DAMIEN RICE - O

Music from another time, or perhaps from no time at all, pain flows like a river brimming with empathetic melancholy through the grooves of this wonderful gift at the start of the year; the poetry contained in the ten tracks of "O" warms the heart against the winter cold far better than any alcoholic palliative, generating the same emotions as an embrace, a kiss, a farewell. It's a suffering that radiates warmth through catharsis, that caresses the depths of the soul, that sighs words of ice into your ear which catch fire and soar away into the distance.

A native of Ireland, Damien Rice is an atypical figure on the international music scene: suffice it to say that this record was recorded and released across the Channel a full two years ago, slowly winning acclaim, just as slow as the sounds it contains, before finally achieving the recognition it deserved. A shy character, far removed from rock's egocentric aesthetic, Rice (who has been writing and playing since the age of thirteen) had in the past withdrawn just a step away from fame, leaving the band he played in (Juniper) shortly before they signed a record deal, preferring instead to write for himself, at home, without the pressure exerted by media-driven mythmaking. "O" was recorded in just this way, on an 8-track and a 16-track, the offspring of a deeply personal and original artistic urgency, created together with his friend and source of inspiration Lisa Hannigan (backing vocals). The result is an album that feels "concrete" in its immediacy, whose hiss and crackle only emphasise its sincerity, its desire to lay bare the soul thanks to an extraordinary gift for composition and performance. The instrumentation is sparse: acoustic guitar dominates, weaving gentle bittersweet patterns, bass and cello build the soft carpet over which to tread quietly and on tiptoe, while a few other elements (violin, piano, clarinet, electric guitar) enrich the work's tonal palette. And then there's the voice, so prostrate yet dreaming, light yet resolute, sad yet full of hope.

"Delicate" opens the door to poetry, unlocking melancholy, and it's all already there: the strings, the wounds inflicted by life, the desire to start again even while still in pieces. "Volcano", jazzy and vaguely trip-hop in its rhythm (despite the total absence of any electronic intrusion), ends with a long, final shiver handed over to the graceful interplay between the two vocalists (and it's the sublime that gets the final word). "Older Chests" wraps around the heart, breathing life into it ("We all seem to need a help", Rice sings at the start, full of pain, with the same understated power as "Bridge over troubled water"). "Cheers Darling" is charged with the protagonist's sarcastic drunkenness, as amid the clinking of glasses he toasts his beloved's lover, questioning the meaning of his own existence while dancing over a Spanish-tinged guitar riff. "I Remember", on the other hand, has a striking dichotomous structure: the first part is entrusted to country music sung by Hannigan, the sweet chirping of a heart full of love. The shift, both rhythmic and instrumental, ushers in a second half full of anger and furious rejection (of the loved one): the music catches fire, taking on powerfully "seventies" tones (almost Led Zeppelin-esque), and Damien reveals a remarkable expressive range even amid the swell of a storm, raising a cry in the midst of apocalypse that touches the most intimate chords. The album closes with the long and multifaceted "Eskimo", in which Hannigan even revisits the popular "Silent Night", leaving listeners stunned by her angelic voice.

Damien Rice's historical antecedents are immediately identifiable: David Gray, the Buckleys (above all the father and his enormous ability to communicate pain), Donovan, Nick Drake - in short, the whole tradition of singer-songwriters who have drawn an enormous wellspring of inspiration from melancholy. The tragic quality of these models is, however, accompanied here by a latent, creeping yet penetrating hope, granted, as we have said, by the wonderful catharsis through which the phoenix rises again from the ashes.

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12/12/2006