It’s SIFF season, baby!with 262 films over 11 days (April 14–24) screening both in-person and online. We’re rounding up some of our favorites. Every day, expect two more recommendations on Slog.
Kathryn Ferguson’s documentary Nothing Compares makes several mistakes in its noble mission to recover the mostly unhappy pop career of the Irish-born singer Sinéad O’Connor, who now goes by Shuhada Sadaqat. Its main mistake is to connect O’Connor’s cancelation in 1992 for ripping a picture of Pope John Paul II on Saturday Night Live with the pink pussy hats movement that erupted with Trump’s defeat of Hillary Clinton in 2016. There is little to almost no live wire between the two forms of protest. In the history of popular movements and pop music, there exists two kinds of challenges: one that the establishment codes as acceptable and indeed benefits from, and one that it codes as unacceptable. Superstar rock, pop, hiphop, and R&B musicians almost never crack the latter code. O’Connor did.
The pink pussy hats movement is not strictly anti-establishment. As The Daily writer Deborah Kwon explained in anpost, it is predominately an expression of middle-class white feminism. Its goal is a re-coding of power, not the elimination of it. The same can be said about Neil Young’s decision earlier this year to of the enormously popular podcaster Joe Rogan. It was not an empty gesture for him to pull his music from a streaming service that distributes lies about a pandemic that’s claimed over 1 million American lives (and nor is the pink pussy hats solidarity empty), but it would never have cost him everything. The establishment coded Young’s act of protest as acceptable, absorbing it rather than rejecting it.
Spotify lost that battle because Young had nothing to lose. He is an old rocker after all. But O’Connor lost her very bright position in the constellation of rock stars by the. Meaning, at a time when she had everything to lose. Her protest—unlike, say, those who appropriate Handmaid’s Tale imagery to protest the Supreme Court’s stark reversal on women’s reproductive rights—was way outside of the limits of a form of power that’s coded by capital. O’Connor did not just hit a nerve (Neil Young did that while brushing the dirt from his shoulder), she hit the heart of a system (the accumulation of capital) that apparently had Catholicism as one of its core components. As a consequence, O’Connor was canceled almost immediately, and not just by the right, but by centrists.
, the mainstream has yet to challenge Spotify’s raw exploitation of emerging or underground artists.)
Lastly, the documentary fails to fully appreciate the greatness of O’Connor’s talent, which did not stop growing after the United States canceled her (she still had a major following inand, curiously enough, Poland). The music that made her famous in the 1980s, and that got her a history-making spot on Saturday Night Live in 1992, was only a point of departure. For example, what one finds in “What Your Soul Sings,” the second track on Massive Attack’s 2003 100th Window, is an O’Connor now in the second half of her 30s, whose genius is far from exhausted. Most pop stars have nothing new to say or offer after a few years in the business. This wasn’t the case with O’Connor. Late in a career that started when she was barely not a girl, 19, the Irish singer possessed a voice that was more haunting and beautiful and tender and vital than ever before. O’Connor, who lost , joy still belongs to you.
Playing aton Sunday, April 17 at 7 pm, at on Monday, April 18 at 6 pm, and available to the entire length of the festival. Director Kathryn Ferguson scheduled to attend.