|
Damien Rice : O
Alexis Petridis
Friday August 9, 2002
High on the list of Things Music Needs No More Of, just below chill-out compilations and anything endorsed by Simon Cowell, lurk folky singer-songwriters. On the surface, this self-produced debut by Dublin's Damien Rice is standard stuff - acoustic lamentations, swirling string arrangements - but, like Kathryn Williams, Rice's personality and deft songwriting hoist him above the mass of bedsit mumblers. Cold Water's wracked vocal overeggs the tortured troubadour pudding, but at its best, O is gorgeous and understated, never too introverted to include a lovely melody. The songs' intimacy is heightened by the flat production. Cannonball and Amie perfectly fix a drowsy, end-of-the-season melancholy. Whatever the actual circumstances, O sounds as if it was recorded in the sweltering early hours at the end of summer.
4/5
eclectichoney.com "Cannonball"
CANNONBALL
DAMIEN RICE
Cannonball is the second single taken from Damien Rice's excellent debut O, and while on the album it is definitely one of the standout tracks with it's beautifully delicate layering of several different guitar lines, upon which Rice thrusts his powerful vocals, here its brilliance is slightly tarnished by the addition of drums, which while there is nothing wrong with them, they do seem to be superfluous. Similar to the old maxim of 'If it ain't broke don't fix it', the original version seems all the better for it's minimalist approach.
The EP also showcases an excellent new track Lonelily, which sounds like it could have easily fitted in on O, and in no sense is valid of the B-side tag. The highlight of the EP though is easily the live version of Woman Like A Man. Used to hearing this track in its live setting and fully fledged version, the acoustic setting is quite a surprising one, but works stunningly nonetheless, with Lisa Hannigan's ever-brilliant vocals lending a softer side to Damien Rice's rage. Meanwhile the instrumental version of Cannonball that slots nicely into the fourth track, will surely provide hours of fun at any self-respecting music fan's karaoke parties.
Damien Rice, former lead singer with the spectacularly marketed and spectacularly un-successful 1998 ‘super group’, “STRONG / Juniper / STRONG”, has gone solo – and straight into the Irish top ten, normally the resting ground for Louis Walsh pop groups, tacky US nu-metal bands and Celtic trios, the aforementioned album, is a record I have been dying, just dying to hear since I heard Damien’s first single, ‘The Blower’s Daughter’ (penned about his flute teacher’s daughter), a gloriously simplistic and unashamedly romantic tune.
Live, Damien is spectacular – he sucks you into a world of failed relationships, broken promises and bitter, twisted emotional battles with one twang of a guitar string. Before you can stop yourself, you’re identifying with his experiences, empathising with his – many, many – losses, and wiping away a tear from your eye. On record, while the intimacy of the gigs is not entirely lost, it is a different sort of intimacy to the one he usually shares with the 50, 100, or 1000 people in the audience. But instead of doing what I expected, and listening to the album every spare minute of the day, I left the CD untouched for almost a full two weeks after my initial, frenzied (fast forwarding onto the next track once the current one had passed the 0:59 mark – patience is a virtue I have yet to inherit in my young age!) listenings. Truthfully, ‘O’ is too emotional, too raw, too touching…too real to be listened to constantly. Lines such as “stones taught me to fly, love taught me to lie, life taught me to die…so it’s not hard to fall, when you float like a cannonball” (‘Cannonball’), or “Cheers, darlin’, cheers to you and your lover” (‘Cheers, Darlin’), cut far too close to the bone to count as bearable, or even pleasant, listening. Sometimes you feel you are intruding, taking a peak into a forbidden diary, or listening through a glass against a wall to the ramblings of a lovelorn, eloquent young man. You don’t know if you really should be there, pressing play on the CD player.Does he really want me to listen to these songs, am I allowed to hear his private thoughts, you wonder. You have to be in a certain mood to listen to this album. And I don’t necessarily mean a good one. Musically, violins and cellos tug at the heartstrings to full effect on ‘Older Chests’ (“so pass me by, I’ll be fine, just give me time”), or Eskimo (“I look to my Eskimo friend…when I’m down”), while Lisa, Damien’s erstwhile co-vocalist on many of the tracks, a woman blessed with the voice of an angel, adds an ethereal touch to the multi-layered, multi-dimensional ‘I Remember’ (“I remember it well, the first time that I saw your head round the door, ‘cos mine stopped working”). Damien adds an orchestral feel to many of the tracks, which gives them a unique, almost indescribable sound.
On ‘Eskimo’, a Finnish opera singer lifts the song to new heights, a soaring melody that wraps itself around you and never lets go. Magical stuff. And with two secret tracks (‘Prague’ and Lisa’s version of ‘Silent Night’) thrown in for good measure, along with an unusual book-style CD case, you’ll be a very happy person if you buy the album. -Well, until you start listening to it… Aoife Barry
To coincide with the release of his debut album 'O' acclaimed singer/songwriter Damien Rice plays an afternoon gig in The Lobby.
Almost 2 years in the making 'O' has been a labour of love for Damien and is one of the most eagerly awaited Irish albums for years from a man whose popularity just keeps going from strength to strength. Testement to that was his recent sell out show at Dublin's Vicar Street when he blew the capacity crowd away with an awe inspiring performance. 'Almost two years have passes since I started working on this record, and the pictures I had in my head back then is very different to the one I have ended up with now. I fought and eventually surrendered. 'O' recorded itself, I obeyed.'
After many years in school and college bands, Damien Rice left Ireland to travel and busk the streets of Europe alone. Eight months later he returned and recorded a demo, which he sent to film composer David Arnold (James Bond, Shaft, Independence Day). Suitably impressed, Arnold bought Damien a mobile studio on which to record his debut album. "I wanted to record the album in the place and moment that the inspiration hits. I had done many studio sessions with previous bands before, and found the results sounding 'professional' but missing a magic or beauty that too much technology can sometimes cream off. My best performances are so often at gigs or in my house, so when David bought me the studio, I was able to record in the toilet at 4am, for example, if that's where it felt right!", said Damien.
Damien Rice : O - tangmonkey.com 24.8.02
Three words? at first sight
The lights lower, the crowd quiets. There is a low glimmer below the purple velvet curtain. And the overture begins.
It begins with a soft murmur of acoustic guitar. Then the morning patter of drums. And a voice - assured, thoughtful, not quite wise, but on its way. "So why'd you feel my sorrows / with the words you borrowed / from the only place you've known. / And why'd you sing hallelujah / if it means nothing to ya / why'd you sing / with / me / at / all?" Simple words, yes, and sad ones. They rise under a swell of strings - cellos that are not cinematic, nor pastoral, but rather the sound of waves at night, or, perhaps, the creak of a wardrobe as it opens, of an oaken door as it falls closed for the last time.
This singer - whoever he is - sings directly to this one who has left him; he sings without malice, without spite. It's a missive, a love-letter. He pushes neither too hard nor too little. He says what he needs to say. He says no more.
The sound of guitar, on a porch at night. And the overture ends.
Damien Rice's debut album is a work of inspiring subtlety and craft, a
record that speaks not only of Rice, but of the human blood that courses through his veins, the human sounds that rise in his throat, the human heartbeats that gulp down human feelings. It is almost Shakespearean in the clarity of its voice, in the resonance that it evokes in the listener. These songs are not the heavy work of Songs:Ohia or Will Oldham - they do not sketch sadness and pain in thick, black watercolours. No - O is a more nuanced work, with different goals, different tools. It is twelve songs - twelve faces - each of which distinct, but each familiar. This music does not compel the listener to feel what Rice or Lisa Hannigan feel - instead, it has us stare into their eyes, stare deep, and understand that feeling, to remember when we felt it too.
"Volcano" follows the above-described opener, "Delicate". Atop plucky bass and spare, crisp percussion, Rice sings of illusions, lies, deception. A glow rises on stage and again, there's cello - but everywhere on O strings are treated with restraint. Vyvienne Long's melodic sweeps and buoyant pizzicato enrich Rice's songs without overpowering them - there's a marked difference between this and the usual knock-out-heavy arrangements on Belle & Sebastian records.
Lisa Hannigan joins Rice part-way through "Volcano", and she sings one verse alone. Hannigan's voice is extraordinary - sad but firm, iron wrapped in velvet. When she sings, I cannot tear my ears away - the seriousness, the gravitas in her words. She is Cordelia, witnessing her father turn his back.
"The Blower's Daughter" follows. Again, Rice with his guitar and strings - but this time the cello-strokes are low, long and mournful, like limestone steps that Rice slowly climbs. "I can't take my eyes off you." After the first chorus, another, lighter guitar appears from around the corner, glinting of sunlight much like Jonny Buckland's work in Coldplay. Hannigan's voice flutters to the surface like a ghost, like a memory, murmuring into Rice's ear as he looks out onto the city. "I can't take my mind off of you," he says, over and over, as the lights fall.
Act Two begins with "Cannonball", a thicker guitar sound blossoming under mellower lyrics: "Stones taught me to fly / love taught me to lie." Rice communicates his poetry fragments well, neither self-conscious nor Ryan Adams-arrogant, and consequently it consistently works. Rice's work doesn't really sound like anyone else. Where Damien Jurado sings lonely songs for places with bare skies and empty trees, Damien Rice plays music for cities stuffed with buildings and life, green leaves and empty benches, and where the loneliness is no less potent.
"Older Chests" slows, scratchy guitar rustling over the sounds of a park. It's heartbreaking without being gratuitous, "So pass me by / I'll be fine", and when Rice is joined again by voice and cello, in a flourish of beauty, the pain feels it might shatter like glass. "Amie" is for when Rice is whirling atop a hill, like The Sound of Music, demanding that She pay attention, that She listen. He smiles, he spreads his arms wide, he celebrates.
Later, this bliss is swept away by black matte. The clink of glasses, the fuzzy, drunken mutterings of "Cheers Darlin'". When Hayden meets Tom Waits, perhaps, until the shivering slam of strings appears, sending glasses flying off of tables, sending boots stamping over floorboards, sending Rice running into the blizzard beyond the bar. And then "Cold Water" washes over him like an ice bath, making everything still and quiet, tender... Hannigan joins him, like the softest of lovers, her sad voice making the words all the more poignant... "I can't let go of your hand..."
But the tension is growing, the climax approaches... On "I Remember", Hannigan sings of loss, of betrayal, but her anger is muted, muffled, and her song fades to an end... Immediately after, Rice takes up a different melody - still the same track - and lets loose with a barrage of plaintive calls, snarls, roars, and a messy, shrieking growth of strings like the howling rabbithole from Waits' Alice, the shrieks of Rachel's gone wrong. In this hornet's nest of noise, this shuddering cloud, "Eskimo" appears, calm and quiet, entering slow. It's a smiling troubadour, scars healed, a sing-song edge in his voice. "So I look to my Eskimo friend / when I'm down." The track is altogether an enigma, its allusions beyond my talents, and this is not helped when an opera singer bursts into a joyous, soul-moving crescendo, her Finnish (?!) aria perhaps the best use of an operatic voice in any pop song, ever. The confusion - as you may have intuited - is altogether wonderful, lifting the listener into the air like a camera mounted on a crane, the empty courtyard growing smaller, Rice in its center, arms raised, until rainbow clouds explode in a wash of streamers, a torrent of cool rain, a shining, glittering, glimmering bath.
On the first of the two hidden tracks, Damien Rice again shows his anger, loosing it as sudden as fire. It creaks and groans like some clockwork monster, a creature out of Elbow and Radiohead dreams. Following that comes the heartache of "Silent Night", but I will leave that treasure for those who seek it out.
Damien Rice's talent is singular and tremendous, and O is absolutely extraordinary. It sits down beside you, stares you in the face, and lets you know it, simply know it, with words like gifts and music like first love. The packaging and artwork are among the most beautiful I've ever seen - like a bound book, with paintings and poetry. But more than that, these twelve songs are pure magic, joys to hear, and O is one of the year's very best.
Sean
I first met Damien Rice many moons ago through a friend of a friend of a friend. At the time I must admit that I was kind of captivated by this artistic, interesting, deep young man. He was an Eco warrior, his beliefs were steadfast, honesty and integrity his primary goals. He only ate organic food and recycled everything he used. He wrote aching lyrics from his forever aching heart (he always had plenty of material because there was always a plentiful supply of girlfriends) and he played guitar at campfires in way-off fields. He was the type of person I would have liked to have been. He cared for mankind, he cared for the earth and I thought that was, well… lovely. It was the nearest thing I ever got to being a groupie. Rice was in a band called Juniper, a relatively successful young Irish 5-piece who played electrifying gigs which were always packed to the rafters. They signed to Polygram for a potential 6-album deal and managed to release two reasonably-well received singles, the most notable being ‘Weatherman’ (not the B*witched version). But that was four years ago and that was as far as they ever got. Deep down Juniper were not happy berries and after the second single was released, Rice decided to jump ship. “I certainly don’t regret leaving the band,” Damien tells me. “I would look back on things I did and say ‘I wouldn’t do that again’ but if I hadn’t have done it, I wouldn’t have learned that I didn’t like doing it. I just wanted to be free and when I was signed to the record company I wasn’t free”. The problem was Rice’s artistic freedom had been compromised. His life decisions were being made by record industry people who felt they knew better than he did. Maybe they did, if commercial success is what you’re after, but that game is not what Damien’s about. “Back then I didn’t have the confidence to believe that I could do it without a big record company behind me. Then I started thinking, you know what, record companies don’t know everything. It’s not that I know everything but they don’t either and all their marketing power and marketing push doesn’t work. When ‘Weatherman’ didn’t go into the top ten, they even went out and started buying copies of it”. So off he went off on his lonesome, guitar strapped to his back, to busk the streets of Europe. On his return to Ireland he borrowed a bit of dough from those who would lend it, put down some tracks and sent off a demo to David Arnold (renowned James Bond and Bjork producer). Arnold liked what he heard and Damien liked what he got, a mobile studio. Mobile, free and solo, Damien then went about setting up his own record label. This meant that he owned all his work and any profits would be his to keep. “Now if I want to record an album of mellow songs I can do it, I don’t have to worry about singles. You don’t need radio, you don’t need TV, you don’t need anything. All you need is life”. For the past two years, his life has been ‘O’, an 11-track album recorded entirely in the mobile studio that “allowed for spontaneity”. “I don’t think it’s a sad album, I think it’s an album about sad things”. Call it what you may, heartbreakingly beautiful or over indulgent. What it is undeniable is that it mesmerises with innovative, raw talent, untampered and true. Despite its brilliance critical reviews will always vary. Damien doesn’t stick to the usual industry protocol - he makes his own rules. As one journalist commented “To Rice’s credit he has created some solid, intense, spine tingling moments… but at two years per album will anyone be willing to wait that long?” The crux of the matter here is that Damien really couldn’t care less if people wait or not. Those who are meant to wait will. As a result of his non-consumerist attitudes a big promo blitz will not be undertaken to push the album. Realistically this could result in poor sales and a bleak financial forecast. “I’m living perfectly comfortably right now and it’s growing all the time. I don’t think the audience is gonnna shrink after the album comes out because we’ve got a small audience at the moment but it’s enough to make a very comfortable living out of. I know at the turn of a hat I could organise a Music Centre Gig, put it up on the website and within two weeks make 2 grand…. I’m not rich now… this album has cost me 10K and I’m paying for it…”. Damien’s world is a brave new one. He is evidence that there are other ways to survive, that beating Groundhog Day isn’t always untouchable pie in the sky. “People don’t do what they really want to do because usually they’re afraid but I don’t think that’s a bad thing either cos I’m not happy. It’s not that I’m the lucky bastard who had the courage to leave university and go and create cos’ I’m still not that happy, but I’m the happiest I’ve ever been, in a way… ” by Bianca Luykx
@ Limelight, Belfast, 15 December 2002
After support act Mouse failed to ignite any real passion (perhaps because her set was very short and the volume too low), excitement was running high in the shockingly busy Limelight on a cold Sunday night.
I have to admit I never realised Damien Rice had such a large following up here. Met with thunderous applause, Damien (with drummer Tomo and vocalist Lisa Hannigan) strolled onto the stage and, after a few mumbled words, launched into the much-loved B-side The Professor. Eskimo Friend is probably my least favourite track on his otherwise sparkling debut album O, but tonight it sounded more pronounced and had a greater reaction when it was played with more zest.
Damien’s relaxed, natural connection with the crowd seemed to come from the same stable as Glen Hansard. It never seemed forced or scripted, and ensured the crowd were on his side. The old style egomaniac “tortured genius” artist, who ignores the crowd, has become very tiresome in recent years and it is nice to see new acts coming through who are not afraid to show their appreciation to the crowd.
Disappointingly, very little new material was played apart from a rather bouncy fun little tune mocking how some musicians “talk from their arse” and take the music business too seriously. Not really an indication of the rumoured darker direction he is taking with the next album.
After a 10 second break the trio took to the stage again (whatever happened to long breaks before the encore?) for the melodic, pleasant Cannonball. This was played surprisingly poorly. It sounded rushed and impassionate. Luckily though, the night was saved with the crowd pleaser Blowers Daughter with its infectious line “I can’t take my eyes off you”. This simple but effective phrase is sang repeatedly throughout the song and has made a permanent imprint on my brain ever since I first heard it.
Finally the aesthetically pleasing Lisa rose to the front of the stage. Up until this point her role had been to be the provider of some astoundingly beautiful backup vocals. However it was only when she took to the mic on her own, with no music accompaniment, to sing the rather apt Silent Night that her true talent came to light. As much as I love Lisa singing with Damien, it is clear she is destined for bigger and better things. I just hope her talents are not stifled and confined to being a backup singer.
I have seen Damien Rice live twice in the past year. Both times a full band complimented him. This was the first time I had heard the songs stripped down. Although it was entertaining and different, in my opinion his songs definitely deserve the richness that the rest of the band brings. Nonetheless it was an enthralling concert that kept the devoted fans happy, and must have won him some new converts.
Graham Smith
RTÉ ACE: Damien Rice – O
12/03/2002
DRM – 2002 – 61 minutes
The days when Rice fronted the pedestrian Juniper seem a long way off and the beauty of 'O' will stretch the distance even further. Recorded at his house and friends' places over the course of two years, he sounds both down home and polished without ever getting swallowed up by the conventions of either.
While the one-hour plus running time might make some shy away from tagging along with 'another singer-songwriter', Rice's journey has enough to occupy even the fussiest of companions. The names of the opening duo, 'Delicate' and 'Volcano', sum up 'O's gentle appeal and emotional intensity; where strings nestle down with acoustic guitars and Rice shares the limelight with singing soulmate Lisa Hannigan.
It's an album that gets sadder with every listen, but better too. And while it sometimes dips in the later songs, there's more than enough pain and poise here to suggest that he'll be a fixture in your future. Harry Guerin
A review of his debut solo album "O" Dublin-based Kildare man Damien Rice has just released his long awaited debut album, entitled “O”. The young man from Celbridge has been working on the album for almost two years, and its release was greeted with enthusiasm and relief from a growing fan base who must have wondered if they were ever going to hear it.
It had become something of a joke at live gigs over the past year and a half when Damien Rice would assure the audience that the album was nearly finished. Indeed, in early 2001 there was even an “Album Completion Celebration Gig” in the Temple Bar Music Centre. And so when the release date of February 1st was announced it was met with a cautious enthusiasm. After all, Damien’s delaying perfectionism aside, his debut single, The Blower’s Daughter, was set back a week when the boat shipping it from Britain caught fire. Twice.
But everything this time has gone mostly according to plan. Damien and his band played a launch gig in Vicar Street on January 31st at which the album was sold and the following day it was available in most record stores. The availability did not last long however; in a testament to Damien’s talent and popularity the album sold out within a few hours. But of course good sales tell us nothing of a record’s real worth. Just look at Westlife. So what’s the album actually like? Well, to be honest, amazing.
'O' has been a long time in the making by any standards, and has quite an unconventional genesis, with tracks included on it recorded in, among other places, Paris, London and, er, Celdbridge. It also features on one track - Amie - an overwhelming string arrangement written and arranged by the renowned composer David Arnold (who has worked with Björk among others) and performed by members of the London Symphony Orchestra.
Damien shares a lot with the likes of David Kitt, the late Mic Christopher and David Grey, yet at the same time he rises above them all, sets his own standards and makes his own rules. A lot has already been said when talking about Damien Rice and BellX1, another Kildare group, concerning their common origins as the band Juniper. Shortly after Rice left Juniper over “musical differences” Juniper renamed themselves Bell X1 and released their debut album Neither Am I (check out the review). With the release of 'O', those musical differences are obvious and so profound that one wonders how Juniper existed at all.
While 'Neither Am I' is a standard, though competent and enjoyable, indie rock album, 'O' is a mellow, emotion charged, lilting and - at times - spiritual offering. The difference is highlighted starkly by the track 'Volcano', a song shared by both albums. On 'O' Damien opts for a softer approach than BellX1 and makes use of a fantastic cello and the haunting vocals of Lisa Hannigan, who is featured throughout the album.
The cello, provided by Vyvienne Long, is just one example of Damien’s attempts to break away from a conventional instrumental formula of guitar, bass and drums. He also features the famous French pianist Jean Meunier, the orchestral string arrangement previously mentioned, and a powerful opera singer named Doreen Curran who sings the last verse of Eskimo in Intuit. He makes use of several inventive special effects such as the children in the background of 'Older Chests' (he simply stood outside St. Brigid’s primary school on the main street of Celbridge with a microphone in his hand and recorded them as they left school laughing and playing) or the ultimate special guest, the voice of God, which guests on 'Cold Water' (the Gregorian chant-style God was influenced by the monks of an abbey in the south of France where Damien spent some time).
Considering the above, he could be accused of trying too hard and of over-producing the album and making a mess of things. But no, it all works well and fits together excellently.
Damien wanted to release this album without the backing of a major record company, fearing that if he signed to them before he had proven himself they would begin dictating to him and forcing him in a direction he didn’t want to go. He hoped that with the release of 'O' he would be in a position where the only thing dictating direction would be the songs. And he already is.
Shane McDermott
August 21 2002 "Only Bob Dylan comes close to such cracked passion." Who's been on the business end of such purple praise, you enquire? Our own Damien Rice, in UK reviews of debut album O, that's who.
Damien Rice's upward career trajectory continues with the British press fawning over his O album.
"There's not a poor song on the record…buy it!" raves The Times. "A young singer-songwriter capable of touching the parts most of his contemporaries will never reach," gushes The Daily Telegraph. And "Only Bob Dylan comes close to such cracked passion," completely rants What's On In London.
Incapable of going a fortnight without gigging, Rice visits Music City, Rathmines on August 22 and then returns to London for back-to-back Borderline shows on September 9 and 10.
Also in the offing is an October support tour with Kathryn Williams.
Vicar Street, 23rd November 2001 It was always going to be a good gig. It turned out to be spectacular. On Friday 23rd November Dublin-based singer/songwriter Damien Rice gave by far his best performance to date from the stage at Vicar Street.
Damien Rice & Lisa Hannigan
Although the doors opened an hour later than expected, the wait in the cold was more than worth it. What followed was an epic five hour long marathon of music and emotion. It was to be Rice’s first gig in Vicar Street, and no doubt he was nervous that, while he was able to sell out places like Whelan’s with ease, this venue would prove harder to fill. It didn’t. The place was packed. When all the seats on the ground and in the balconies were filled, people crowed to sit on steps and stand along the back walls. The Frames could not have hoped for better turnout.
Three support acts, of vastly differing quality, warmed up the crowd. The first, while people were still taking their seats, heading to the bar and generally bustling around, was Padraig Digan of the band Walmark. A native of Birr, Digan has in the past opened for the likes of Damien, Mundy and the sadly recently deceased Mic Christopher among others. He’s good and solid, but not amazing. This particular night was perhaps not the best I’ve seen him. The crowd were still getting settled and most of them had probably never seen him before. He sang low and a little uncertainly, maybe daunted by the size of the audience. Padraig Digan organises and performs at an acoustic music night upstairs in the Ha’penny Bridge Inn on Monday nights, an excellent and intimate venue to listen to some of Dublin’s rising talents.
Next to take to the stage were the Mexican duo Rodrigo y Gabriela. You’ve probably seen these two guitarists busking on Grafton Street. If you have, then you’ll know how difficult it is to convey their brilliance in words. I’ll admit that before I saw them my only previous knowledge of Mexican guitar music was based largely on Antonio Banderas in Desperado, and I wasn’t too impressed. Rodrigo and Gabriela changed all that though. Their fingers became whizzing blurs as they plucked strings in perfect and astounding unison. As soon as they started the crowd sat in awe, and I know my jaw had actually dropped. They used their guitars like I’ve never seen before, tapping and thumping every part of them to create mesmeric beats to accompany their lyric-less pieces. Playing instrumentals of everything from captivating Mexican ballads to raging Metallica, it was impossible to imagine how the third support act, Nina Hynes, would follow them successfully.
She didn’t. As quickly as Rodrigoy Gabriela had captivated the audience, Nina lost it. People began chatting, laughing (or perhaps sniggering), and moving about again, at time drowning out Nina’s voice. This was not a bad thing. Her voice was fine, even angelic, when she sang low notes, but when she attempted to reach high the audience visibly winced as when nails are scratched down a blackboard. I heard several unfortunates moan “Oh God!” loudly and slump in their seats. Now, Nina Hynes has enjoyed no small measure of success, playing in Paris, doing successful North American tours, performing alongside such greats as Christy Moore, Paddy Casey and Glen Hansard, and having several releases under her belt, so maybe she’s actually good. After all, following Rodrigo y Gabriela would be most performers’ nightmare. And apart from her lyrics, her backing band, her voice and timid attempts at audience interaction, I suppose she was. Enough said.
The cynic in me would put to you that Nina Hynes was strategically placed between the Mexicans and Damien so that when Mr. Rice finally came to the stage he appeared as a saviour greeted by a thunderous applause. He launched straight into a fantastic version of his crowd pleaser “The Professor”, a song with humorous (“Here’s to another relationship bombed by my excellent breed of gamete disease”) and often very risqué (This is a family paper) English lyrics and a last verse sung beautifully in lilting perfect French. As the audience were singing happily along, Damien surprised us all by changing the French verse and making it twice as long as usual. This was to be the first in a night full of pleasant surprises.
Damien Rice is a perfectionist in everything he does. Anyone who regularly goes to his gigs would know this because, for example, he had an “album completion” celebratory gig earlier in the year, and the album is still not yet completed. This perfectionism creates a very natural feel to his painstakingly crafted songs, making them feel like the easiest things in the world to create. Songs like “Front Door”, “Amie” and his recently released single “The Blower’s Daughter” (voted the single of the week by 2FM and single of the month by Hot Press) are breathed into life by his passion and intensity on the stage. Add to his amazing voice and guitar the voice of Lisa Hannigan, bass of Shane Fitzsimons, drums by the charismatic audience favourite Tomo, a haunting cello and you’ve got something special.
Then for good measure also throw in (towards the end of the gig) two more drum kits, two more guitarists, a saxophone player, a third vocalist and Rodrigo and Gabriela and you’ve transcended “special” and reached a whole new level. There was a chance that with so many musicians joining Damien onstage his songs would degenerate into a mash of uncoordinated confusing and unrelated sounds, but it turned out amazing, moving and powerful.
Mic Christopher 1969-2001 RIP The night was tinged with a sadness however, as Mic Christopher, a popular performer known personally by all on stage and many in the audience, was lying in a coma in an Amsterdam hospital after a fall in his hotel. At times when speaking of his friend, Damien’s voice broke and he choked back tears, wrenching his face away from the microphone and launching into blistering guitar riffs with his head hung low and away from the audience. A hat was passed around the venue and £1700 was raised to help Mic’s family stay by his side in Amsterdam. The following Wednesday a hastily organised fund raising gig was held in Vicar Street with, among many more, the Frames, BellX1 and Mundy, while Damien and Lisa flew to Amsterdam to see Mic. It ended tragically however when, the next day, it was decided to turn off his life-support machine and he Mic passed away.
The events of that week are summed up best in Damien’s own words written shortly after Mic passed away: “On the evening of Wednesday 28th November 2001, after saying goodnight to Mic, I returned to the hotel. A peace came into me in that time and a strange feeling that Mic wasn't with us (in the Netherlands that is) .. I think he went home for the gig in Vicar Street. Lisa and I returned to the hospital the next morning to hear they would be turning off the machines that day. Sadness poured in. Yet, in the last few moments where I was saying goodbye, I could see him with his feet in the water of a very cool stream in a very large open field with blue sky, little white clouds, warm breeze, and one big tree upon whose roots Mic Christopher was sat...”
Shane McDermott
Damien Rice - The Blower's Daughter
(DamienRiceMusic, 2001)
Professional Professions
by Cormac Looney
 The debut single from the ex-Juniper songsmith. A precursor to the forthcoming album 'O', out next month.
In recent years the Dublin songwriters' scene has produced some original talent, and many many imitators. But as the hype subsides one original voice will certainly remain - that of Damien Rice.
Since his amicable split with Juniper ('don't blame the Weatherman!' - remember?) Rice has very slowly, but very surely, begun to assemble an array of outstanding songs, and has spent the last year showcasing them on regular trips round the country. The first fruits of these efforts is THE BLOWER'S DAUGHTER, released this month on his own label.
The song is a sumptous evocation of the act, and art, of falling in love. The singer's vocal is so close that you feel like he's lying in the bed next to you, as it plays off a wistful backing chello - to create a mood subtle enough to remind even the most hardened or embittered that emotional surrender should be just around the corner.
The third element is the voice of Lisa Hannigan, a pure soprano which plays off both Rice and the cello to produce the lover's tryptich. Together - they succeed in investing the most banal of lovers' phrases ('I can't take my mind off you') with a new urgency and emotion.
It's difficult to find a point of reference for Damien Rice. The obvious comparasons will be with the late Jeff Buckley, or perhaps the likes of Ron Sexsmith - but it's no exaggeration to say that the Dubliner's songwriting is broader than either of these.
This is evinced on the 'b side' by way of THE PROFESSOR - a song so original that it seems insane to consign it to flipside status. Examing sexual confidence, rejection and guilt, the music itself wouldn't be lost on a Paraisian caberet stage. Likewise the vocal delivery - part Dublin, part French - assuring us that Jacque Brel's spirit is alive and well.
Wisely, the version of THE PROFESSOR is a live one - imparting to a first time listener something of the Damien Rice live experience, where these songs are played to a different dynamic.
Also thrown in is the respectable MOOHDAY MOODAY - a song which, unlike the other two, seems slightly less spontaneous, or vital. It's production should provide a hint of what to expect on the upcoming album, though.
And so it is, then. THE BLOWER'S DAUGHTER represents the opening salvo of a solo career that would, were there any justice in the world, see Damien Rice usurp the fated throne of (whisper it!) David Gray. But, in the present, such predictions are worthless.
At the moment, listeners should take time to bask in the light of a bright and intense musical talent. And for Irish songwriters, a new standard has been set.
"O" reviews
Hotpress
'..this is going to be one of the highlights of 2002'
The Sunday Tribune
'O is a fantastic debut...he has a killer album to his name .. CD of the week'
Irish Times
'..solid, intense, spine-tingling..'
Irish Independent
'Rice has crafted one of the best irish
releases in the past 12 months.. O is one to remember'
RTÉ Guide
'Damien rice's solo debut 'o' is undoubtedly one of the most inspired debut Irish albums ever..'
The Blower's Daughter reviews
'Single of the Forthnight' - Hotpress
"Epic romance.. a world's worth of tenderness.."
'Single of the Week' - Evening Hearld
"This breathtaking song is the strongest single I have heard all year"
'Single of the Week' -
2FM, Ruth Scott |
