Sinéad O'Connor
Am I Not Your Girl?

On "Am I Not Your Girl?" I had one of the most legendary cries of my entire adolescence ever. In '92 the bootleg cassette first, and the original one after, of "I Do Not Want..." were already worn out from listening. I had dissected that album, duplicated it, sung it, typed out its lyrics, created a fanzine, cut out any bald figure from newspapers, bought two unauthorized biographies, skipped school on the birthday of the Irish princess, retreating to the attic waiting for ascension. And more you can imagine.

Therefore, Sinéad's third album represented the meaning of my sixteen years as well as the most awaited blessing. Too bad this album was everything but a blessing for the Irish artist: an album of covers of '50s classics played with an orchestra and directed by the pompous Phil Ramone. It was panned by critics, deemed unclassifiable (whereas today if you make an album like that, you're super cool), without radio hits. In short, a disaster.

And then there was the tragic, albeit foretelling, Saturday Night Live show evening, the one with the tearing of the Pope's photo. And the boos at the Dylan tribute. And mountains of CDs crushed by bulldozers. Not to mention, Sinéad's reputation and self-esteem were crushed, leading her to retire from the scene, strained by too much tension.

And so we circle back to the legendary cry. An entire afternoon with "Don't Cry for Me Argentina" on loop and dozens of Kleenex. No Sinéad! Don't retire! How will I manage without you! No! No! And all of this is very teen, I know, but "Am I Not Your Girl?" is the Sinéad album I’m most attached to, although not her best, which I now listen to only on vinyl to feel it farther away and at the same time closer. That perfect point of contact between nostalgia and tenderness.