Rolling Stone, Herb Ritts, 1991.

She just finished two shows at the El Rey.  She’s been making headlines lately, but not for her music.  That was always the problem/persona of hers.  The rebel without a cause, or too many causes.  The scorned woman, turned lesbian, turned fallen lesbian, turned priest, or whatever her official church title is, it always seemed to diminish/distract from the towering talent that she is.

A voice that could caress you one second, then punch your lights out the next, she was the high priestess of the airwaves in the 90’s.  She dedicated an a cappella version of “I am Stretched On Your Grave,” to Whitney Huston.  I’m sure it took everyone’s breath away.

Say what you want about Adele, I do LOVE her myself, but even she can’t muster as much fire, defiance, and utter vulnerability, in a wailing bellowing banshee delivery as Sinead can.  Listen to “Troy” from “The Lion and the Cobra,” and tell me if she doesn’t rule the school when it comes to women scorned.

Which is interesting considering her look was militantly unfeminine, un-girly, un-victimy.  Leather jackets, jeans, tees, and combat boots.

Rolling Stone, Herb Ritts, 1990.

That was also, coincidentally, my uniform in the 90’s, with a smattering of booty shorts for clubbing (I was in my 20’s, ok!  That’s what we did.)

She’s older, a little chubbier, but the bitch can still blast it out of the park.