(Photo credit: David Belisle / Michael Stipe / Instagram)
Yesterday afternoon, my phone started buzzing rapidly, signifying a series of texts coming in right in a row. That’s generally never a good thing—it signals urgency—and my instincts were unfortunately right: Sinead O’Connor had died at age 56.
I had to immediately hop on and do a radio interview for NPR’s All Things Considered (which you’ll hear this weekend) but I was rattled. O’Connor had been quite open about living with mental health conditions and was still deeply and publicly grieving her son, Shane, who died by suicide in 2022.
But O’Connor seemed to be in a good place these days. Just a few weeks ago, she posted an upbeat status on Facebook: Having moved back to London, she was creatively energized. “Soon finishing my album. Release early next year : ) Hopefully Touring Australia and New Zealand toward end 2024. Europe, USA and other territories beginning early 2025.”
I didn’t have time to grieve just yet, however, as I was asked to write about O’Connor’s music and legacy for a few publications:
The Daily Beast: The Stunning Rebellion of Sinead O’Connor’s 1989 Grammys Performance
Salon (from 2016): Failing Sinead O'Connor: The ugly spectacle of mocking celebrities in crisis
When I thought of O’Connor, my mind immediately first went to her stunning performance of “Mandinka” on the 1989 Grammy Awards. (I unpack all of that above.) It’s a singular performance exuding confidence and individuality. To be 21 years old on that huge empty stage, performing in front of the entire music industry—what absolute poise and fearlessness. (I love the camera panning to her one-time tourmates INXS cheering her on at the song’s end, too.)
But my mind also immediately went to a long-time favorite of mine: Michael Stipe’s solo cover of O’Connor’s “Last Day of Our Acquaintance,” recorded in 1996 on a television show called VH1 Honors. That year, the event benefitted an organization called Witness that was founded by Peter Gabriel, that the Forth Worth Star-Telegram recap of the event noted “encourages people around the world to document human-rights violations with video cameras and by other means.” (Fittingly, Gabriel performed a gorgeous version of his own “Red Rain” with Stipe and Natalie Merchant on the same VH1 show.)
I thought Stipe’s take on “Last Day of Our Acquaintance” was fairly well-known, but I was wrong, judging by the engagement with (and response to) my tweet about the song. To be fair, I was at the height of my R.E.M. fandom back in 1996; even in the pre-social media dial-up age, TV appearances by members of R.E.M. didn’t escape my notice.
I was quite taken with Stipe’s cover—I taped the VH1 performance and later dubbed it to a cassette, so I could listen to it over and over again, whenever I wanted. The song was a revelation since I hadn’t heard O’Connor’s original just yet.
Here’s what I said about “Last Day of Our Acquaintance” at The Guardian:
Initially a sparse, wrenching song driven by fluttering acoustic guitar, Last Day of Our Acquaintance describes the agonising countdown to what’s ostensibly a divorce, given references to a changed relationship and a meeting “later in somebody’s office”. As the song progresses, O’Connor uses her voice to channel an emotional transformation. At first, she sings in a fragile whisper that’s broken and resigned – a mirror of the narrator’s sadness and confusion – before gradually gaining strength and boldness, in tandem with the music becoming more forceful and the protagonist realising their life is now just beginning. A self-empowered triumph.
Stipe’s take isn’t necessarily as dramatic vocally. Accompanied at first just by sharp acoustic guitar, he leans into the implied dread within the lyrics—someone watching the clock until they can (ostensibly) go sign divorce papers. His voice drips with wistfulness, as he seems to speak directly to a soon-to-be-ex with almost tender empathy: “I know you don’t love me anymore.” In many places, Stipe’s version often seems to provide comfort to the other person, as if doing so makes the looming split easier to handle.
And, in fact, Stipe’s “Last Day of Our Acquaintance” cover perhaps isn’t at the point where O’Connor’s version lands—with the narrator ready to go have that meeting in a nondescript office and start over. There’s a solemn undercurrent to Stipe’s voice, as if he’s emotionally numb and a little stunned that the relationship is through. Accordingly, his delivery becomes most urgent and desperate when singing of the rift between the couple: “I’ll talk but you won’t listen to me/I know your answer already.” During these moments, the protagonist is starting to realize things are really, finally over.
What’s also comes through in Stipe’s cover is his reverence for O’Connor. His take very clearly treats her original like a standard, a piece of precious genius to be interpreted with great care. Coming four years after O’Connor’s very-public shunning after her Saturday Night Live appearance, this was no small thing. Stipe used his platform as one of the biggest rock stars in the world to remind a very large audience about her greatness—a beautiful sign of friendship and solidarity that remains just as poignant today.
Bonus covers: If you need a good cry, last night in San Francisco, Tori Amos covered Sinead O’Connor’s “I Am Stretched On Your Grave”/ “Three Babies” and also prefaced an exquisite version of “Crucify” with some pointed words of support for O’Connor.
Love Sinead, love REM, love Tori. To me Sinead's was the worst celebrity death since John Lennon's. I just adored her.
Thank you for this, Annie.