Shuhada’ Sadaqat was what she preferred. But I think we all knew the young woman who was Sinéad O’Connor better. At least I did. I was seventeen when The Lion and the Cobra came out, and you can imagine what seventeen-year-old me – in love with being heartbroken, screamy on the inside, and hopelessly devoted to anything that was slightly alternative – thought of this album: Pure Genius.

I was in love instantly. There are a handful of albums that have such a strong opening salvo, and “Jackie” hooked immediately. Dark. Lush. Spooky. All the things the young goth in me needed (even though, as pointed out in other posts, “goth” wasn’t a thing we were all called yet.) Cut to the poppy jangle of “Mandinka”, which was like a bright and flowery meadow compared to the other tracks – “Jerusalem” might be a banger, but still dark. “Just Like U Said It Would B” a cautionary tale for the age and full of not only personal takes but political statements, and “Troy” – well – what can I even say. The entire album is just astounding in writing and production. Does it have a hint of 1987 in it? Sure, but it’s still so listenable and so very ahead of its time. SHE was ahead of our time. The world wasn’t ready for this. But there were those of us out there listening, waiting for this very tonic for our ears, hearts, and minds. And yeah, the album’s peak position on Billboard in the US was 36. She also wrote, produced, arranged, mixed, sang and played. A stunning debut by any measure.

Then the follow-up. I Do Not Want What I Haven’t Got was two times platinum in the US, and charted to number 1 in over a dozen countries. We all know the song that got it there – and my love for Prince aside, she kills it. I’m not really writing about that song here, though, because yet again, the lead-off is incredible – strings, her brilliant dynamic vocals, brimming with emotion and just-under-the-skin seething; love, anger, all crazily mixed up on this album that – while not as stark in my opinion as The Lion and The Cobra, packs just as much of a gut punch. If you’ve not cried to either “Three Babies” or “Black Boys on Mopeds” then…you are not me. I think I listened to “The Last Day of Our Acquaintance” on repeat for an entire summer, alone in my first-ever apartment – skipping classes, no money, lots of drinks which led to even more drunk crying. It was a real party album.

I got to see her on that tour. I dug out my CD the other night and there it was, this ticket stub of a night I will remember always, and there she was in all white playing guitar with some weird round John Lennon glasses shielding her from the lights. It was fantastic. Then the SNL thing happened, and those of us who had long suffered the bullshit of the Catholic church were in awe. That was the fucking stuff of heroes. Of course, they came for her. If you saw it while it happened live, you won’t forget where you were or who you were with – if it meant anything to you. If you knew what she was trying to say.

There were other highlights in her career, but this is not a full-blown rundown of the discography. I loved the cover album. Her version of “Black Coffee” and “Gloomy Sunday” are still my favorite versions. I loved “Fire on Babylon” – full of what we missed, that fury that cracks through this voice that almost sounds twinned at times.

I laid on the floor the other day and listened to “Jackie”. I had been listening to it since the news of her death – listened to both of these albums at least 2 or 3 times through, but this particular moment, on the floor, looking at the ceiling, listening to the voice coming through my headphones was like hearing it for the first time. And the last time. And every time in between. I sobbed for the woman she was forced to be; for the woman she refused to be; and the writer inside both of us that is the link. I am not the only one to say that the world – our world, this world – killed her.

Her music means more to me than even I realize. I guess I am writing this to say thank you. The cold truth that she is no longer on this earth in a human form is hard to take. I know, however, that these songs and memories will be passed down as tales of a fierce warrior who was beyond her time, with a soul as complex as any of us, with the ability to force us to examine that complexity.

“But I will rise
And I will return
The Phoenix from the flame
I have learned
I will rise
And you’ll see me return
Being what I am
There is no other Troy
For me to burn”

Sinéad O’Connor – “Troy”