BY THE time Sinead O'Connor (above) comes on stage on Sunday night in Dublin Castle, there is a huge crowd in the courtyard, duly warmed up by Kila and Delorentos.
   To everyone's surprise, she opens with a batch of old songs, kicking off with 'The Emperor's New Clothes', leading into 'I Am Stretched on Your Grave' and then 'Thief of My Heart'. Nobody seems able to believe their luck when she plays 'Never Get Old' from her debut, 'The Lion and the Cobra'.
   Hearing these songs, with her voice still pristine and just as impressive as it was all those years ago, feels like something very special.
   She moves on to newer stuff, playing two from her new album 'Theology', which she introduces by saying: "I will play that song very shortly, so please don't throw bottles at us."
   True to her word, she sings 'Nothing Compares 2 U' and the audience sings the backing vocal.
   Songs from 'Sean Nos Nua' and 'Universal Mother' follow, before she returns to her debut album to play 'Mandinka', telling us she needs help singing it. And it's true, her voice which has been amazing all night shies away from the higher notes on this.
   After an a capella 'My Love' and 'Fire On Babylon' she plays a touching rendition of 'The Last Day of Our Acquaintance', made all the more moving when you realise John Reynolds, her ex-husband who the song is undoubtedly about, is playing drums.
   She close the show with a new version of 'Rivers of Babylon'.
   As her completely unique, original and instantly recognisable voice filled Dublin Castle, I thought of all the names O'Connor has been called over the years and thought it was time we called her just one - artist. For Sinead O'Connor is a huge talent, there is no denying that voice, and it's about time we started to appreciate her.

The Sligo Weekender reports that, 'The organisers of 'SLIGO LIVE' have praised the talents of the 150 volunteers who gave their time willingly to make sure last weekend's event was a success. Delighted with how the festival went, organiser Shane Mitchell of Dervish added that he hopes it will be even bigger next year and will attract larger crowds.
   Last weekend: Eimear and Ferdia Browne of Sligo with Sinead O'Connor 'All along we wanted this festival to establish itself as a feature on the international circuit', he said, 'and to gain a reputation for quality. Another aim was to generate positive publicity for Sligo and that has certainly happened with all the coverage we1ve got in recent times. We'll be meeting over the coming days to assess how everything went and start the preparations for next year. But this has been a very bright beginning for us.'
   The headline act was Sinead O'Connor who performed on Sunday night last. 'Sinead O'Connor delivered a wonderful gig on Sunday night,' Shane continued, 'Solas were brilliant as usual. I was very impressed with Duke Special from Belfast and with Ron Sexsmith, Declan O'Rourke and so many more. Kate Rusby was one of the highlights with a special set on the Saturday night. We in Dervish had a fantastic time at our gig on Friday night.
   The re-union of Midnight Well brought back memories for a lot of people. Those great festivals of the 70s are part of what we1re all about. The local acts showed that Sligo is still a marvellous place for music.'

   Celtic crosses round her neck, white stole but no dreads, Sinead O'Connor explains away her spiritual mix-and-match steez in convincing enough NPR rhetoric: Catholicism is her religion, Rasta is her movement. That 'white girl flies to Kingston to do expensive reggae karaoke' bounce she worked at Webster--I would say that's her movement. Still, can't knock this way stellar back-up band--Sly and Robbie, who produced O'Connor's roots covers album Throw Down Your Arms, performed with her, as did Burning Spear, many of whose songs O'Connor took up that evening--and definitely can't knock O'Connor's scratchy-smooth alto, so powerful she often held the mic two feet from her mug and still outpiped most jokers invited onto Webster's stage. For struggle music, she ain't struggling.
   O'Connor's made something of a big deal of how she only does "spiritual" numbers these days. But her reggae cover choices had something else to them--they're some of the genre's most melody-driven. That dense, impossibly busy groove of "Marcus Garvey" obeys her pitch-perfect delivery; those horn flourishes on "Y Mas Gan" and its feisty bass line never dared upstage her lullaby. To the question "what does reggae sound like?", maybe now O'Connor's gorgeous a capella rendition of "Jah Nuh Dead," patois intact, will suffice for an answer, at least as much as the upstroke guitar sound/hand motion most people make when pressed.
   So O'Connor privileged melody over meter, reggae per se over what reggae "means." More bluntly, her show was hardly the Damian Marley hotbox of weeks past. "If you have a cigarette lighter, get it out!" O'Connor suggested before "Vampire," a Lee Perry cover that defines the "true Rasta man," and among other things, rhymes with "fire"; nobody had one. Though to be fair, when O'Connor snuck the Christian spiritual "Veni Emmanuel" into "Door Peep," some girl in VIP did grab the votive candle off her table and lift it into the air. Gaude, gaude.

   Although the spectacle of a waifish, doe-eyed, shaven-headed white woman singing roots reggae might be incongruous, Sinead O'Connor overcame any reservations in her concert Friday night at New York's Webster Hall.
   Forgoing her own past material to concentrate solely on Rastafarian-themed numbers, including every song on her new self-released CD "Throw Down Your Arms," the Irish songstress managed to put her own stamp on the music.
   Not that she was taking any chances. Accompanying her for the two-hour show were Sly Dunbar and Robbie Shakespeare, the classic production team/rhythm section who collaborated with her on the album, and reggae legend Burning Spear, who wrote nearly half of its tracks. Sly and Robbie also performed a rousing half-hour opening set showcasing their distinctive grooves.
   Delivering classic numbers written by the likes of Spear, Lee Perry, Peter Tosh, Bob Marley and others, O'Connor stayed faithful to the original versions, with only slight shifts to accommodate her voice. The results, while not particularly revelatory, are undeniably impressive, with the singer's impassioned vocals and spiritual conviction adding a new dimension to the music.
   Still, lacking the deep-voiced power of some of her predecessors, she sometimes was overcome by the loudness of the musicians, particularly the boisterous horn section. Thus, she shone brightest on the opener "Jah Nuh Dead," delivered in a stark arrangement showcasing her voice, and such numbers as "Untold Stories" and a slowed-down "Rivers of Babylon," for which she was accompanied only by a pair of back-up singers and acoustic guitar.
   Her deep commitment to the material was made clearly evident on songs like "Vampire," for which, alternately shouting and dancing in place, she seemed to enter a trance. But her more playful side also was displayed on Perry's amusing (and, in her case, ironic) "Curly Locks" and Tosh's "Downpressor Man." She introduced the latter by saying, "This one's for the ladies."
   Anchored by Sly and Robbie on drums and bass, the band was absolutely tremendous, laying down one sinuous rhythm after another. Spear, providing vocal and percussive support, also served as the evening's cheerleader, constantly rousing the crowd with the exhortation, "Talk to me, people!"

   Sinead O'Connor's latest revelation? Nothing compares 2 Jah!
   Emerging from a two-year retirement, the mercurial Irish singer has transformed herself into a full-fledged reggae artist -- to the point that she's now eschewing material from her own catalogue. (Maybe it's not a complete transformation, though: The doe-eyed waif, who played Tuesday at the 9:30 club, still sports a shaved head. Which made her simmering performance of Lee "Scratch" Perry's "Curly Locks" that much more intriguing.)
   During a set that ran for almost two hours, the preternaturally talented vocalist ignored her best-known pop songs ("Mandinka," "The Emperor's New Clothes," the Prince-authored smash "Nothing Compares 2 U") and instead explored the roots-reggae canon, including all 12 songs from her new album of reggae covers, "Throw Down Your Arms."
   Fronting a band anchored by the great reggae production duo/rhythm section of Sly Dunbar and Robbie Shakespeare, O'Connor sang well-established protest songs, including Burning Spear's "Marcus Garvey," Bob Marley's "War" and an impassioned rendition of Peter Tosh's "Downpressor Man" that was dedicated to President Bush.
   O'Connor also sang Jah's praises. Earnestly and often.
   "He will take us by our hand/And lead us to the wonderland," she declared during a rich, harmonic cover of the Abyssinians' "Y Mas Gan."
   Forever restless about religion, O'Connor -- who defiantly tore up a photo of Pope John Paul II on "Saturday Night Live" 13 years ago -- seems to have found considerable comfort in Rastafarianism. A champion of spirituality over clergy (and never mind that she herself has been ordained as a priest by a fringe Catholic group), she writes in the liner notes for "Throw Down Your Arms" that Marley, Spear, et al. "were part of a battle fought for self-esteem and for the freeing of God from religion."
   The legends' music, O'Connor adds, "raised God from the dead in the soul of a little Irish Catholic woman."
   And so Tuesday, there was O'Connor -- who used to seethe onstage -- grinning and appearing completely at peace, as she delivered an enthralling performance of Tosh's "Creation," sweetly singing: "Jah is my kingdom/Jah is my light and my salvation/So whom shall I fear?"
   An audience member shouted "Nobody!" and O'Connor's smile broadened as she whispered into the microphone: "That's riiiiiight."
   Nothing to fear, including Burning Spear himself: While Willie Nelson failed miserably in his attempt at releasing a credible reggae record this year, O'Connor's effort -- recorded with Sly and Robbie at Tuff Gong Studio in Kingston, Jamaica -- is a resounding success.
   In large part, that's because O'Connor was smart and respectful enough not to overhaul the originals. Instead, she paid tribute through faithful remakes, with just a few key changes to better suit her voice.
   So, on the album and onstage, "Downpressor Man" sounds basically the same as it ever was -- although, given the distinct nature of O'Connor's keening vocals along with her brogue (not to mention the jigs O'Connor does), it's impossible for her to avoid putting her own stamp on the songs.
   Let's call them reggaelic.
   (One bizarre side effect: We couldn't help but giggle when O'Connor sang, on "War," in a lilting voice, that "we Africans will fight.")
   Of course, O'Connor is no Johnny Clarke-come-lately, even if she did include Clarke's "Move Out of Babylon" in her set.
   She's long dabbled in reggae, writing Rasta-inspired originals like 1994's "Fire on Babylon," and her anti-Vatican statement on "Saturday Night Live" came at the end of a performance of "War."
   But she's jumped in with both feet now, performing with an expert eight-piece band of reggae veterans led by Sly and Robbie (on drums and bass), who frequently led the group into instrumental dub breakdowns. Also in the band was the trombonist Nambo Robinson, who doubled as O'Connor's hype man: Robinson, who has played behind Spear, among others, approvingly introduced the star of the show as "sister Sinead," who had come "all the way from that irie -land they call Ireland." (For those not up on their Jamaican patois, "irie" more or less translates to "a state of bliss.")
   In addition to the band, O'Connor was supported by two singers who helped rescue the lead vocalist at several points when her voice -- strained and raspy from the first few dates of a North American tour -- had trouble carrying the melodies by itself.
   The trio sounded best when interlocked on three-part harmonies, as on "Y Mas Gan." Sometimes, though, as in the opening performance of Spear's "Jah Nuh Dead," O'Connor had to go it alone vocally, and the songs suffered.
   Then again, it could have been her insistence on frequently holding the microphone away from her mouth as she wailed -- sometimes at her hip, sometimes a full foot and a half in front of her face.
   Still, she's a remarkable live performer, and even on a night that might not have been her best, O'Connor was riveting and righteous.
   Nothing compares, indeed.

   TORONTO - Imagine one of the world's most impressive voices paired with one of the globe's most talented and respected rhythm sections.
   On Saturday night at Kool Haus, that's what you got as Irish singer Sinead O' Connor performed with legendary Jamaican duo Sly (Dunbar) on drums and Robbie (Shakespeare) on bass. They were playing in support of her latest album of reggae covers, Throw Down Your Arms, in front of a sold-out crowd.
   The concert was important for that hookup alone -- Sly and Robbie are estimated to have played on 200,000 tracks since they came together in the '70s in Kingston as musicians/ producers -- and O'Connor hasn't played Toronto in eight years.
   There was definitely excitement in the air as a wildly diverse audience of young and old, black and white, straight and gay, parents and kids, and the Rastafarian faithful settled in for a night featuring a special collaboration.
   Sly, almost impossible to see as he sat way down low behind his drum kit, and partially blocked by Robbie, an imposing man in a baseball hat and sunglasses, let the solos rip early and often during a rowdy 50-minute set with the duo's six-piece band.
   O'Connor, dressed down in a denim shirt and jeans and wearing a do-rag on her shaved head, then walked on stage to open her hour-and-35-minute set with Jah Nuh Dead, also the first track off Throw Down Your Arms.
   Anyone expecting to hear any of her pop hits would have been seriously disappointed because -- as she warned in an earlier Sun interview -- she isn't performing them anymore.
   Instead, fans were treated to reggae classics sung in that incredible piercing voice, sometimes with the help of a female backup singer who arrived by the second song, Marcus Garvey.
   Highlights included He Prayed, Curly Locks, Prophet Has Arise, Vampire, the title track from Throw Down Your Arms, Downpressor Man, Rivers Of Babylon, and War, which all showcased O' Connor's powerful, clean and crisp vocals.
   The band, meanwhile, was given plenty of leeway for both long jams and solo workouts.
   O' Connor kept the stage banter to a minimum, saying a low and long, "Thank you," after every song, saving her lone outburst for the very end of the evening.
   While introducing the show-ending Jah Is My Keeper, as the song she wanted her children to play at her funeral, "when I've died at a very old age of natural causes," she blurted out, "Don't let the Catholics get me!"
   Otherwise, it was all about the music, which, if you dig the loose and relaxed reggae vibe, was a great thing.
   For those who wanted a little more energy and variety, especially from someone with O'Connor's back catalogue, there might have been some shuffling of feet.
   As it was, almost everyone was dancing and singing along and O'Connor did a little of her own fancy footwork, sometimes alone, or with one of the band members -- including Robbie.
   She also claimed to have forgotten the words to some of the songs, but given their thrilling delivery, nobody really noticed.

   Ireland and Jamaica are separated by 4,000 miles and a world of cultural differences. But both are island nations that responded to centuries of cultural oppression with incredibly soulful music.
   The ever-evolving singer Sinead O'Connor found that common ground on Tuesday during a performance at the Vic Theatre that drew exclusively on covers of reggae classics, including many from her recent album "Throw Down Your Arms."
   The often-troubled O'Connor took the stage wearing a blue work shirt and jeans, with a do-rag covering her shaven head. The petite 38-year-old Irish woman provided a stark visual contrast to her band of eight Jamaican musicians, centered on drummer Lowell "Sly" Dunbar and bassist Robbie Shakespeare, the legendary Rasta rhythm section whose credits include work with Bob Marley, Peter Tosh and Black Uhuru.
   But as O'Connor applied her always amazing voice and the full strength of her passionate if sometimes confused spirituality into songs such as Winston Rodney's "Jah Nuh Dead" and "Marcus Garvey," Lee "Scratch" Perry's "Vampire" and Tosh's "Oppressor Man," the mix of her soaring, bell-clear soprano and the deep-bottomed but agile reggae grooves was a musical match made in heaven -- or Zion, as the case may be.
   To be sure, there were problems with the nearly two-hour performance. Despite O'Connor's insistence that promoters advertise that she wouldn't be playing her '80s and '90s hits -- a stance that slowed ticket sales and caused Jam Productions to move the show from the 2,500-seat Riviera Theatre to the 1,500-capacity Vic -- there were doubtlessly a few concertgoers who were still hoping for "Nothing Compares 2 U."
   While O'Connor deserves the right to experiment, it's hard to blame these fans, who responded enthusiastically throughout the show. It would, in fact, have been rewarding to hear the star revisit some of her older material in her current musical guise.
   More troubling was the singer's near-worshipful deference to Sly and Robbie. The riddim twins already had been given a generous turn in the spotlight when they led the band through a 40-minute opening set before O'Connor joined them. But her portion of the show bogged down several times while she left the stage and gave the drummer and bassist additional solo showcases.
   Even in the hands of such masters, drums and bass just aren't solo instruments. They certainly aren't on the level of O'Connor's one-of-a-kind voice, and these indulgent jams derailed the show's momentum.
   On the plus side, O'Connor rarely has been more powerful or convincing then when she threw herself into "Rivers of Babylon," a tune by the Melodians that ranks as one of the most well-known reggae songs ever because of its place on the soundtrack of the classic film "The Harder They Come."
   O'Connor has said her detour into reggae is a one-time homage; she already is working on a new and stylistically divergent album called "Theology." But the synergy of this unexpected genre experiment made perfect sense as the band charted a groove midway between a Roman Catholic hymn and a Rastafarian song of protest.
   "Oh, the wicked carried us away in captivity/And required from us a song," O'Connor sang before proceeding to deliver that tune in the form of a hypnotic, one-word chant of "Jah" that spanned several octaves, cultures and centuries, creating one of the most memorable moments of her unique career.

     Sinead O' Connor is always associated with bizarre behaviour, such as shaving her head, and tearing up a picture of the Pope.
     With her wild past in mind, on arrival at last night's gig, I was intrigued to know what her latest mood and music might be.
     Since achieving international recognition in 1990 with her version of Prince's Nothing Compares 2 U, reluctant star Sinead has generally shunned the limelight, or at least the mainstream music charts for the last few years.
     And it was a surprise to find her new calling was in fact - reggae.
     It was generally greeted well by the audience, of around 200.
     The man next to me, who told me he had seen her a few years ago, had been expecting more of what she did then - Irish folk music. He left before the end saying "they all sound the same".
     Her voice is as haunting as ever but the jury is out whether her passionate vocals, sometimes with an audible Irish accent, sit well with the reggae beat.
     We did get treated to some of the Irish-style folk tunes which were, to myself and probably a lot of others, more enjoyable.

     "You're amazing Sinead!" shouted a woman from the audience -- and I would have to agree.
     Sinead ran through her set of reggae covers with the ease of a seasoned rasta legend - but she didn't just cover them, she gave them her unique Irish `flava'.
     Her powerful voice, belying her meagre frame, had not changed since Nothing Compares 2 U.
     A barefoot imp in jeans, T-shirt and bandana, without glam costumes,all she had to rely on was her voice and her sweet smile.
     Gone is the old Sinead but she still retains an aggressive feminist streak that came out in Downpressor Man, which she dedicated to "the laydeez!"
     In Curly Locks, she expressed her world motherhood with protective lyrics and sung in a soft, breathy voice.
     Throughout her performance she did things with the microphone that would shock your mother, playing with its phallic symbolism, turning the typical image of the male rasta singer on its head.
     She refused to sing any of the old favourites keeping on the reggae track -- two acoustic numbers in which she strummed a guitar.
     Her last song was all about Jehovah and how he had brought joy and truth into her life. Always one for wearing her heart on her sleeve, this song really summed up her feelings.
     Some of the audience grew bored, with one man crossing himself sarcastically. It was not the ending they would have liked.
     Maybe nobody in the crowd got exactly what they had wanted but they must all have respected her for having guts.

     SINÉAD O’CONNOR’S reputation as a fiery scandal-monger has largely evaporated in the years since her flurry of bizarre public statements in the late Nineties, when the Irish singer outed herself as both a lesbian and a happily married mother, a Catholic priest and a Rastafarian. At her Hammersmith show on Friday, backed by a seven-strong folk-rock band, the bare-footed O’Connor seemed not just serenely in control but full of cheer. Indeed, wry jokes at the expense of her younger self were a recurring motif of her set.
Even in the reinvented Celtic standards from her latest album, Sean Nos-Nua, the singer’s familiar obsessions once again came to the fore. Motherhood, spirituality, Ireland as eternal wellspring of pain and pride — the litany remained the same, although the delivery was much more New Testament than the fire and brimstone of yesteryear. Piercing vocal acrobatics, pagan punk-pop and confessional rage were mostly sacrificed to soothing acoustic textures and manicured reggae rhythms. An offbeat but tasteful traditionalism prevailed.
There were still flashes of flinty magic on Friday, from the burly Irish-American historical saga The Lamb’s Book of Life to the quavering lullaby Three Babies and the majestic prayer Thank You for Hearing Me. And yet there was little of the abrasive attitude or adventurous arrangements which once made O’Connor such an electrifying performer. Her live shows used to feel like an angry stand-off between family and nationality, tradition and progress, sorrow and euphoria. Here she sounded more like a one-woman Truth and Reconciliation Committee.
This sense of treading water was more frustrating since the past year has marked a prolific comeback for O’Connor. As well as releasing her own record on a new label, she toured for the first time in eight years and sang on the latest albums by Massive Attack and Asian Dub Foundation. But although these are clearly significant times for outspoken artists, politics of both a global and sexual nature were not on the menu. O’Connor waggishly introduced herself as “the bird with the big mouth”, but kept any potentially prickly opinions to herself.
The evening’s biggest cheers were reserved for Nothing Compares 2 U, the evergreen chart-topper which catapulted her to superstardom in 1990. Now couched in spare strings and soft whispers, this Prince-penned pop classic still sounded achingly lovely. With a voice this powerful O’Connor can still summon up beatific beauty with ease. But occasional forays into more challenging and choppy waters, for old time’s sake if nothing else, would do her no harm.

     Berlin. Barfuß, in weitem T-Shirt und einer schlabbrigen Hose, eine Kette mit einem Kreuz um den Hals – so tritt die kurzhaarige Sängerin auf die Bühne der Arena in Berlin. „Sean-Nós Nua“, wörtlich etwa „neuer alter Stil“, heißt das aktuelle Album der irischen Sängerin, und Songs aus diesem Album stehen im Zentrum ihres Auftritts.
     Große Posen auf der Bühne sind nicht ihre Sache. Konzentriert, die Augen meistens geschlossen – die zierliche Person wirkt in sich gekehrt.
     Mit irischen Traditionals von ihrer neuen CD beginnt ihr Konzert. Sobald Sinéad O‘Connor die positiven Reaktionen der Zuhörer spürt, huscht auch mal ein versonnenes Lächeln über ihr Gesicht. Nach ihrem Superhit „Nothing Compares to You“ aus dem Jahr 1990 war es lange ruhig um O‘Connor gewesen. Alben wie „Universal Mother“, „Gospel Oak“ oder „Faith an Courage“ verkauften sich lange nicht so gut. Dennoch waren sie Ausdruck der Suche der Sängerin nach sich selbst und ihren musikalischen Wurzeln.
     Einflüsse von World Music, Reggae oder Rap fanden sich schon auf diesen Alben. Auf dem aktuellen Album gelingt die Verschmelzung vollends. Begleitet von ihrer sechsköpfigen Band, gelingt es Sinéad, diese Energie von Anfang an auf das Publikum überspringen zu lassen. Ihre Hits spielt sie zwar auch, etwas versteckt im zweiten Teil ihres Programms. Fast wirkt das wie ein Zugeständnis an die Erwartungen des Publikums, doch es bleibt der Eindruck, dass sie auf der Bühne steht, weil sie sich dort endlich wieder wohlfühlt. Ungestüm, kahlköpfig, in schweren Stiefeln – so hatte sie ihre Karriere begonnen. Immer wieder machte sie Schlagzeilen, zerriss ein Papstfoto vor laufenden TV-Kameras oder ließ sich einige Jahre später zur Priesterin weihen.
     Auf der Bühne ist von dieser Exaltierheit nichts zu spüren. Ausgeglichen, mit sich und der Welt im Reinen, wirkt sie im Zugabenteil, wo sie sich allein auf der Gitarre begleitet. Sie wolle ihre Stücke so spielen, wie sie sie komponiere. Selbst über kleine Patzer kann sie lachen. „Ich bin keine gute Gitarrenspielerin. Das ist der Grund dafür, warum ich mir eine Band ins Studio hole.“
     Nach mehr als zwei Stunden verlässt sie strahlend die Bühne, das Publikum ruft weiter nach Zugaben.

     «Tut mir leid, wegen des schlechten Gitarrenspiels», entschuldigt sich Sinead OConnor etwas verschämt. Die Konzertbesucher verzeihens ihr. Denn was zählt, ist ihre überwältigende, kraftvolle Stimme. Die in Dublin geborene Sängerin präsentierte am Freitagabend im fast ausverkauften Hamburger Schauspielhaus Stücke ihres neuen Albums «Sean-Nós Nua». Darauf haucht sie traditionellen irischen Folksongs neues Leben ein. Die irischen Lieder im alten Stil (Sean-Nós) wollte sie «mit mehr Rhythmus und Sound sexy machen», sagt sie. So erklärt sich frei übersetzt auch der Album-Titel: alter Stil - neu. Die rund 1100 Fans im Schauspielhaus waren von dieser Mischung begeistert. Am Sonnabend wollte sie in Berlin beim zweiten und letzten Deutschlandkonzert 2003 auf der Bühne stehen.
     Lässig in Sweatshirt und Cordhose gekleidet und einer Kette mit einem großen Kreuz um den Hals steht OConnor im kargen Bühnenlicht. Leicht zurück gelehnt, das Mikro in der rechten Hand, die linke nach oben gestreckt, die Augen geschlossen - sie genießt ihre Songs. Das Publikum auch. Sinead OConnor macht auf der Bühne keine Show, sie ist einfach nur sie selbst. Das reicht. Gerade in dem in den vergangenen Jahren immer mehr aufgeblasenen Pop- und Rockzirkus verblüfft sie damit immer wieder.
     Während sie singt und die Band aufspielt scheinen die Zuhörer die Luft anzuhalten, nach den letzten Akkorden bejubeln sie die 36-Jährige lautstark. OConnor hat ihren ganz eigenen Gesangsstil: Lange Pausen, bewusst tiefer, langer Atem, die Wechsel zwischen leisen und lauten Passagen und ihre einfühlsame Stimme haben sie berühmt gemacht. Ihre Interpretation des Prince-Songs «Nothing Compares To You» katapultierte sie 1990 direkt an die Spitzen der europäischen Hitlisten. Ihre erste Single «Take My Hand» hatte sie bereits 1984 veröffentlicht.
     Das neue Album «Sean-Nós Nua» erschien im Herbst vergangenen Jahres. Bei den Aufnahmen wurde sie von Größen der irischen Folk-Szene wie Steve Wickham von den Waterboys an der Geige, Sharon Shannon am Akkordeon und Donal Lunny an der Akustikgitarre unterstützt. Beim Hamburger Konzert griff OConnor auch mal selbst zur irischen Flöte und begleitete ihre Band. In der Mischung aus alten und neuen Hits zeigten die Sängerin und ihre Musiker ganzes Können: Neben langsamen Balladen auch rockige Interpretationen und laute, schnelle Songs.
     Zur Zugabe nahm die in London lebende Irin mitten auf der Bühne Platz, griff zur Akustikgitarre und legte los. «Wenn ich Songs veröffentliche, sind sie meistens ganz anders, als sie es sie es mal waren», erklärte sie den Hamburgern. «Wenn ich schreibe, sitze ich meistens alleine Zuhause, das sieht dann ungefähr so aus.» Die Fans tauchten noch mal in die Welt der Balladen der OConnor ab. Zum Dank donnern der Irin zum Schluss Jubel und Applaus entgegen, stehende Ovationen. Sinead OConnor begeisterte

     SINEAD O'Connor's return to her roots at Celtic Connections last night proved to be something of a quick shuttle journey in more ways than one.
Her treatment of songs such as the opening Peggy Gordon suggested the return had been to swot up on words and melody before grafting them on to a rhythm, and the anticipated Irish section of the concert proved to be little more than a prelude to her more established works.
Not that the audience in Glasgow Royal Concert Hall minded. O'Connor has the kind of voice that could sing the tritest of lyrics and make them sound like high drama of a deeply personal nature.
She makes every song her own simply because no-one else does the kind of vocal gymnastics she does in quite the way she does them. Even with the flu, she gave it her all and it was hard not to admire the sheer from-a-whisper-to-a-scream mastery she brought to her international breakthrough number, Nothing Compares 2 U - although she had to remove her boots and socks half-way through to get the feeling she required.
Accompanied by a seven-piece band including electric cello and the folk credibility section of Rob O Geibheannaigh (whistle) and Sharon Shannon (accordion), she approached every song as if it were a kind of hymn, although her liking for expletives left no illusions about that.

     IT has been eight years since Sinead O'Connor toured. Back then she only used to have to set foot on stage to spark off an international incident.
She rallied against child abuse, spoke out in favour of the IRA, tore up a picture of the Pope and was booed off stage in tears at Madison Square Gardens, New York.
She became as famous for her demons as for her glorious voice - and at one point it seemed as though she would never perform live again.
It is a very different O'Connor who bounded onto stage at the Bridgewater Hall. Dressed down in a pink trouser suit, pink polo shirt and crucifix, she is less skinny than she once was and also seemingly less weighed down by concerns.
Recent album, Sean Nos Nua, a collection of Irish folk songs, many of which were sung to her by her father, has been criticised by some for its strong streak of sentimentality, but live the songs cannot help but raise chills on the spine.
Traditional ballad Peggy Gordon became a passionate lesbian love song while Paddy's Lament with its furious refrain of “There is nothing here but war'' serves as a timely reminder that America has never been afraid to let other nationalities die in its name.
Nor is it all the new songs. We get an incredible version of I Am Stretched On Your Grave, a haunting Three Babies and a solemn, regretful interpretation of her biggest hit, Nothing Compares to U.
The power of the material, some of which O'Connor admits she has not played live for over 10 years, serves to remind the audience that she might have been reviled by some as crazy but she was always a magnificent singer and songwriter.
She finished the concert with a five-song acoustic set and a rousing rendition of This Is The Last Day of Our Acquaintance before leaving to a standing ovation.
Sinead O'Connor might not cause as much controversy as she once did but the truth is her voice sounds clearer for it.

     Phenomenal! I've been a fan throughout her recording career, but have never had the pleasure of witnessing a "live" performance. I didn't believe it could have been this good! No quarter asked or given, a stunning set delivered in outstanding style. The losers were the ones who stayed away - the venue was only two thirds full. Was the tour publicised properly? Undoubtedly goes straight into my Top 10 concerts!
     Set List:
     Peggy Gordon, Moorlough Shore, My Lagan Love, Oro Se Do Bheatha 'Bhaile, Paddy's Lament, Molly Malone, Nothing Compares 2 U, I am Stretched on Your Grave, The Last Day of our Acquaintance, You Made Me The Thief Of Your Heart, John, I Love You, The Healing Room, Thank You For Hearing Me, In My Heart.

     It's been eight years since Sinead O'Connor last toured the UK and many of the fans who gave her one of the biggest hits of all time seem to have deserted her.
     Her voice remains as extraordinary as ever, but her outbursts and eccentric behaviour over the years have probably cost her her mainstream following.
     The Civic Hall was barely a quarter full for last night's show and the wide open spaces told their own story.
     The diehard fans who did turn out, however, gave her a rousing reception and did their best to make her feel at home.
     O'Connor took the stage barefoot and still sporting her familiar close crop. The first part of the evening was dedicated to showcasing songs from her new album of Irish folk covers, Sean-Nos Nua. There were plaintive, evocative versions of Molly Malone, My Lagan Love and The Moorlough Shore, which she introduced as her favourite song. Her signature song, Nothing Compares 2 U, was dedicated to her mother.

     Je tomu už osem rokov, čo mala Sinéad O'Connor turné v UK a mnoho fanúšikov ktorí obdivovali jej najväčšie hity, zdá sa že ju opustili.
     Jej hlas je stále vynikajúci ako predtým, ale výbuchy hnevu a výstredné správanie v priebehu rokov ju pravdepodobne pripravili o miesto v hlavnom prúde.
     The Civic Hall bola sotva do štvrtiny zaplnená počas nočnej show a rozľahlý otvorený priestor prezrádzal jej vlastný príbeh.
     Skalní fanúšikovia, ktorí na ňu nezanevreli, ju nadšene privítali a robili všetko preto aby sa cítila ako doma.
     O'Connor vystúpila na javisko bosá a športovo s jej dôverne známym zostrihom. Prvá časť večera bola venovaná predstavovaniu piesní z jej nového albumu írskych ľudových verzií Sean-Nós Nua. Medzi nimi aj žalostná evokatívna Molly Malone, My Lagan Love a The Moorlough Shor, ktoré predstavila ako svoje obľúbené. Svoju najznámejšiu pieseň Nothing Compares 2 U venovala svojej matke.

     There was a time when a Sinead O'Connor performance was notable if it didn't cause an international incident. She spoke out in favour of the IRA, railed against sexual abuse in her family and the Catholic church, and tore up a picture of the Pope on Saturday Night Live. Then she was booed off at Madison Square Garden and led away in tears.
     It is a very different O'Connor that bounds on stage as part of her first tour in eight years. She seems in impeccable humour, beaming at her excellent backing musicians - including former Waterboy Steve Wickham - and shrieking "Thank yew!" after each song. When she dedicates a song to "crazies, myself included", she makes a point of adding: "I used to be a werewolf, but I'm all right now."
     Although O'Connor has recently been ordained as a priest (by renegade Irish bishop Michael Cox), and declared both lesbianism and love for her new husband, she does not seem to have entirely made peace with her demons. No longer a superstar - she was never comfortable with that role - she has returned on a small label with a new album called Sean Nos-Nua, consisting of "sexed-up" Irish traditional songs. It is her way of making peace with Ireland and her past. Molly Malone ("cockles and mussels...") clearly means more to her than it does to her public. However, her interpretations have bite. Peggy Gordon is reinvented as a lesbian anthem. And the vitriol she gives to the line "There is nothing here but war" in the anti-American folksong Paddy's Lament suggests that, mellowed or not, she is not about to sit down for tea with George W Bush.
     Barefoot and wearing a low-cut top and crucifix, conflicting images that speak volumes, she stares intently at the floor as she sings and steers almost clear of past hits. The notable exception is Nothing Compares 2U, the Prince ballad that gave her an international number one in 1990. However, she strips the song to its entrails: no longer angry and confessional, it sounds burdened with regret.

     THERE'S an album out of Irish stuff. So said Sinead, adding that she would sing from that first. Nothing Compares 2U could wait - "Don't roar for it," she pleaded - and why not? This was the opening night of her first UK tour since 1990, so what was a few more minutes after 12 years!
     Now 35, this Irish mother with the child-like eyes and abused childhood, this Catholic priest with the Rasta spirit, remains a complex, contrary, rebellious soul. Only two years after singing And Now My Home Just Breaks My Heart on The Lamb's Book Of Life, she is breathing extraordinary new life into traditional Irish songs that she says are "like ghosts in a way": resonant, reverent, female interpretations that "sexy up" the old folk.
     She's with an Irish line-up too; fiddle, piano, whistle, cello, Waterboy's Steve Wickham and Sharon Shannon on accordion.
     Intense yet serene, fragile but combative, spiritual and sensual, all fire and water, history and mystery, Sinead O'Connor is her voice. Never more so here than on Molly Malone in which Molly's ghost truly chills the air.

     The recently re-opened Vicar Street was looking well (but not much different if the truth be told) and was packed out by 8.30. Signs around the venue notified us that the gig was being filmed - upon asking the bouncers which station would be showing the concert, we were told "MTV, so smile for the cameras and turn off your bleedin' mobile phones". Yes sir.
     Myself and one of the other Marys passed the time playing spot the celeb until Damien Dempsey appeared. An enjoyable set of urban folk with lyrics obviously coming from the heart, contrary to what we had heard this is no novelty act. He was gradually joined on stage later by some quality musicians (more later) - and, are we seeing things? There's the Baldy One herself on backing vocals.
     Eventually to the main event, and Sinead O'Connor put in a performance to be eternally proud of. She marked out the evening ahead for the audience by pointing out that the "Irish stuff" would be done first and then she'd get to the old numbers. The opening song was a beautifully tender version of "Peggy Gordon" and, had the other Mary not coughed her lungs up throughout, you could have heard a pin drop. There followed a few numbers from the current album "Sean Nos Nua", the highlights being "My Lagan Love" and a rousing rendition of "O ro Se Do Bheatha 'Bhaile" with Sinead reminding us that we should have learnt it in school and to sing along, which almost everyone did.
     A fantastic bridge between the old and new set was provided with "I Am Stretched On Your Grave" with the incomparable Steve Wickham on fiddle and Sharon Shannon on the squeezebox. Then we were treated to "Nothing Compares 2 U" - no tears though... There followed a selection of numbers from the earlier albums, my personal favourites being "Fire on Babylon" and "The Last Day Of Our Acquaintance", the latter providing John Reynolds with a chance to really let loose on the drums. Sinead wiggled her arse obligingly, much to the delight of the lads up the front.
     A couple of well-deserved standing ovations later (boo-hiss to the cynics who think the crowds only hopped up to get their faces on MTV), we were treated to one last love song, just Sinead and Christy Moore singing "Lord Baker" unaccompanied. And who cares if he wasn't sure of the words or wanted to start again after the first verse - it's Christy!
     Undoubtedly the gig of the year so far in my book. Can't wait to see if I can hear the lounge girl dropping my drink on MTV...

     IRISH traditional music has generally been considered by pop’s tastemakers to be about as cool as a soggy blanket, but Sinead O’Connor has gone some way to breathing new life into the genre with her new album of old ballads and rebel songs, Sean-Nos Nua. Reggae rhythms and electronic percussion were added to the time-honoured tin whistles and squeeze-boxes to create a record which is in tune with the present while being drawn from the distant past.
Prior to her UK tour in November, O’Connor took her eight-piece band around Ireland, culminating in this show in the newly refurbished Vicar St venue, whose crystal-clear acoustics provided the perfect setting for her extraordinary voice to shine.
     Dressed in jeans, sandals and a psychedelic, multi- coloured T-shirt emblazoned with the face of the Virgin Mary, O’Connor’s startling visual appearance became an irrelevance once she opened her mouth to sing. Peggy Gordon, usually sung by a man, becomes a tender, forlorn lesbian love song when delivered by O’Connor, whose subtle, almost whispered rendition adds untold intimacy.
     Indeed, with her hand raised and eyes closed in concentration, O’Connor immersed herself completely in the songs, even managing to coax profundity out of a hackneyed terrace chant like Molly Malone.
     Possibly because she was playing in front of numerous friends and acquaintances in her home town, O’Connor did seem quite nervous at first, but she relaxed somewhat after a fan presented her with a bouquet of flowers.
     The first half of the show was devoted exclusively to the new album, with the old anti-war ballad Paddy’s Lament sounding particularly timely in its description of a war-mongering America full of “murderous cannons”. The band, which included former Waterboys fiddle player Steve Wickham as well as the effervescent accordion virtuoso Sharon Shannon, knew when to hold back and when to let loose, with the pulsating groove of Oro Se Do Bheatha Bhaile allowing them room to up the tempo and flex their muscles.
     The latter half of the gig found the Dublin-based singer revisiting choice cuts from her back catalogue, including a faithful, impassioned version of her breakthrough hit Nothing Compares 2 U as well as the mournful melodrama of You Made Me the Thief of Your Heart, which she wrote for the Jim Sheridan film In the Name of the Father.
     A raging Fire On Babylon showed she still has plenty of fire in her belly, and, for an encore, The Last Day of Our Acquaintance offered incontrovertible proof that breaking up really is hard to do.