When I first heard “Zombie”, about seven years had passed since Johnathan Ball and Tim Parry died during the 1993 IRA bombing in Warrington. I was a sheltered teenager living on the other side of the world; I did not know who they were. I knew vaguely of a war in Bosnia, but not in Ireland. (I would find out about The Troubles in another few years, in a social studies textbook). I had probably heard “Dreams” on the radio a few times by then, but I did not know they were sung by a band named The Cranberries. We did not have cable television, so I had never watched a minute of MTV at that point. I had no idea of what Dolores O’Riordan looked like.
I had the chance to listen to her voice, and that was all that mattered. The music my parents exposed me to in my childhood was strictly melodic, middle-class, middle-of-the-road fare. ABBA, Bee Gees, Air Supply, The Carpenters, country crossover hits. 90s pop were deemed acceptable, but when Linkin Park, Limp Bizkit or Eminem began dominating the local pop radio station my parents would immediately switch channels to LITE (then named Light & Easy, and then later as Lite FM). I thus grew up with plenty of exposure to "Relaxing Favourites" from the 60s - 80s, to many artists who were before my time. I had a sonic tapestry and lyrical vocabulary for (non-sexualized) love, romance, longing, heartbreak, and nostalgia.
What I needed, as I grew older, was music that would help me access, articulate and manage my burgeoning adolescent angst. “Zombie” was the last track on a homemade CD compilation made by an older student at my school. I cannot remember how it ended up in my hands, or what the other tracks were. It was unlike all the others; I listened to it again and again. O’Riordan’s ability to channel profound rage struck an instant chord. She was singing about a real war with a haunting intensity that matched the all-consuming interpersonal conflicts of my hopelessly cloistered adolescent world: ‘It’s the same old theme/ Since nineteen-sixteen/ In your head, in your head, they’re still fighting/ With their tanks, and their bombs/ And their bombs, and their guns/ In your head, in your head, they are dying’. Chaos and conflict were an unavoidable part of History and our histories, but you could confront it from a distance: 'But you see / It’s not me / It’s not my family'.
And then there’s the titular noun, which she stretches out (“Zombie-ie-ie-ie-oh-oh-oh-oh!”) to convey a slew of primordial emotions. Sheer defiance, anguish, despair, and rage in the face of paralyzing terror, trauma and abjectness. There were only a few times in my life when a song made such an indelible impact. That afternoon spent on my own, sitting on the floor by the radio and playing “Zombie” again and again is still etched in my memory after all those years, and all those other songs. It would only be apt if it lived on forever.
I did not manage to replicate this listening experience with any of The Cranberries’ other songs (“Salvation” and "Promises" came close, as did O’Riordan’s solo single “When We Were Young”), but I grew to love O’Riordan’s more lyrical bent on other tracks. They seemed to provide a welcomed balance of perspective. There is great anger and darkness in the world, but also light, love, possibility and the often-underappreciated aspects of family life (“Ode to My Family”, “Animal Instinct”). When I finally managed to watch all their music videos on YouTube, the conceit for “Ridiculous Thoughts” seemed like a visual shorthand for my relationship to the band. A young and distraught Elijah Wood wanders through a battered landscape, adjusting an analog radio in hopes of a better reception to The Cranberries’ live performance. On stage, O’Riordan’s angular and forceful movements matched the ferocity of her vocals, while her slender and petite frame pointed towards the fragility and vulnerability that underscored it all. Her vocals were raw but also restrained as she sang about - and enacted - the song's therapeutic catharsis: "I feel alright/ And I cried so hard the/ Ridiculous thoughts ahah how/ I feel alright alright alright alright'.
I enjoyed listening to O'Riordan's solo work (especially "Ordinary Day", her beautiful ode to motherhood), but I was not as transfixed as before. When The Cranberries regrouped in 2012 for Roses, I hoped to be wholly engrossed once again. I was not. D.A.R.K. appeared to be similarly intriguing but also failed to recreate the magic. Other songs and other artists were roped in to score the subsequent stages of my life, my evolving worldview. Now, after her death, I finally learn more about the woman behind the voice. She was a working-class kid, from a small Irish town. She had eight older siblings. Doc Marten boots and a leather jacket were once a novelty. Britain had not initially cared all that much for her band, but America did. She went to great lengths to insist on having short hair. “Linger” was inspired by her first kiss and her first experience of heartbreak. She mumbled during interviews. She had been sexually abused as a child. She suffered from bipolar disorder and back pains that prevented her from touring. She tried committing suicide in 2013. She eventually became divorcee with three children. The cause of her death - and the ultimate combination of circumstance, personality, and history that catalyzed her best work - remains a mystery. I imagine a chorus of fans across the world, singing “When You’re Gone” back to her.
