O'Connor Balances Joy and Introspection

“I’m gonna put my pink dress on and do my hair up tight,” Sinéad O’Connor sings in an uncharacteristically upbeat voice. “I’m gonna put some eyeliner on; I’m gonna look real nice.” Thus begins “How About I Be Me (And You Be You)?” the ninth release from pop-rock’s queen of controversy and an album as wholly disorganized, delightful, and powerful as the artist herself. It is a welcome return to form for O’Connor as she revisits the juxtaposition of melancholia and playfulness that made her earliest albums so successful. Though “How About I Be Me” occasionally struggles with inherent thematic inconsistency, the album—which centers around the risks and rewards of love—is an intensely moving and often beautiful collection.

Given O’Connor’s solemn past, it would make sense if the light, romantic themes that appear in “How About I Be Me” were simply exercises in cynicism. Yet it appears that her personality and outlook have in fact changed over the years, for she performs her upbeat songs with an earnest sincerity. “One day he’ll say that’s my girl / The happiest words in the world / Make me laugh like an idiot,” she sings with emergent enthusiasm in “Old Lady.” In “The Wolf is Getting Married,” O’Connor describes her own emotional domestication.

However, O’Connor’s famous forte is to dwell on the painful aspects of her past and humanity, and her newfound optimism is thematically overwhelmed by her long-standing trepidations about love and life. While her carefree songs offer glimpses at her future—or her hopes for her future—O’Connor delves more introspectively into the haunted aspects of her past and the various failures of humanity. By the second track, the despondent and achingly lonesome “Reason With Me,” it is clear that the skeletons in O’Connor’s closet are far from gone. Her famously breathy and emotive voice shines against minimal piano and guitar backing, as she knowingly sings, “If I love someone, I might lose someone.”

This sense of deep internal hurt, an emotion that is clearly missing in the blink-and-you’ll-miss-it relationships of many other artists’ pop songs, returns in “Very Far From Home,” another vocals-focused song with minimal background distractions. “I long for you / See you in my dreams, so clearly,” O’Connor sings pensively. “When I wake up I’m alone and I don’t know where you’ve gone / But I know it’s very far from home.” Her maturity as an artist shines through on meditative tracks like this one.

The vacillations—between her infatuation and insecurity, her carefree nature and her haunted past—form a build-up to the beautiful zenith O’Connor reaches in the penultimate track “I Had A Baby.” Motherhood is a rich source of material for O’Connor—she devoted her fourth album, “Universal Mother,” to a similar theme—and “I Had A Baby” strips away expected layers of analysis to express pure joy, an emotion rarely seen throughout the album. Powerful percussion helps build a crescendo of emotion as she sings, “I had a fling with / A man who wasn’t mine to be with…. But I had a baby / So, I’m never sorry!”

The innocent laugher of a baby breaks up the track and forms a prelude to a powerful repeat of the verse. It is not the rather commonplace and straightforward lyrics that lend this song its power but the undeniable, compelling emotion that elevates O’Connor’s voice to celestial heights.

Easy symbolism could come from ending the album with the laughter of a baby, but O’Connor has never shied away from an opportunity to voice her controversial opinions. She is deeply religious yet frequently condemned for her inflammatory comments and chooses to complete the album with a pared-down track condemning fame and supporting the power of her own Christian beliefs. This approach has the potential to come across as haughty, but O’Connor spares no one—least of all herself. “Tell me now, what’s a real V.I.P.?” she questions. “Who are we to give that name to us, when we don’t know the lives of others?” As the last echoes of lightly humming strings and her silken voice fade into the background, she whispers a seemingly serious line of the “Gloria Patri,” yet then emits a distinct stream of laughter.

That is Sinéad O’Connor: an indefinable conundrum, ever wavering between mirth, melancholy, and contention. The vast contrasts, thematically and musically, between the songs on “How About I Be Me” highlight her fluid versatility as an artist. She may want the world to let her be herself, as the album’s title would suggest, but it’s unlikely the world will ever know who that truly is.

—Staff writer Leanna B. Ehrlich can be reached at lehrlich@college.harvard.edu.