I Do Not Want What I Haven't Got

Sometimes, when I'm checking through the blogs I like to read, I come across information that really shocks me. Today's little tidbit was that it's been twenty years since Sinead O'Connor's I Do Not Want What I Haven't Got came out.
I was two when the album first came out, so I don't have memories that go that far back. I remember as a kid hearing "Nothing Compares 2 U," the Prince-written song that O'Connor famously covers. My Mother became enamored of a late night DJ when I was a tweens. He had a deep voice, and played sappy love songs until midnight, always playing "The Witching Hour" at the end of his set. Driving back from my Grandmother's home late at night, my Mother would listen to this, and usually break into tears. I can't tell you how many times my memories of certain well-loved but much trashed music from the 80s and the 90s and downtown Detroit was part of that time in my life. "Don't Stop Believin'" is a much more powerful song when you're coming from "South Detroit," that magical place that exists only in that song.
Flashforward to me being fifteen. The one and only time I visited my friend Owen at his Dad's house for a Pirates of the Caribbean party. (When only the first one was out...that's how long ago this was.) Owen was an incredible musician, though this wasn't why I had originally become friends with him. While hanging in his room, I made the mistake of looking through his music collection. Whenever I see someone's stuff, I inevitably have to ask "Can I borrow this? I want to burn it." Same thing here. I got a lot of great stuff that evening: Tea Party's Transmission, The Original Broadway Recording of Rent, Fiona Apple's Tidal, Poe's Haunted, punk rock covers of Rocky Horror, and even the UK version of The Cranberries's Wake Up and Smell the Coffee. One of those albums was O'Connor's.
As a fifteen year old, I immediately recognized "Nothing Compares 2 U" and was impressed by the high notes O'Connor hits, especially since I was training as a soprano. I fell for "I Am Stretched on Your Grave" pretty quickly, and honestly think someone should mix Bristol Sound-like beats with traditional Irish music more often.
Fastforward five years later, when I'm in England for the first (and so far only) time. I was in a class on the Black British experience, and was listening to music that Black Brits were making. I was loving that too. While researching the song "Jah Nuh Dead" I discovered that O'Connor had done a cover of the traditional reggae song. The song made a lot of sense to me, since I was reading the speeches of Marcus Garvey and watching films like The Harder They Come (and the related song) and bumming around Brixton's infamous market. I pulled out what I happened to have on my computer, which, thankfully, included this album. And I listened again.
And discovered that this album was more political than I had ever really noticed. It had been at least two years since I had listened to it last, so I had forgotten a lot of things. Being a politically-minded person, who wants to fight racism, sexism, homophobia, etc., I was happy to find someone I already liked was fighting for justice too. I quickly fell in love with "Black Boys on Mopeds," finally understanding the political context it was written in.
I discovered that O'Connor had been part of a band called Ton Ton Macoute, one that directly used world music. I've never come across anything by them, but I wish I could, since I've always enjoyed world music too.
One of the last days in London, I turned to "The Last Day of Our Acquaintance." The day before I left, there was a suicide of the Tube, which was one of the many unfortunate things that happens there on a regular basis. I got stuck on the Tube, and, in my melancholy at the thought of leaving, I contemplated a lot of the darker thoughts that I always manage to entertain. I ended up writing a short story based on that song, involving ruined love and abortion.
Listening to the album now, I can't help think of all those things. I love and appreciate art, and I always appreciate the artists who give voice to things I haven't succeeded yet in voicing myself. Hearing today that this album was twenty years old, I couldn't help think about how, even though it directly references the politics of the late 80s and early 90s, the album seems just as timely now and, like all great examples of art, has managed to infiltrate my imagination and my life.