I think there’s a difference between somebody who grows up in Paris or London and goes to Los Angeles. But if you grow up in the green fields, and you rarely go into the city, you’re so overprotected that when you do go to L.A., it’s almost a bigger slap in the head.
People don’t look at you singing. They go within themselves and listen. Music is about listening, not looking. That’s why I wore these huge baggy dresses on stage with The Cranberries.
You get older and come to the conclusion that it’s a great gig making music. Even if you turn into an old gnarly fart, no one cares what you look like if you write good songs – the only gig is to sing well and perform.
I’ve come to the conclusion that life is for the taking and just too short to dwell on the negative.
We all got older, and we’d tell our children things like, ‘Mommy used to be in a famous rock band,’ but they didn’t believe us. Part of the reason for our reunion was to show our children what we did to make the lives they have possible.
It’s amazing to see anyone come out, let alone tell you they have been waiting so long. They are loyal people, our fans.
Luckily I don’t have a sinful past, because there’s nothing you can hide from your kids now.
I was so young when I got so famous, and then I kind of put up a wall around myself. I didn’t really want to show people any fragilities or fears; I was trying to be this tough person that I felt was expected of me.
When I was about 14, I got a tacky keyboard for 250 pounds and put on a drum machine and found I could write a song.
Only we were in The Cranberries. Only we know what it was like being in that crazy whirlwind of fame. We have children and spouses and lives, but there is only one Cranberries.
I keep my children safe and protected from all my baggage. They get to have a normal childhood, and they’re not affected by my life.
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