue to be inspired by it.
