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The Cranberries - les 25 ans de To The Faithful Departed + 3ème album solo de Dolores


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Hum, je me demande si ils comptent encore sortir des choses ensemble ? Les charts de Roses ont peut être un peu refroidis les ardeurs. Ceci-dit ils ont pu faire une belle tournée ! Je me demande parce qu'en ce moment je réécoute beaucoup Roses et No Need To Argue :wub:

 

Au passage, est-ce que vous me conseillez les albums solos de Dolores ?

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Oui je te les conseille. Le premier est plus metal, le 2eme est plus produit. Ya du bon dans chaque album et

 

Les Cranberries en ont rien à battre de vendre ou pas, ils continueront à sortir de la musique mais on a le temps je pense :)

 

Metal carrément ?! :mdr: Je dirais rock dark, un peu grunge à la limite.

 

Quoi qu'il en soit, rien que d'en parler, ça me donne envie de le réécouter (Loser, When We Were Young, Angel Fire :wub::wub::wub: )

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Tout n'est pas à garder sur ses albums solo, mais il y a des choses assez enivrantes. Le premier est très Cranberries, sobre et sombre. Apple Of My Eyes, Black Widow, Ecstasy... Le second m'a moins plu, mais il y a The Journey dessus, et rien que celui là... <3

 

 

(ça me fait réaliser que sa voix me manque... je n'ai pas écouté Roses, les critiques étaient plutôt assassines... et je m'estime super chanceux d'avoir pu les voir en concert il y a quelques années)

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  • 1 mois après...

Dolores vient de reveler à the Irish Independent un secret qui la ronge depuis des décennies et qui sont responsables de son mal-être, annulations, paroles de chansons etccc...Voici le début.

Vraiment dur... :(

 

She has millions in the bank, has enjoyed success all over the world with The Cranberries and has a devoted husband, great kids and a loving family, yet Dolores O’Riordan has never felt able to reveal a ‘dirty secret’, one that has tormented her since she

Dolores O’Riordan says she has waited all her life to rid herself of “this”. She says she only stopped blaming herself five years ago. Prior to that, the 42-year-old thought, at some deep, subconscious level, that it was all her fault and she deserved it, because she was a bad person, a shameful, dirty person carrying a curse.

Dolores had kept the dirty secret of what had happened to her during her childhood buried inside her all her life.

And when she became a pop star and a multi-millionaire with her band, The Cranberries, that dirty secret caused her to have a ner vous breakdown. She was depressed, and suicidal, and anorexic. She didn' t sleep or eat properly. She had seemingly insurmountable trust issues, on lots of levels, with men.

I had a fair idea there was something sinister troubling her. Starting about five years ago, a drunk, often incoherent, Dolores would ring sometimes in the middle of the night from Canada and l eave l ong , disturbing, very sad, and very worrying, messages on my phone. She would sometimes text an apology the next day.

When Dolores moved back to Ireland from Ontario two months ago, she suggested we had a ‘proper’ chat sometime. I kind of knew when I arrived at her rented mansion in Abington, in Malahide, on the appointed day that she didn't want to do a promo interview about her upcoming gig as coach on RTE's The Voice. Not the kind of say-nothing-blando interview she gave recently to Ryan Tubridy on the Late Late.

She was sitting on the bed in her young daughter Molly's bedroom. There were scented candles burning and a few books on psychology left open on the bed.

Within two minutes, Dolores was crying, wiping her eyes relentlessly, and apologising for her tears. I just let her talk for the next three hours. This is Dolores O'Riordan's story of how she overcame her cruel past and reclaimed her life before it was too late.

This is the story of what happened to her from the age of eight to 12 at the hands of someone in the Limerick area who was in a position of trust.

“For four years, when I was a little girl, I was sexually abused,” she says bluntly.

“I see this as cleansing,” she says. “It is a way of emptying that closet — no more skeletons. Just peace and healing. No baggage.” She sits up on the bed and quotes one of her own Switch Off the Moment lyrics: ‘ Some mental anguish in my head/ Wake me up I am not dead/ Ignite a fire in my soul/ A passing moment/ Accumulating in my mind/ Are the thoughts I left behind Accumulating in my head/ Switch off the moment’” I ask Dolores to take me back to the moment when she was first sexually abused.

“We moved into a busy housing estate when I was seven. There were tons of people around all the time. My mother worked a lot to pay the bills and my father was oblivious to it.” Her father, Dolores explains, had a bad bike accident in 1968, “which left him invalided with permanent brain damage and was never the same again.”

“He [the abuser] used to masturbate me when I was eight years old. He made me do oral sex for him and ejaculated on my chest when I was eight years old. It was inappropriate touching, et cetera.

“My father would have killed him had my poor father not been retarded,” Dolores says. “This is all in the past now. I am just trying to live for my kids. It is all about my kids now. I love them endlessly.”


Later, we go out to the garden and watch her daughters Dakota and Molly on the trampoline as their two dogs run around like maniacs. Her eldest child, son Taylor, 15, is in his room. The ironic thing is that Dakota and Molly are the exact ages that Dolores's sexual abuse started and ended at: eight and 12, respectively. “It gets hard as well when you have daughters, because you get flashbacks when you're with them and when you are watching them,” Dolores said earlier that afternoon. “You wonder how anyone can get satisfaction in any way — you know?

“I only had one boyfriend before Don,” Dolores says. “I lived with him for a couple of years. He was the guy I wrote Dreams about. I wrote Dreams because it took four weeks for me to do the actual deed,” she says, referring to sex, “because I had bad flashbacks the whole time. It takes years. It is very hard. Very, very, hard. . .” There is a pause. Then nothing.

In last month’s Vanity Fair, Dylan Farrow — the adopted daughter of actress Mia Farrow and director Woody Allen, who has long claimed Allen sexually abused her as a seven-year-old, a claim he has always denied — says she initially broke up with her boyfriend, now her husband, because of childhood memories that gave her severe hang-ups about sex.

Farrow eventually told him: “Look, I have skeletons in my closet. They reside there. Some just might be permanent residents, but, if you are willing to help me work on things I can fix, I'd be very grateful.”

“Don loved me, loves me,” Dolores says. “I love him and the kids so, so much . . .

“You see,” she says, tears flooding down her beautiful face, “I never really talked about it before because I actually wasn't able to, to be honest with you. It took years and years and years of counselling. I have been in a shrink's office so many times. Actually, I knew I was going to a shrink too long when he started telling me his problems,” she laughs.

“I almost think it is OK now to talk about it. You know, when you look at these celebrities and entertainers on Oprah? You don't have to hide it. You think it is kind of worse to leave it in the silence. ‘Shoo. Don't tell anyone.' But that doesn't help you get better.

“Most people say, ‘Shoo. Don't tell anyone.' Particularly in Ireland. Again, it was 30 years ago, but I think pushing it under the carpet is not good for you.”

Thirty years ago, or not, it only takes your mind a split second to take you back there, I suggest.

“Yeah,” she answers. “And that's the horrible thing — you cannot control the memories. Like in the song Stupid, I sing: ‘ I cannot erase this memory/Something that is trapped inside of me/Stupid, stupid, stupid.’

“Like you will only ever be at peace when you die . . . and go above, heaven,” she says of the song’s meaning — and perhaps her life's meaning at that dreadful time. “You don't really have a proper perspective. Your perspectives are destroyed. You have this problem with understanding what love is.”

I say to forget about ‘above' — and think about below. Below us, downstairs, we can hear her two daughters playing with their two dogs and husband Don Burton. I say that is the most important thing in her life.

“The kids were actually completely elemental in my healing process,” Dolores says. “Molly's been awesome. All of my kids — apart from the little one — said to me: ‘Mummy, just talk about it. It's not such a big deal. If you talk about that, and you are OK, it will help you to get better.'

“I think my own mother is the best mother in the world,” she continues. “I love her endlessly. I told her eight years ago, when I

 

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  • 5 ans après...

Musicalement je trouve la chanson très bonne et très Cranberries! 

J'adore la pochette du nouvel album qui sortira le 26 avril (not the 24th ;) ) 

 

Apparemment il y aurait un greatest hits qui sortira d'après la presse anglophone... Rien de confirmer par le groupe. Par contre on fête les 25 ans de No Need To Argue donc on devrait avoir un coffret. Noel a dit qu'il gérera le truc mieux que sur le premier album car le décès de Dolores a précipité un peu tout ça et il n'avait pas pu s'investir autant qu'il aurait voulu.

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