The San Francisco Chronicle
JUNE 18, 2000


Sinead O'Connor Stays True To Form


SINEAD O'CONNOR
Faith and Courage

Some artists are so obviously blessed, it hits like a personal affront
when they misuse their talents. Sinead O'Connor defines the type.

Forget the Vatican: By the release of her 1994 album "Universal Mother,"
the infamous pope-shredder could barely find an audience at a pagan campfire.
That
album, representative of so much of O'Connor's work, had some enthralling
moments -- and far too many embarrassing ones.

It's taken the hardheaded woman six years to make a follow-up, and "Faith
and Courage" is equally maddening in its near-misses. O'Connor has an incredible
store
of talent, a voice that knows bottomless suffering and exactly how to
comfort it. On top of that, she has the conviction of a hundred zealots.
One of the first
performers to bring dub and hip-hop into the pop mainstream, she is now
a distinctive elder soul of the Lilith generation.

None of this can stop her from making mediocre music. There are powerful
moments on "Faith and Courage" -- the grungy trip-hop of the self-justifying
"Daddy I'm
Fine," the giggling children of "The Healing Room." But there are also
moments of pomposity ("The Lamb's Book of Life"), and others of plain old
dullness ("Dancing
Lessons").

By now all of those elements fit a familiar template on O'Connor's records
-- the tranquil nursery rhymes, the Prince-like use of the letter U ("If
U Ever"), the Celtic
flourish and the Rasta solidarity.

It's still a template well worth listening to. But O'Connor's first two
albums, audacious and wonderful as they were, loom like the early movies
of a child star. Is she
doomed to premature irrelevance? It'd be a shame.

-- James Sullivan