In that resistance O’Connor found a raison d’être. She was finally being recognized as the protest singer she had always wanted to be. She knew that her willingness to express herself authentically, and without the slightest concern for professional self-preservation, made her dangerous, but also powerful. All Andrew Dice Clay could do in the face of it was to call her “the bald chick.” All Frank Sinatra could do was to call her “a stupid broad.” Those were just names. She’d experienced and survived far worse than that.
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