F**k the couch! If anyone else but Cranberries drummer Fergal Lawler had uttered those three words, they'd be in for a right clip on the ear. Cranberries fans love The Couch, star of every one of the Cranberries album covers--until now. But the Cranberries have changed, and with change comes...well, change. Uh, some help here, Fergal?
"We decided that we wanted to do something completely different," Fergal tells me over the phone from his downtown Toronto hotel suite. (More on that shortly.) "And we met Storm, had a chat, had lunch with him, and gave him some tapes. He gets into your psychological way of thinking, and tries to figure out what kind of person you are."
The Storm in question is the legendary Hipgnosis designer, Storm Thorgersen, the man responsible for some of the most striking album jackets in history. (Well, it's true. He worked with Led Zeppelin, Alan Pasons, Catherine Wheel. Ever hear about Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon? Alright then.)
The other storm in this story is the one that prevented me from interviewing Fergal and singer Dolores O'Riordan in person. (Brothers, Mike and Noel, bass and guitar respectively, were back home in Ireland.) Faced with the worst snowfall in twenty years this past January, I got as far as my Scarborough office and left the downtown to be dug out by the army. We chatted about the new album, Bury the Hatchet, the tour that almost killed the band, and the break that saved it. A few weeks later, with all of the snow safely melted away, I connected with Dolores in Ireland, just home from rehearsal that morning. Bury the Hatchet will be supported with a world tour, but this time there will be no reoccuring injuries, no nervous breakdowns, and no incipient depression.
Recorded through late 1997 and 1998 in London, England; Miraval, France; and Toronto, Ontario, Bury the Hatchet is the Cranberries fourth album after the massive chart success of their debut. 1993's Everybody Else Is Doing It, So Why Can't We?; it's follow-up, 1994's No Need to Argue; and 1996's lovely but undervalued To the Faithful Departed. It's also the first Cranberries album since Everybody Else written at home in Ireland, something Dolores says was necessary if they were to go on as a band.
"There's songs on this album that you could never write on tour. There's humor, there's happiness, there's sheer cheekiness. When you're on tour, you're living a certain life, and you feel that people are looking at you too much. It's not the greatest place to write songs. When you go home, you're really relaxed, and you're just writing songs as a human being, and I think that people relate to them more."
Home is a new concept for Dolores. "The truth is that I didn't have a home for a long time," she explains. "I was living in a flat with an old boyfriend when I joined the band, and I split up with him when I was 20. So I had no home for a long time, except that cottage in Canada. [Dolores is married to Canadian, Don Burton, her ex-tour manager.] So in the last couple of years, we managed to get our home together, and it's amazing. I love it. It feels so good to have a home, somewhere that you can call yours. Escapism, it's lovely."
Sleep, rest and privacy, let alone escapism, were foreign concepts to the Cranberries for the better part of the '90s. The singles "Dreams" and "Linger" became American hits, and support slots with The The and Duran Duran spurred worldwide album sales well past the six million mark. (Even Dolores's marriage was no excuse for rest; she was back on the road five days later.) Eager to capitalize on their unexpected success, the band headed back into the studio with Everybody Else producer Stephen Street (The Smiths) to record No Need to Argue. The first single from that record, "Zombie", revealed a harder, more political side of the band which won them the respect of critics back home. More touring followed, this time as a headliner, and millions more units were moved.
Then the Cranberries made a mistake. What they should have done was taken a vacation, recuperated from five years of touring. Instead, they went back into the studio. With producer Bruce Fairbairn (AC/DC, Van Halen) at the helm, they bashed out To the Faithful Departed in six weeks. It was a dark record fuelled by Dolores's ongoing depression and early-20s angst. There were lyrical references to dead icons like John Lennon and Kurt Cobain, songs entitled "Bosnia" and "War Child". It sold tons, although not the ridiculous numbers of the first two records, and whispers about the band's future naturally arose.
"You know, it was a beautiful album, and I really don't think we could have done any better," Dolores insists. "We were living in the public eye, we were living in hotel rooms for six or seven years, and we had no lives. So obviously you're going to get turned around and get depressed and write and album like To the Faithful Departed, which is all about 'Can I save the world?' I was really depressed, and I was really thinking, 'Hmm. Maybe I should die now.' I was really down, and I was obsessed with the notion of death--for awhile, anyway."
Dealing with her feelings in songs only made matters worse. ("Everything is more magnified. And when you write a song, you slightly exaggerate how you really feel in your own head.") With the album complete, the band signed contracts for another world tour. The shouldn't have. The denouement came three months into the world tour when Dolores announced to the band that she couldn't go on.
"By the time we finished recording, we shouldn't have toured, really," Fergal reasons now. "You see [your touring schedule] on paper and it looks fine. But then after a couple of months doing it, it wasn't fun anymore. Once we sat down and talked about it, everyone said 'Yeah, I feel the same way. I just didn't want to say it because I didn't want to be the one."
Cancelling their tour commitments prove onerous despite Dolores's obvious distress; promoters wanted a reason for cancelling their contracts. "I was dying inside," she says, "and then on the outside you could see it because I was starting to get really, really thin. And everybody started talking about it, and saying that I had anorexia, and I thought, 'God, if only I had anorexia!' I was psychologically a mess. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't think. I couldn't smile. I was a nervous wreck from living this life."
The first thing Dolores did was see "loads of doctors. They were all wondering what was wrong with me. I was going 'I just need a break, lads! I'm just a bit stressed out here.'" Eventually she hooked up with a psychologist who specialized in treating performers. He diagnosed her depression and perscribed rest. Dolores was exultant. "It was like, 'Grand! I'm off the hook!' Now I can go and live." At this point, the fate of the band was still undecided. "I kind of decided that I was never going to sing. Never," she says. "And the boys came to the house, and [they]were pretty upset about everything that had happened. And they said 'Will we get back together as a band?' And I was saying, 'I don't think I'm ever going to sing. I'm really sad.' I was crying when I was telling them."
A five-month Caribbean vacation with her husband recovered Dolores's sanity but making music in her mind was supplimented by another priority. "I thought now I want to have a baby. Because you've had three albums and sold 20 something million. That's more than I thought I would do at 25. Now I would like to have a baby because I would like to grow up with my child." A baby boy soon followed as did another unexpected but pleasant surprise. "During my pregnancy, what happened was that I found myself singing, and I was really glad because the love for singing had came back, and it came back naturally. And I guess it came back because I was going through such nice, happy, real, normal, human things again. You have to let it come back. It takes a bit of time, but if it's in your blood, and if it's in your soul, it'll come back as soon as your wounds heal."
Suitably recovered and rested, the four of them started getting together during Dolores's pregnancy to discuss another Cranberries record. They travelled to Toronto, Burton's hometown, with engineer Ben Fenner (James) to lay down demos at the Metalworks studio. To everyone's delight, the sessions went well. (Two of the vocal takes from that time, "Shattered" and "Desparate Andy" ended up on the final album.) Says Dolores: "After doing the demo, there was a certain vibe of 'Gee, this is really nice. We're up to writing some really gorgeous songs here, and we've gotten that magic back that we had lost'."
If nothing else, Bury the Hatchet proves that the Cranberries' knack for melody and arrangements remains intact. Far less omnious than Departed, Bury the Hatchet is a happy, buoyant album by comparison. There are love songs ("Just My Imagination", "Dying in the Sun", "Saving Grace") sunny pop ("Copycat", "Animal Instinct") and rock songs ("Desparate Andy", "Promises", "Delilah"); nothing is overly political. (Only the awkward "Fee Fi Fo", a condemnation of child abuse, comes across as heavy-handed or pedantic.)
If Dolores's depression was a major lyrical catlyst for To The Faithful Departed, her joy of being a mother is Bury the Hatchet's main inspiration. "It does put you back on track pretty much," Dolores says of motherhood. "Life is strange, but at the end of the day, when you're lying on your death bed, you look back and you think, 'Have I had a happy life? Was it fun, and what do I have to show?' It's fine having money but you can't take that with you. That's not what it's about. You can't take your materialism with you to the grave, but you can take beautiful memories, and you can die with a big smile on your face."
The title is a plea to themselves as much as anyone else. "It's really just about coming to terms with the things that have p*ssed you off in the past," Fergal explains. "You're just getting over that and you're just saying, 'OK let's forget about all of that now. Relax and move on, and enjoy ourselves.' We're really not taking ourselves too seriously. We're actually enjoying ourselves because life's too short to be getting caught up too deep and carried away with yourself."
"Because I think that's what happened. It all got too serious by the time that we got into doing To the Faithful Departed, and we were kind of not really having fun anymore and taking it all too seriously. And it's supposed to be fun. That's how we started off. We love what we do. We needed the time off to realize that again, to actually miss what we were doing."
For her part, Dolores is eager to get back out on tour. "It's gone back to what it used to be originally when I joined the band. Music is beautiful and it's fun. You go out and you sing, and you go to rehearsal, but it's not a job. It had became our whole life and all of the fun had went out of it. And now, it's really fun again, and we're really determined to keep it like that. And on this tour, we're determined to have fun no matter what."
"We won't ever be as big as we were because we're not going to work as much. We're going to take every second day off, but it's good for us because there's only a certain level of success that we can have and then we get all freaked out. When you're too big, it's too weird. Everywhere you go, people recognize you anyway and you can't switch it off. I think there's a happy medium, and that's what we're going to find and keep."
In five short years, Dolores O’Riordan has gone from shy brunette to short-tempered redhead. Vox found her in fighting form when the Cranberries played at Roskilde.
"That’s it, I’m done," snaps Dolores O’Riordan. No need to argue, then. O’Riordan has walked out of the interview after just 17 munites and 50 seconds-12 minutes short of VOX’s allotted half-hour with her. Guitarist and co-Cranberries song writer, Noel Hogan stares after her and shakes his head. Does he want to leave too? Hogan says he’ll continue.
"We’ve had so much rubbish printed about us in the past," he says by way of explanation. "People wrote a lot of sh*t about us that wasn’t true. The biggest was one was ‘You’re innocent’ and all of that crap and even today we still get that."
So why bother doing interviews at all?
"Because we’re asked to, and sometimes we say "O.K., we’ll do them.’ It isn’t that all journalists are like that, but a lot of them are, to be honest. You just meet so many people who want to catch you out."
Meanwhile, O’Riordan—her face now flushed with rage or indignation—has now marched into the downstairs bar where various members of Suede are having an afternoon drink, walked over to her husband and announced that "the journalist was an as**ole, so I walked out." Minutes later, O’riordan swapped her white dress for a pair of blue jeans and, holding her husband’s hand, heads out of the hotel into the Copenhagen sunlight.
So what is Dolores O’Riordan’s problem? Despite worldwide album sales of seven million, The Cranberries still bear visible scars from being forced to grow up in public.
In Copenhagen, where The Cranberries are playing at the Roskilde Festival, Dolores has crazy-Coloured her short, spikey crop pillar-box red. Her new look will be a bit of a bummer for Faith No More singer Mike Patton, who has made a habit of dragging Dolores-lookalikes on stage to duet on their version of 'Zombie', the hit single from The Cranberries' second LP, No Need To Argue. "Where is she?/Where is she" he sings to its chorus as he scans the crowd for a candidate. "With blonde hair/With blonde hair/And a ring in her nose/In her nose." (O'Riordan's rings are actually confined to her fingers, though her right ear lobe is lined with studs.)
'Our version of 'Zombie' was motivated by pure hatred," explains Faith No More's Roddy Bottum. The way she does those ridiculous vocal inflections that she does: 'Zom-beeay/Zom-beeay.' We were trying to imagine what it would sound like if the guy from Metallica was doing it instead--you know: "Zom-burrg~Zom-burrgh."
Even less enamoured with the song is Noel Gallagher. "Fhe Cranberries are probably really nice people and, being of Irish descent myself, I want to like them, but that f***in' 'Zombie' tune pissed me off," he says back-stage at Roskilde, where Oasis's set is sandwiched between Sintad O'Connor and The Cranberries. "It was released just as they announced the ceasefire. Everyone was supposed to be forgetting about the troubles in Northern Ireland--it's over--and they come out with this song about Catholics and Protestants beating each other up. It was a bit insensitive, to say the least?
The Roskilde festival, spread over four days and seven stages, is also playing host to Suede, Blur, Paul Weller and many of the recent Glastonhury acts. "Everyone seems to be in a really good mood out there--they're all p*ssed as a*sholes," Noel observes. "It's a bit different from Glastonbury, where everyone's drug-dealing and the fashion police are out in force."
Oasis play a blinding set, interspersing the best of Definitely Maybe with some of the songs from their forthcoming LP, Morning Glory. Earlier, both Gallagher brothers had stood on the side of the stage to watch Sinead, in better voice than ever as she fronted her new (mainly female) band and sang a set which largely consisted of songs from last year's 'Universal Mother'. 9've never seen her live before and her voice is f*ckin' brilliant," says Noel.
Sinead is the singer to whom Dolores O'Riordan is most frequently compared; they are both Irish Catholics with powerful voices, they sing intensely personal songs, have outspoken views and, despite their worldwide success, a precarious relationship with the media. The Irish press, in particular, seem to have pitted the two women against each other, painting O'Riordan as the young upstart who stole O'Connor's throne. This imaginary battle was recently brought to a head when The Cranberries played in Dublin's largest venue, The Point Depot, while Sinbad unveiled her new band in the Tivoli theatre. "The headline in one paper was something like: The Battle Of The B*tches," remembers Lawler.
In reality, O'Riordan is an admirer of O'Connor and, although there are similarities between the two, their views on certain subjects (abortion, divorce, the Catholic church) are polar opposites. On stage at Roskilde, the differences between the two performers couldn't be greater--O'Riordan is The Saw Doctors to O'Connor's Shane MacGowan-era Pogues. O'Connor barely moves, allowing her voice to float out into the evening air, while O'Riordan covers the whole stage, sometimes turning her back to the crowd, wiggling her hips and storeping her feet in a mutated Irish jig, sometimes simply pointing her microphone into the crowd and commanding everyone to "Sing it!". At one point, a fan leaps the barrier, across the photographer's pit and on to the stage where he genuflects at O'Pdordan's feet and remains motionless, arms outstretched. Suddenly, the old Dolores is back, almost running to the side of the stage, smiling a bewildered smile.
This was a much more vulnerable, far less-guarded O'Riordan than the one who appeared in the Radisson Hotel lobby that afternoon to do a half-hour photo session followed by an interview of the same length. After the photos, O'Riordan and Hogan sat down at a table on the sun roof and the singer immediately turned her chair adjacent to the table so she could bask in the summer sunshine. Suffering from a slight hangover, O'Riordan veered from being personable and vaguely interested to being guarded, cold, distracted, defensive, sarcastic and, finally, downright hostile. tt wasn't exactly the Bill Grundy interview, and the only thing that O'Riordan will ever have in common with John Lydon is her Irish blood, but this is how it went:
3pm-3.02.15 seconds
Have you heard that disco version of 'Zombie'?
Dolores: "I think I heard it in Germany. Is it acid house?"
It's dance. Didn't they get your permission to cover it?
Dolores: "No. I was in the gym one day--this is going back about six months, I think we were in Australia or Germany--when I heard it. I was sickened, but that is the nature of the business, I suppose."
Noel: "I was at a disco in Limerick three or four weeks ago, standing up at the bar, and the next thing I hear was something that sounded like "Zombie".
It's in the Top 20.
Noel (laughing in disbelief): "We could have done a better dance version, I'm sure." You should take it as a compliment.
Dolores: "It's nice. If somebody does a cover version of our song and they have a hit with it that must mean that it's a really, really good song."
Faith No More have been covering 'Zombie' live.
Noel: "Yeah? Is it really heavy?"
Dolores: They've been covering 'Zombie'? Faith No More?" {She giggles}
It's more like a piss-take--their interpretation of how Metallica might do it.
Dolores: Theirs is more hardcore?"
Noel: "We should get all these versions on a tape..."
Dolores: "... and have a laugh."
3.02.15pm---3.04.30
When you wrote 'Zombie', did you consciously or subconsciously take the line about 'tanks and guns' from Phil Coulter's 'The Town I Loved So Well', which also has those words in it?
Dolores: "I know it has those lyrics. Yeah, I remember that now. I don't know if I really thought about it when I was doing it, but that did actually cross my head."
That song has Republican sentiments.
Dolores: "It's a lovely song, isn't it?"
I thought it was interesting, because 'Zombie' is the opposite (ie anti-Republican).
Dolores:"It's quite interesting that you noticed that, being a young person. Young people don't seem to know these things. (To Noel) Did you know that?"
Noel: "I didn't know, to be honest.
Dolores: "That's quite a good observation. {Pause) I'm impressed. Are you Irish? Your parents are? So you know about Irish music; you're aware of it? That's cool. It's kind of cool, cos a lot of people don't know that song, especially around the world."
Did you think about the fact that 'The Town I Loved So Well' could be interpreted as a troops-out song and 'Zombie' was having a go at the (Republican) violence.
Dolores: "I didn't really think too much about that. I iust wrote it as a chain reaction to a child's death in London or in England (Warrington, in fact). I wrote it in about 20 minutes; the whole lot came out really fast."
3.04.30pm---3.05.35
Dolores talks about the current world tour, pointing out they have had just 20 days off since it started last July and will work until September when, among other things, she will be recording a duet with Paearotti.
3.05.35pm---3.07.00
Were you surprised to read that newspaper article about being one of the richest women in Britain and Ireland? (O'Riordan was placed fifth in a recent list of Brttain's 50 richest women in The Sunday Times)
Dolores: "No, I'm not really surprised about any-thing in the media; it's just their game."
Didn't they have to check those particular facts, unlike the usual tabloid stuff?
Dolores (pointedly): "They print anything they like. They don't have to check their facts, and if they go below the belt and print something that's too off-the-cuff and too ridiculous you can sue them."
But wasn't that based on actual figures?
Dolores: "I have absolutely no idea how they contrive those figures. I haven't even done my year-end accounts (laughs), so I don't know how they know. {Pause) It's not something I like to discuss, anyway. I'm not famous for being rich; I'm famous for being a songwriter and a singer and that's really what I'm here to discuss."
3.07.00pm--3.11.53
You wrote a song called 'Yeats' Grave'; is he your favourite poet?
Dolores: Yeah, he's one of my favourites."
What's your favourite poem?
Dolores beginning to look uninterested): "'No Second Troy', I like that a lot."
(There is a pause as she turns her head away) Did you say 'The Second Coming'?
Dolores (looking around briefly): "I said 'No Second Troy'. (Turning away again and looking down at a man who is sunbathing by her feet} That man has turned over."
What about you, Noel?
Noel: "I don't really read poetry and I never have; only at school, and even there I didn't really appreciate it."
Yeats was obsessed with Maud Gonne (the subject of 'No Second Troy?, she was his main muse. Do you write for particular people?
Dolores: "For people?"
Or about certain people?
Dolores: "Yep"
Have you got any idea what those people think about your songs?
Dolores (staring straight ahead and becoming sarcastic): "Well, WB Yeats is dead, so obviously he can't reflect upon it. Most of the people I write about are dead people; it's kind of a reflection on their lives."
You once said that your strongest songs come from sadness and that's one of the emotions that really fuels you.
Dolores: "It is really cos when you're happy you just tend to go out and have a good time. When you're sad you tend to sit down and maybe try to write. I don't usually write when I'm happy--I usually get up and go out and do things instead. I like to take the moment."
Obviously you've had a lot of changes in your life, such as your marriage. Do you think it will affect the things you write about? Do you think it will be harder to find...
Dolores: Are you going to the show tonight? Your question will be answered tonight. We're doing about four or five new songs.'
Did you and Noel write any of those together?
Noel: "'The Electric Blue' and 'IJSJL'."
Dolores: "IJSJL stands for I Just Shot John Lennon."
Noel: "'Electric Blue' is probably the newest. We only started doing it live last week."
Dolores: "'Electric Blue' is kind of a happy song in a way. I don't really think (sings) 'la-la-la' happy, but it's actually about a happy thing."
3.11.53pm--3.16.30
For the first two minutes, the conversation centres
around Sindad O'Connor's latest album, 'Universal Mother' (which neither Dolores nor Noel has heard). Meanwhile, refreshments arrive and Dolores is personable enough to recommend a spare orange juice. "Despite everything that Sinead went through with the p*ss, she is back and totally empowered again."
Seeing as you've spent a lot of lime in America, do you think she will now be accepted over there?
Dolores: "Do I reckon she'll be accepted in America? Yeah. I think time heals all wounds. I think people forget everything in time, don't they? I hope they do. She deserves it. She's a very talented woman, unlike half the idiot females out there screaming, who can't sing. She can sing, so she deserves it. She said a few things that kind of screwed things up for her, but it's good to see her back again."
When you talk about people screeching who can't sing, what do you mean?
Dolores (sounding annoyed): "I mean exactly what I said. People who screech and can't sing."
Can you think of any examples?
Dolores (staring coldly):'Yes, I can, but I'm not a name-dropper."
OK, can you think of any women who sing with real feeling and emotion who move you?
Dolores: "I don't really think about it too much. I still like Kate Bush a lot. I don't know what she's up to now. She took some time off didn't she, Noel? (He affirms this) I like Sinead. I think PJ Harvey's got a good voice as well, from what I've heard of her stuff. Bjork is pretty interesting {laughs). She's so funny, her video is really brilliant."
Noel: Whe one where she's in the big truck? That's really crazy."
Dolores: "I'm sure she contrives most of the ideas for her videos as well. I think she's quite interesting.
3.16.30pm--3.17.50
You've dyed your hair again.
Dolores rolls her eyes to the heavens.
This isn't an idiot question, it's an image question.
Dolores (very slowly and sarcastic): "Is-it-because-the-band-is-called-The-Cranberries-you've-dyed-it-that-colour?
(Returning to normal voice) Oh, great!"
I didn't even think of that one (laughing).
Dolores: "Really? If you were going to throw that one by me, I was going to go (looking at Noel): 'No She's not going to ask me that.'"
Did you just get bored of blonde hair?
Dolores: "Yep."
Image is an interesting subject (Dolores stares coldly). OK, when you dyed your hair blonde did you notice a difference in the way people reacted?
Dolores (increasingly angry): 'Yeah. I mean people speculate a lot on things like changing your hair colour. To me, it's so normal. I've always had short hair, I've dyed it, I've always kept it really short, I've never had long hair, it's so normal. And when you change your hair colour, people speculate, people try to tie it in, people try to make it have meaning, but to me it has absolutely no meaning."
You're so defensive it's really hard to do this.
Dolores (even more annoyed): "You know what? We won't bother doing it, so."
I didn't mean it like that.
Dolores: "No, seriously (rising to her feet), I'm out of here.
Oh, Dolores, please don't do that.
Dolores: That's it, I'm done. (Smooths down her dress, turns and stomps out) See you later. Thank you"
Six hours later, O'Riordan stomped her
feet even harder and thousands of
people clapped and cheered.
For now, it's
all the justification she needs.
YOU THINK I'm going to talk to you now, you bastard? You were supposed to be here at 12 o'clock. TWELVE-O-F*&^ING-CLOCK! Now sod off or I'll set the dogs on you!"
Dolores O'Riordan says none of these things as myself and H.P. sharpshooter Mick Quinn arrive 45 minutes late for our tête-á-tête with the Cranberries frontperson. The one thing they neglect to teach you at journalism college is how to overtake tractors the Clarkmobile's arrival in Kilmallock was delayed by a particularly slothful Massey Ferguson.
Obviously confusing Hot Press with Hello!, Dolores has invited us in to her beautiful County Limerick home, a palatial abode which befits her status as one of Ireland's richest women. There's no sign of her full-time security team, although it's possible that the three old fellas tending her herbaceous border have Special Services training.
Not being a fan of the new rock Puritanism I'm talking about you, Thom Yorke I'm pleased to report that chez O'Riordan is a shrine to loadsamoney self-indulgence. After pausing to admire the stained-glass window, which has the lyrics to 'Zombie' inscribed on it, we're ushered into the gaff's very own Jungle Room.
I'm not sure what I'm most impressed with the full-size Wild West bar or the saddle-stools lined-up in front of it. To the right of that are a giant sofa, a snoozing bearskin and the biggest fuck off telly you've ever seen.
As for Dolly herself, there's no sign of the edginess which a few years ago made interviewing her such a minefield. Having ditched the peroxide in favour of a more natural reddy-brown do, she doesn't look a whole lot different to the girl I first met a decade ago in a Shannonside hostelry of ill-repute. Except for her t-shirt, that is. The teenage O'Riordan would never have worn a top with the legend "psychobitch" emblazoned across it.
Taking care of bartending duties is her Canadian husband, Don. Looking slightly offended when we decline a snorter of the bourbon he's imported from back home, he does the honours with the Diet Cokes and talks enthusiastically about the Japanese steak house that him and the missus are opening in D4. Further evidence of the O' Riordan-Burtons' penchant for good grub is provided by the Italian pizza oven plonked in the yard.
Asked later if Don is the Cranberries' Yoko Ono, drummer Fergal Lawlor laughs so hard he almost falls off his saddle. "It might seem like that from the outside but, nah, he's never got in the way of our relationship," Lawlor says, once he's regained his composure. "In fact, he's really helped with the business side of things."
Which, contrary to what you might have read elsewhere, is booming. Despite a relatively poor showing in the States, the band's current album, Bury The Hatchet, has just sold its five millionth copy. Gigs in Europe and South America are still deemed intimate if there's less than 20,000 people there, and it didn't take long for Calvin Klein to come knocking when he needed an instantly recognisable face for his ad campaign.
STUART CLARK: Did you enjoy your first taste of being a fashion model?
Dolores O'Riordan: I got loads of free jeans and some cash as well, so it was great. If it had been for something more girlie I'd probably have said "no", but that denim and black eye look is what I'm into myself. The fact that Moby and Macy Gray were the other people doing it shows that, in the States anyway, we're still thought of as being "alternative". To be honest, I wouldn't have got the gig if they were looking for a mainstream babe. I haven't got the legs or the boobs.
Were there big bucks involved?
I'd say it's pretty big for models, but most of the artists get about £20,000 to do it.
After that, I was expecting you to be the first to volunteer for catwalk duties at the Point.
(laughs) I'd probably have done a Naomi Campbell and fallen on my arse! I know Ann and Ally (Hewson) quite well as girls, and they persuaded me to come along and present one of the designer awards. I don't usually go to stuff like that in this country, but why not? The fashion world's the same as the rock 'n' roll world. You've got your really sound down-to-earth people and the pretentious assholes who you try to avoid.
I went back to The Clarence afterwards, which was great 'cos I was able to gawp at all the really big stars. I stayed there for about an hour and then, realising I was getting obliviously drunk, slipped out. My fear in those situations is that I'm going to end up dancing on a table and giving somebody a headbutt.
Didn't you do something along those lines once in Limerick?
That was a hormonal thing. I'd just stopped breast-feeding, so I was in a weird kind of a mood and not able to hold my alcohol. I don't know if you're aware of this, but after having a baby, women go through a period when they feel really insecure. You go out for the first time, there's this gut of leather hanging off you, and you don't take too kindly to other women giving your man the eye. There was a bit of a scene, but nothing serious.
Do you recognise yourself from the descriptions of you in the paper?
Five or six years ago, I was way too serious. Somebody would ask a question that was, maybe, a bit too personal, and rather than laughing it off, I let it get to me. Now, I'll either answer it straight, make a joke out of it and change the subject, or tell you ever so politely to fuck off! I'm not afraid to let my sense of humour come out or, if needs be, be assertive.
What's the daftest thing that you've read about yourself?
I don't know, really. Sometimes people say "she's a bitch to work with", which I can be when it comes to being on stage. It may be somebody else's fault, but I'm the one who's left looking like a plonker in front of thousands of people. All of my crew know that I'm really, really sound as a person, but if my guitar's out of tune or the monitor's not working, I'm going to blow a gasket. That's just because I'm meticulous about my job. I don't think I'd have gotten this far in life without being that way.
Being branded a bitch is one thing, but didn't you have to take an injunction against a foreign journalist who was dishing some serious dirt?
We went to court and it was proven that the story was made up. When that happened, the paparazzi guy who'd supplied it started to blackmail (us), so we had to get a lawyer on him.
There was also a German you had to take legal action against.
The guy on the Internet? I wouldn't go into that 'cos he was arrested and everything. I don't know how psychologically balanced or unbalanced he was.
Yeah, I am. I mean, God, look out there at all those cameras and infra-red lights. We have full-time security which is essential when you're living this far out in the country. I've had people come up to the front gate and sleep outside, which isn't what you want. They'll ring the buzzer and I'll go, "Sorry, she's in Indonesia". Not that I'm a prisoner, though. If it ever got to the stage where I couldn't go out and do what I wanted, I'd knock it on the head. Band over.
Have you been following the Angela's Ashes debate?
I didn't read it myself, but from what Ferg (Lawlor) was telling me, it sounds pretty accurate. God, there were seven kids in my family, and four of us in one bed for a long time. We used to have a big saucepan of potatoes 30 or 40 of 'em on the range and eat pig's head, tails and trotters. When you're hungry and a kid, that's grand.
I know as well that there was a lot of drinking and stuff. Fathers went out and drank because there was no money and they needed a release and dah, di, dah. I mean, how can people say that the author's lying when they haven't been through his experience? Everybody has demons in their closets, but it's from these demons that we learn and become better people. There was certainly poverty around in Limerick, but at the same time I had a lot of spirituality which made up for it.
I could if I had to be, but I've got a lot of toys now! I love boats and I love motorbikes. The biker culture like rock 'n' roll is something that's misunderstood. Harleys, which are my dream bike, are a bit too heavy for me, so I normally stick to four-wheelers.
It doesn't sound like you've got much in common with Meg Matthews.
A new Gucci bag? Nah, get me some more machines! I wouldn't really be into clothes and make-up, except for when we're going on tour and I can't just throw on a pair of jeans. Calvin Klein jeans, that is!
Is the upcoming Dublin show a chance to ever so regally wave two fingers at your critics?
There's no agenda apart from wanting to play the best gig possible. It's not going to stick out in my head and be different to Mexico or Malaysia. I'll pick out my clothes, have my massage, do my yoga, meditate and then go out there and kick ass. I've proved anything I've needed to by selling 22 million albums. I'm 28 years of age I've got a beautiful husband and a beautiful child. It's natural to want to be liked, but if somebody thinks that I'm sh*t, I'm not going to loose any sleep over it.
It has got pretty personal, though.
There have been a few times when I've had to remind myself that I'm not a murderer or, worse still, a politician. You don't know these people, yet there they are saying they hate you. If you're strong like I feel now it's water off a duck's back. If you're in any way vulnerable, though, watch out.
You said the last time we met that you'd suffered something akin to a breakdown. Looking back now, can you understand what brought it about?
I think what happens is that through a combination of working too hard, and constantly being in the public eye, you start becoming paranoid. You can't see the good things because of all the bad things that are in the way, which is a textbook definition of depression. Everything's sad and bad, which of course comes across in your interviews. If I'd read me five or six years ago, I'd have thought I was a right miserable cow! Having taken the prolonged career break that we did, I realised that there are far more nice people than there are bad asses. It's difficult to explain without sounding all clichéd, but it really is a case of coming out of the tunnel and being dazzled by the light.
Just how f&*#ed-up were you?
I'd accomplished all these record sales which, yeah, made me feel incredibly proud, but I didn't have a home or a car or anything I could really call my own. I was afraid to come back to Ireland. I hadn't come back for years, and when I did I'd be freaked out and hiding under a hat. Basically, I was scared of my crap.
Ireland is a small country, which when the Cranberries started was still very Catholic and judgmental. I feel much more comfortable now that the Celtic Tiger's kicked in and things have become more liberal. Eight years ago it was, "Oh my God, she said that!", whereas now no-one gives a damn. Being in a business where drug-taking is almost mandatory, did you ever turn to chemicals for solace?
No, I just never wanted to be that out of control. I've seen my friends doing mushrooms and they'd be like, "God, your head's gone all furry!" It seems a lot of fun, but with my stomach I'd probably puke. In America, especially, it's harder not to take drugs. The more I was encouraged to try 'em, the more I thought, "No, I'm not going to give in to peer pressure." If I'd wanted to take drugs I would have, but I didn't.
Would you fire a crew member if you knew they were popping pills?
No. They can do what they like as long as they function on stage.
How's your new 'month on, month off' regime working out?
Brilliant. We're flying to Puerto Rico tomorrow to do a show, and I'm really looking forward to it 'cos I know that, in a few weeks time, I'll be back home with my friends and family again. The gigs are better because we're not on such a treadmill and permanently knackered.
Is rock 'n' roll life enough for you, or do you have ambitions outside of music?
Don't laugh, but I'm totally into trees. We're going to set about eight acres 'cos I think everyone should give what they can back to the environment. We're also opening a Benehana here that's a Japanese restaurant where the chef cooks your food in front of you. We've just got the building in Dublin, so that should be open next year. It's something that Don, myself and the lads are doing together partly for a giggle and partly as an investment.
After your night of debauchery in The Clarence, have you thought about opening your own hotel?
Actually, I have. Not here but in somewhere like the South of France. The other thing I'm big into is new beauty treatments and therapies for women. There's a huge need nowadays for stress relief, so I'd love to open a place which would do everything from massage and reflexology to yoga and natural organic highs.
I guess, being into the natural side of things, you'd never consider getting a boob job.
Are you saying that my tits are small?
(acutely embarrassed) What I meant is that you'd be opposed to cosmetic surgery.
I think I speak for all women who have small breasts when I say that we can be beautiful too, without getting a big pair of soccer balls hanging off us. Certain men find us attractive. I'm not insecure about the fact that I've confirmation-size breasts. It's part of me, and I'd feel very strange with a pair of soccer balls. Having answered that, I insist you ask the lads if they've considered getting their penises enlarged.
I'll make a note of it. Before you have me escorted off the premises, a few quick questions.
Do you still get trolleyed from time to time?
Yes. Last Friday I did an all-nighter. I began consuming alcohol at approximately eight o'clock and was still standing well, slouching at 9 a.m. on Saturday morning. I don't think going on a bender once in a while does you any harm. Except for the hangover, that is. They definitely get worse as you get older.
The best film you've seen recently?
The General's Daughter.
Where did you usher in the new millennium?
At home. We fired the pizza oven up, opened a few bottles of Cristel and had a party.
Were champagne corks popped when you heard that Westlife had scored their fifth number one?
No.
Would you regard them as being even more insidious than Boyzone?
Yes.
Do you still think that The Corrs are evil personified?
I've nothing against them, but to me their music's boring. It's kind of squeaky clean. There's not a hair out of place, the lipliner's perfect and they've always got high-heels on to make them look longer and thinner. They're very pretty girls and I totally appreciate that other people love them. Guys especially. I was at the party in Dublin and it was like (does very convincing canine impersonation) puppies panting all around them.
When are you going solo?
(laughs) Wasn't I supposed to have done that five years ago? Nah, no plans whatsoever.
Do you still consider yourself to be a spiritual person?