You know that band that are all over 'Melody Maker,' Huggy Bear

Dolores O’Riordan, the fierce voice of The Cranberries, once spoke with the bluntness of a warrior cutting through illusion: “You know that band that are all over Melody Maker, Huggy Bear, they’re just a load of crap, right? Riot grrrl group—it’s all sexism and stuff, women standing up for their rights: ‘This girl said this at the gig off the stage.’ It’s nothing got to do with music. They’re probably untalented gits when it comes to the crunch.” Though her words may strike as harsh and biting, they echo with an ancient challenge: what is the true measure of art, and what is the rightful place of politics and message in the realm of music?

Her critique was not of women’s rights themselves, for Dolores herself was a woman who stood boldly upon the stage, unafraid to wield her voice like a blade. Rather, her fury was directed toward the belief that slogans, outrage, or identity alone could serve as a crown of artistry. To her mind, music was sacred, a divine language born not of polemic but of melody, harmony, and the raw essence of emotion. When she calls Huggy Bear “a load of crap,” she is lamenting the danger of confusing the message with the craft—of mistaking noise for song, of exalting protest above creation.

In truth, Dolores’ words remind us of an ancient truth: all causes, however noble, falter if not borne upon the wings of excellence. The orator who speaks poorly may fail to move hearts, even if his cause is just. The sculptor who chisels carelessly may dishonor the beauty he seeks to reveal. And so with musicians: to stand for something is noble, but without the foundation of talent, practice, and craft, the stand collapses into hollowness. Strength of skill and authenticity of voice must be the pillars on which true change rests.

History itself offers us a mirror in the figure of Victor Hugo. He was not merely a political activist, nor only a poet; he was both, and his greatness lay in the mastery of his art. When he denounced tyranny and injustice, it was not only his ideals that swayed the people, but the thunder of his words, the majesty of his craft. His pen was as sharp as his convictions, and together they stormed the walls of apathy. Unlike empty slogans, Hugo’s talent gave endurance to his cause, so that generations beyond his own still rise to his call. This is what Dolores demands of artists: to unite message with mastery, conviction with creation.

But let us not misinterpret her words as mere dismissal. They are also a challenge to every creator: do not lean upon identity, politics, or grievance as though they were sufficient to crown you. Strive, instead, to master your gift so fully that when you speak, sing, or paint, the world cannot look away—not because of your slogans, but because of your undeniable brilliance. For Dolores herself, a woman who came from Limerick with little but her voice, was not celebrated because she was a woman in a man’s world, but because when she opened her mouth, the air itself trembled.

The lesson is therefore clear: talent must be your foundation. Let your beliefs inspire you, but let your skill carry those beliefs to others. Do not be content with noise when you were made to create music. Do not substitute fury for craft, nor slogans for song. Work, labor, refine your art until it shines with such brilliance that your message cannot be ignored. For talent is the vessel that carries truth, and without the vessel, truth may sink.

Practically, this means: master your tools. If you are a musician, practice until your fingers bleed. If you are a writer, carve words until they ring like iron on stone. If you are an orator, hone your voice until it can shake a hall. And if you have a cause, let it be carried on the back of that mastery, so that your convictions do not perish in shallow echoes, but endure as eternal fire. For this is how art changes the world—not by shouting louder, but by creating better.

So hear Dolores O’Riordan’s sharp rebuke not as cruelty, but as the cry of a guardian of music itself: do not mistake identity for talent, nor slogans for song. Let your art be your sword, your melody your banner, your talent your title. For only then shall your message endure, not as a fleeting cry in the marketplace, but as a song that resounds across the ages.