Sean-Nós Nua

Two years after the masterful Faith And Courage, a record that suggested she was still operating at somewhere near her creative peak, Sinéad returns with an album of purely traditional material. It’s a fairly bold step and a massive two fingered salute to those who would paint her as a bitter critic of her own nation. No wonder she chooses to close Sean-Nós Nua with the line, “Please won’t you tell me who is she”, sung unaccompanied with a mischievous lilt.

It’s a question that we might well ask, for hers has been a career of magpie moments. Hip-hop, drum ’n’ bass, angry guitar rock, dub, dance, world music – all have been plucked from the musical ether and accommodated within the O’Connor vision.

And lurking somewhere in there has always been folk, trad, roots – whatever you want to call it. From her collaborations with the Chieftains and Afro-Celt Sound System to much of her own material, Sinéad O’Connor has always found the music of the people of immense fascination and inspiration. Sean-Nós Nua, we are told, is the album that she has wanted to make for years.

Although she’s moved to the smaller Hummingbird record label to do it, the project isn’t short on heavyweight names to back her up. Donal Lunny, Sharon Shannon, Steve Wickham and Christy Moore all play their part, while On-U Sound’s Adrian Sherwood and Skip MacDonald represent her other great love, reggae. But this isn’t an album about who’s who, for O’Connor, it’s all about the music.

The woman who tore up a picture of the Pope on live television is, on first impressions, playing it safe. View the bigger picture, however, and the strength of the project begins to shine through. Reading her excellent sleeve notes, you start to see this most traditional of material through new eyes. Hence ‘Peggy Gordon’ becomes a peon to gay love, ‘Her Mantle So Green’ a reflection of the rebirth of Irish culture, ‘The Singing Bird’ a dedication to Jah and ‘Paddy’s Lament’ a tellingly relevant anti-war song.

The most successful moments come when the music rises to meet her, as when Sherwood starts to weave his studio magic on ‘Óró Sé Do Bheatha Bhaile’ and the dramatic ‘My Lagan Love’. It’s here that glimpses of the old O’Connor break through, her vocals on the attack as opposed to the more hushed tones elsewhere. Not that it all works, mind. ‘Molly Malone’ is over familiar and the 12-minute Moore duet ‘Lord Baker’ is just a bit much.

‘I’ll Tell Me Ma’ is perfect, exuding a childlike innocence that most would have thought she had lost forever and a world away from her vilified tabloid persona. It’s a beautiful end to an often-remarkable record.