The Cranberries
Everybody Else Is Doing It, So Why Can't We?

THE REVIEW

Imagine Ireland.
Imagine the Aran Islands, Donegal, the vast green spaces, and the silence of the countryside.
Imagine Ireland, a land of cliffs, castles, and good music.
Imagine Enya and O'Connor, Clannad and U2.
Imagine the desire to emulate local idols, the passion for the guitar, youthful restlessness.
Imagine Limerick, a working-class city at the mouth of the Shannon, in the early nineties.
Now imagine the “Cranberry saw us,” a band with an unusual name (a sort of pun on cranberry sauce, a Christmas tradition) but with good potential looking for a singer.
Imagine an eighteen-year-old girl who ran away from home working part-time in a shop.

The girl is Dolores O’Riordan. Dark hair, penetrating eyes, and a stunning voice, Dolores has been writing songs since she was a child and sings in some local cover bands.

Imagine…the Cranberries!
A few demos, some live performances, a contract with Island (the same as U2) and then the debut album.

Imagine a strange and very long title, black and white photos, and a sofa on the cover.
Imagine the Irish atmosphere, the freshness of the music, the sensual and captivating voice that accompanies the entire album. An “acqua&sapone” album that gently flows with moments of exceptional significance (Linger, Dreams, and Sunday) and melancholic nuances (the splendid I Will Always above all) but no less worthy of being listened to and experienced. Yes, experienced.
Imagine living this album throughout its duration, every single song, every word, every note, an emotion, a feeling of tranquility and peace.

Of the Cranberries, destroyed by sudden success, the frenzy of charting, and Mtv's dazzling light, little remains. Among this, the innocence and virginity of a record that captures the senses and the mind, leaving an indelible mark on the history of Irish and international rock.

Imagine. And live.