“And so it is just like you said it would be.”
Damien Rice – “The Blower’s Daughter”
I know a good singer/songwriter when I hear one: musicians that are able to either tell a kick-ass story; or tug at your heart strings with nothing but a simple song. Unfortunately, it’s almost impossible to find a singer/songwriter that doesn’t rely on every cliché in the book or come across as a whiny bitch.
That’s why stumbling upon Damien Rice was such a pleasant surprise.
Most of what I read about Rice prior to the release of his debut full-length solo album was very positive – almost too positive. The critical acclaim (I’m still not sure if being called “the next David Gray” or “the next Ryan Adams” is supposed to be ultimate praise or ironic humor) caused my Hype Antennae to immediately go up as I disregarded the CD for months, only to finally succumb and give it a listen. It turns out that good things come to those who wait.
O isn’t a masterpiece, but it’s one hell of a satisfying record (with great, simple, cover art as well). The opening tune, “Delicate”, sets the pace, as sweet acoustic guitar starts things off while Rice paints a picture that resonates throughout the entire album: “we might kiss, we might make out, no one sees – it’s delicate.” The general theme of the album may not be cutting edge (who writes songs about love, loss and longing anymore, anyway?); but by the time drums, bass and cello kick in, you’re already hooked, wanting to hear where his voice will take you. And it’s all about the voice – a delicate one that’s not afraid to let you inside his head just a bit – and Rice’s ability to express himself with that instrument, the actual lyrics secondary in importance. The third chorus is where Rice really shows off his pipes – including an occasional falsetto that thankfully seems far from forced – and the song goes on, ending softly, how it began.
The album is definitely front- and back-heavy, with the strongest songs grouped together (sometimes seamlessly flowing into one another) at the beginning and end of the disc. Track two is “Volcano” which introduces Lisa Hannigan on vocals, and gives both singers a chance to shine. Meanwhile, “The Blower’s Daughter” is THE attention-grabber of the album. Rice channels Jeff Buckley (with a little Badly Drawn Boy mixed in?) as he belts out “I can’t take my eyes off of you,” making you wonder if there’s a venue large enough to contain his voice.
It’s hard to tell if “Cannonball” is cliché or clever, with lines such as “life taught me to die” and “it’s not hard to fall when you float like a cannonball.” And for some reason, I want to hear Stevie Nicks break out into “Landslide” whenever I hear this song. “Older Chests” is the weakest song on the album; “Amie” is a solid love song that alludes to feelings that someone took his girl away; and Rice finally lets his anger show in “Cheers Darlin” – the dorky hipster’s “You Oughtta Know” that features some cool instrumentation (glasses clinking, a djembe, and Jean Meunier’s awesome song-stealing piano improv that sounds like a pissed off and stoned version of Mister Rogers’ theme song), and the only true whining on the album. Luckily, the sweet and thoughtful Damien Rice returns on “Cold Water”, the eighth track which Hannigan almost steals until Rice makes a case for all the Thom Yorke fans to come flocking.
The final two listed tracks are quite possibly the strongest on the CD. (Two hidden tracks, including an a cappella version of “Silent Night” sung and penned by Hannigan, kick in around the 7- and 14- minute marks of track ten.) “I Remember” shows off Rice’s and Hannigan’s vocals at their full potential, as well as a kickass bass line to close the song; and “Eskimo” displays Rice’s whimsy both in lyricism as well as arrangement. You seriously haven’t lived until you hear an opera singing about Eskimos… in Finnish.
