Rememberings by Sinéad O’Connor

Author:Sinéad O’Connor [O’Connor, Sinéad]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Music, Non-Fiction: Autobiography
ISBN: 9780358447092
Google: OC4NEAAAQBAJ
Goodreads: 56620994
Publisher: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt
Published: 2021-05-31T21:00:00+00:00

* * *

One of the fac­tors con­tribut­ing to my al­bum’s suc­cess be­gan in a Paris ceme­tery. At Père Lachaise, a queen-size bed is carved in snow-white mar­ble. There a young woman lies, wear­ing a beau­ti­ful but­toned night­dress, smil­ing at her baby, blan­kets pulled up around them, baby smil­ing back. Ev­ery de­tail, down to the stitches in the sheets and blan­kets, per­fect. Ev­ery smile line un­der the woman’s eyes. Even her hair on her pil­low.

I walked around there most of the day in an ex­traor­di­nar­ily ex­pen­sive coat I wished I could keep. Gerry Stafford, the stylist, told me Père Lachaise even had its own sewage sys­tem. I must ad­mit I was slightly freaked at the idea of the dead get­ting up to take a dump and then shuf­fling back into their tombs. Also, what do they wipe with?

Note to self: Never, ever go to a grave­yard again.

We were mak­ing the video for “Noth­ing Com­pares 2 U.” We’d al­ready shot most of the video in Lon­don a few days ago, maybe three set­ups. In one, a close-up, I just sang the song along with the track, sit­ting in a chair wear­ing a black polo neck. But in the part where it says “All the flow­ers that you planted, Mama, in the back­yard, all died when you went away,” I cried for like twenty sec­onds.

I think that means I wasted their time. I did man­age to get my act to­gether and keep singing. But I think it’s un­us­able. So it’s good we’re shoot­ing all this stuff in Paris. I feel bad I wasted ev­ery­one’s time and money, though.

John May­bury, who again di­rected my video, thought I was cry­ing be­cause me and Fachtna had re­cently parted ways. But I’m happy about that now. It’s bet­ter for ev­ery­one.

I was cry­ing about my mother be­ing dead. I’m still re­ally messed up about it, even though I’m twenty-four. A lit­tle em­bar­rass­ing. But there you go. I’m a girl.

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