Tracks with great hooks, that bump and grind, causing you to dance in your car seat are great. Songs of that type are usually shallow, simple, and fun. Damien Rice’s “O” album is the exact opposite of that. “O” is a record to be studied, savored, and enjoyed without distraction. Where pop music is mostly hollow chocolate Easter bunnies meant to be scarfed down by hoards of heathens, “O” is dark and sometimes bitter; meant to melt slowly, followed by a fine wine or champagne to bring out the flavor. For the full effect, a great set of headphones is mandatory. Because so much of “O” is quiet, somber, and reflective in the most gentle and caring way, much of it will be lost on first time listeners attempting soak up “O” in the car or any other such place. I know all this very well because in spite of having “O” in hand for many, many months, it took that and just a bit longer to fully explore every nook and cranny of it.


‘O’ is a very folk-y record with just a pinch of pop, and a flair of operatic rock at the appropriate times. Along with the thoughtful storytelling, it’s the delicate and sometimes intricate instrumentation that helps convey the sadness, and the times-gone-by emotions throughout. Rice also rarely seems to project causing him to ‘sing-speak’ more often than you realize. The opening track Delicate is a perfect example of the aforementioned observations. The soft plucking of guitar strings, and tiny sounds of someone (or something) moving in the background (that most people will miss) gives the song a sense of space, and realism.

It’s all a perfect set-up for Rice’s somewhat doe-eyed vocals that maybe aren’t so much sad as they are tired, and emotionally exhausted. When Rice croons ♬ we might kiss when we are alone ♬ I’m already onboard, aware that the rest of a great record is up ahead. Delicate seems to gain a little steam in the middle, and curl up just a bit near the end. It’s also a little indicator of the entire record as well. Rice has a penchant for an arc that repeats itself. Step 1: Start out so soft, that the volume must be raised. Step 2: Come in with the sad vocals and a little story. Step 3: Get a little operatic or overly emotional at the end. Now of course that’s an over simplification, and not always the case, but a fair overall vibe of O. In spite of the fact that such a thing is a bit formulaic, it works, and Rice pulls it off over and over again.

Volcano was my first exposure to Rice’s “O” record. The first time I heard it, on a kind of alternative station, I thought “this is brilliant! Jason Mraz and Natalie Merchant performing a duo!” Well as it turns out, it’s Damien Rice and Lisa Hannigan. Volcano is brilliant with it’s simplistic opening, simply Rice on the first verse and Hannigan on the second. An enjoyable bit for me, the opening lines for Rice and Hannigan mirror one another with slight changes to reflect their style and mood. Very cool. Subsequently, Volcano becomes beautifully complex as Rice and Hannigan layer their vocals over one another (with the aid of multiple tracks, but still). It’s almost spooky how Hannigan sounds like Merchant at times with similar inflections, and cadences, so much so, that I want more of her.

Cannonball is a sweet little tune that has been forever ruined for me by incessant radio play so I'll skip it. Older Chests is Rice at the top of his game in the days-gone-by, storytelling department. You almost feel little sad when Rice sings ♬ “Some things in life may change, but some things stay the same.... like time, there’s always time.” ♬ The sound of children playing and talking in the distance gives the sense of an older man looking at the younger generation. By the time a story begins to form in your mind, Hannigan’s vocals peek in. Like an angel, it’s like you always knew she was around somewhere; and then she appears to lay down the softest silk surrounded by a wonderfully sad cello.

Cheers Darlin’ there are no two ways about it, this track is brilliant, and dare I say genius? This track will hit most men in the chest hard because so many have been in this particular gutter. Cheers Darlin’ is amazing on so many levels. First the music, with very fine and delicate string work, and a sound sample of shot glasses clinking to the rhythm set the mood.

On a lyrical level, Rice sings the song that intoxicated, heart broken men sing at the bar, telling the bartender about “the one that got away.” But Cheers Darlin’ is so much more, it’s the pain of seeing her everyday, having to lie about your happiness for her ♬ “Cheers darlin’ here’s to you and your loverboy” ♬ it’s all about the constant torture and agony of love not returned. The icing on the cake is that Rice’s delivery is so somber and hurt that he sounds inebriated.

I Remember is one to relish because Hannigan's Irish-y vocals are at the head. And like most of the tracks thus far, I Remember has a dual personality. Pinched in the middle to clear the palate for Rice's turn on vocals, Rice sounds energized. Moving quickly from wispy to melodramatic, I Remember is the only track on 'O' with something horrifically bad in it. With intensity Rice spews out ♬ Come on all you reborn, blow off my horn.... ♬ It's painfully bad, and should have ended up on the cutting room floor. In spite of that thorn, Rice really belts out some amazing, Queen-ish vocals over distorted music that completely unravels into a flurry of sudden starts and stops.


In spite of the fact that Rice seems to be fond of templates at times, every track has it’s own character and personality. I can’t say there’s one track I don’t like, and I can't say that often. Big kudos to Rice for bringing Hannigan along for the ride, she’s a breath of fresh air. Hannigan definitely gave “O” more flesh, more feeling, and a nice balance. Hannigan hides most of the time, but just when you forget about her, she pops out with something sweet. She can be inconspicuous and almost hidden (humming along if you listen carefully to Cheers Darlin') to being downright obvious and unforgettable.

A favorite 'peek-a-boo' would actually be a tie between her angelic entrance at the end of The Blower's Daughter; or when she swoops down onto Rice with ♬ Love one's daughter, allow me that ♬ on the overtly religious Cold Water. My worthless descriptions aside, imagine Kate Bush when she enters Don't Give Up on Peter Gabriel's So album except here, it happens over and over again.

“O” is a record that keeps you floating along, it’s a story book, a soft dance, sadness and remorse wrapped in acoustic guitars and large orchestras. “O” demands a small commitment (in the form of time, patience and a quiet place) on the part of anyone willing to give it a spin. The rewards however far outweigh the investment. Cheers darlin’.

✰✰✰✰½

© Tony Flores 2004






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