Sinead O’Connor

“Factory Girl” – Who did it best?

by
The legendary Margaret Barry (1955)
Sinead with the Chieftains (1999)
Lisa O’Neill and Lankum’s Radie Peet (from “This Ain’t No Disco” 2017)
Rhiannon Giddens
The Roches (1980)

TRADITIONAL LYRICS

As I went out walking one fine summer’s morning
The birds in the bushes did whistle and sing
The lads and the lassies in couples was courting
Going back to the factory their work to begin

I spied one among them, she was fairer than any
Her cheeks like the red rose that blooms in the spring
Her hair like the lily that grows in yon valley
And besides she’s a hardworking factory girl

I stepped up to her, more closely to view her
When on at me she cast her bright look of disdain
“Young man, have manners, and do not insult me
For although I’m a poor girl, I think it no shame”

It’s not for to scorn you, fair maid I adore you
Come grant me one favour, love, where do you dwell?
“Young man excuse me for now I must leave you
For yon there’s the sound of my factory bell”

Though I have fine houses adorned with ivory
I’ve gold in my pocket, and silver as well
And if you come with me, a lady, I’ll make you
And no more will you heed yon factory bell

“Oh, love and temptation, are our ruination
Go find you a lady, and may you do well
For I am a poor girl, with ne’er a relation
And content, I’m a hardworking factory girl”

BP Fallon on his photograph of Shane MacGowan and Sinéad O’Connor, 1988

by

Haunted, recorded by Shane and Sinead in 1995, has become a classic

One time use only for Shane obitsBy BP Fallon

Ever since I brought Sinéad O’Connor round to Shane MacGowan and Victoria’s flat in London, new magical friendships blossomed. The record Haunted, sung by Shane and Sinead in 1995, is now a classic, Shane’s gnarly vocals embraced by Sinead’s voice of an angel.

Here, Sinead and Shane are in the Netherlands at The Pink Pop Festival in 1988: two of the greatest artists in contemporary music having a vibe together. I call this photo “Doc Martens & slippers”.

In early Pogues days I invited the whole group to take part in my radio show The BP Fallon Orchestra. The RTÉ Guide trumpeted “The BPFO Presents The Pogues In Conversations With 40 People (Often All At The Same Time)“. Shane and company fielded questions from the audience,.and the sometimes heated exchange was reported in the Irish papers. I like to think of it as The Pogues’ “Bill Grundy moment” – when The Sex Pistols swore at an idiotic Grundy on his Thames Television show – and it helped make The Pogues a household name in Ireland.

Shane had worked in Ted Carroll’s superb London record shop Rock On – namechecked by Phil Lynott in the Thin Lizzy song The Rocker – and had an exceedingly wide taste in music. He guested as a DJ in my club Death Disco in Dublin several times, and in Belfast too. Shane played everything from Elvis to the Sex Pistols to Margaret Barry. He was a one-off; there has been nobody quite like him.

Source: BP Fallon on his photograph of Shane MacGowan and Sinéad O’Connor, 1988

Blackbird in Dun Laoghaire – a poem by Joseph O’Connor

by

Blackbird in Dun Laoghaire was read by Joseph O’Connor at the funeral of his sister Sinéad O’Connor

There’s a blackbird in Dun Laoghaire
When I’m walking with my sons
Through the laneways
Called ‘The Metals’
By the train-tracks.

And he sings among the dandelions
And bottle-tops and stones,
Serenading purple ivy,
Weary tree-trunks.

And I have it in my head
That I can recognise his song,
Pick him out,
I mean distinct
From all his flock-mates.

Impossible, I know.
Heard one blackbird, heard them all.
But there are times
He whistles up a recollection.

There’s a blackbird in Dun Laoghaire –
And I’m suddenly a kid,
Asking where from here to Sandycove
My youngest sister hid.
I’m fourteen this Easter.
My job to mind her.
Good Friday on the pier –
And I suddenly can’t find her.

The sky like a bruise
By the lighthouse wall.
We were playing hide-and-seek.
Is she lost? Did she fall?
There’s a blackbird in Dun Laoghaire
And the terror’s like a wave
Breaking hard on a hull,
And the peoples’ faces grave

As Yeats on a banknote.
Stern as the mansions
Of Killiney in the distance,
As the pier’s granite stanchions,
And Howth is a drowned child
Slumped in Dublin Bay,
And my heart is a drum
And the breakers gull-grey.

The baths. It starts raining.
The People’s Park.
And my tears and the terns,
And the dogs’ bitter bark.
There’s a blackbird in Dun Laoghaire,
And I pray to him, then,
For God isn’t here,
In a sobbed Amen.

And she waves from the bandstand,
Her hair in damp strings,
And the blackbird arises
With a clatter of wings
From the shrubs by the teahouse,
Where old ladies dream
Of sailors and Kingstown
And Teddy’s ice-cream.

And we don’t say a word
But cling in the mizzle,
And the whistle of the bird
Getting lost in the drizzle.
Mercy weaves her nest
In the wildflowers and the leaves,
There are stranger things in heaven
Than a blackbird believes.

– Joseph O’Connor, 2010

Source: Blackbird in Dun Laoghaire – a poem by Joseph O’Connor

•Listen to RTE audio of Joseph reciting his poem