It was summer 97, a beautiful warm evening. I was working in A&R at Warners, driving to a gig in west London, Sinéad was outside a pub with a couple of friends and we locked eyes and she waved. I’d met her a couple of times before but we’d never really chatted. I popped in, got us a drink and it was like we were old friends. She was wearing baggy torn jeans and a white vest, her beauty was captivating but in no way intimidating, she exuded warmth and kindness. We talked about Abba and what we listened to in our teens. She loved me telling her about all the early Smiths gigs in Manchester. I never made the gig that night. We would instead sit on her sofa and talk until the early hours and soon found ourselves falling in love.
I only recall a couple of times when she even mentioned her own music. She was very proud of her version of Don’t Cry for Me Argentina, I remember her playing me that, almost apologetically. (Check out her version with full orchestra on YouTube, it will break your heart.)
