Published on Apr 17, 2003
This sounds like the punch line to a particularly incoherent
Dennis Miller routine. Sinead O’Connor, the Pope-tearin’,
buzzcut-wearin’, ordained minister in some fringe Catholic offshoot
who once upon a time had a really good CD before she got hit in the
head with a blunt object, puts out an album of traditional Irish
tunes that she’s “been dying to make…all my life.”
Please. I just ate.
If there’s one thing that’s reliable about Sinead O’Connor, it’s
her overly histrionic nature. This tendency to be a drama diva that
makes Sarah Bernhardt look sedated has resulted in one classic,
must-have CD (
The Lion And The Cobra, from the late eighties) and a whole
load of good old Celtic bushwa. So why is it I’m not surprised that
her latest release,
Sean-Nos Nua, is more statement and manifesto than
music?
Sinead folks up her liner notes for us really well, telling us
how these songs are all about ‘enduring and unconditional love,
love that can’t be quenched by fires or floods’ and how she
considers all these songs “magical prayers,” but the fact remains
that almost every song on here is interpreted as some sort of
social or political commentary. Worse, the songs themselves are
average at best; O’Connor is no Karan Casey or Heather Rankin, and
it shows in her flat, moody, meandering performances. She calls
them “healing songs,” but frankly the only way you’d heal anything
listening to
Sean-Nos Nua is when it puts you to sleep. Decent production
and musicianship can’t save what is, effectively, a lifeless, stale
performance. It’s only on “The Parting Glass” that we at all
glimpse the fire Sinead started her career with, and it soon drowns
in a sea of Irish melancholic mediocrity.
If you want anarchistic left-wing political drivel masquerading
as liner notes, get this CD. However, if you want traditional Irish
music, go buy a Chieftains CD. Don’t waste your time with
Sean-Nos Nua.