A review: 9 by Damien Rice

"Yesterday you asked me to write you a pleasant song." - Damien Rice

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One would expect Damien to release the second album with songs quite similar to his first album, O. However, he managed to pull through with his versatility and came up with a whole different world, yet never lacking of his signature sorrow in between the lines.

Most of the songs on the album are already heard of by fans, who frequent his live gigs. They are like floating bubbles in the air without a home until Damien decided to gather them all delicately in his arms and build them each a room. Some songs are renamed: Elephant, which used to be The Blower’s Daughter Pt. 2; Dogs, formerly known as The Girl That Does Yoga; and Rootless Tree, which was vaguely entitled Fuck You.

Although I am happy that there is more to Damien Rice than just what he has offered in O, I must say I am a tad bit disappointed with probably most of the tracks on 9. The songs are more upbeat, some even got me into a chirpy tap of the feet, which I never knew was possible in Damien’s books. The guitar rifts are fuller as so the chords, and in exchange, a few of these songs are robbed of intimacy. One can argue that even though there are happy elements laced with sad contexts, I am sorry, but it is very rare for this new collection.

In 9, we see less of Lisa Hannigan. She was all over O and so good at it one would wish to hear more of her. But Damien kept it purely him in this album. Lisa merely had a share of vocals in 9 Crimes while she occasionally shows up for backing vocals in other tracks. With that, the first track was rightfully blessed and they opened into 9 perfectly.

The Animals Were Gone became a quick favourite for me with its lovely, lovely lyrics. “Yesterday you’ve asked me to write you a pleasant song / I’ll try my best now but you’ve been gone for so long” – it totally grabbed your heart. The chorus just literally blossomed with backing violins that took you by the hand and brought you back to the older years of romantic black-and-white movies. Or ones alike Sound of Music and Julie Andrews would break into a spontaneous dance in the middle of the dewy garden with her love interest while singing a love song. This was a sad love song. “’Cause waking up without you, is like drinking from an empty cup”. Damien had, indeed, written a pleasant song.

Songs that surprisingly contained elements of glee include Dogs and Coconut Skins. Dogs was about a girl that does yoga under an orange tree: “Oh and she’s always dressed in white / She’s like an angel and she burns my eyes”. Cliché, but Damien held the words right with his soaring voice. It was a feel good song. Nothing sad about that. A song one learns to adore. Coconut Skins was just downright giddy. I could see a picture of a cowboy dancing around the barnyard tipping his hat and checking his boots. It was a bad picture. One you should not collaborate with Damien’s works. Granted the lyrics were not as bright as Dogs (“You can hold her hand and show her how you cry / Explain to her your weakness so she understands / And then roll over and die”), but it was the fast rhythm and bloated guitar chords that paid the happy price.

There were also angry songs in 9. Rootless Tree and Me, My Yoke and I. Rootless Tree was a good song title. The song possessed a larger than life orchestra of strings, percussion and frustration. So Damien did not really sound piss off when he go “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you”. But it was somewhat there in the end as he kept on singing, “Let me out, let me out, let me out” as he climbed up the octaves. The cello, the drums and the keys thrown at the wall so simply it worked and stuck anyway. Me, My Yoke and I finished the anger in Damien. The lyrics did not really hold any meaning of a full photograph. It did, however, possessed the ability to lash out a frustrated being. The song stepped in with the most original electronic guitar rift and slowly built up with Damien’s microphone voice (Something from Prague). Then, right in the middle of the air, the entire band fell down like a heavy storm. The suspense building for the end was strong. Very, very strong. Rock folk at its best. It was said to be a favourite in concerts. I could see why.

I am at first disappointed with Accidental Babies. Mainly because I have heard of the live version before the album version, and the former had done all that it could to steal my heart away. Damien performed well that day and despite the person recording the song breathing and sniffing in the background, it was enough to make me cry in the middle of the day like a child without a soul. “And I know I’ve made you cry / And I know sometimes you wanna die / But do you really feel alive without me”; this was my breaking point. Damien changed the lyrics for the verses in the album version. And it felt weird for me because I was so used to the live version. And I do love the lyrics in the live version better too. I was waiting for Damien to somehow break in some strings to strengthen up the song but alas, the repeating piano chords, it went on and on and on. However. It slowly grew on me. And I found myself sitting outside the house in cold nights and quiet streets and just listening carefully to what he has to offer. Damien did indeed offer. I just failed to receive it sooner.

I did not expect Elephant to live up to the status The Blower’s Daughter did, even though it was a part two. It was a whole different story and The Blower’s Daughter had done it all. Even Damien could not outdo this one. I was bored throughout the entire song until he hit the final bridge with the rest of the band: “What's the point of this song? Or even singing? / You've already gone, why am I clinging? / Well I could throw it out, and I could live without / And I could do it all for you / I could be strong / Tell me if you want me to lie / ‘Cause this has got to die”

O was a wonderful masterpiece so maybe it was not such a bad idea to have a couple of songs built on its solid ground. Grey Room and Sleep Don’t Weep were ones with the most familiar rift patterns. Sleep Don’t Weep was built with the skeletons of Cold Water; you could blend those two songs together anytime of the day. Lisa’s broken voice came back to haunt us as she did in Cold Water. Not really there, but altogether essential with that tiny and pitiful croak as the song slowly lay down on the floor, a heap of broken shards and splinters. “Do what you must do to fill that hole”. Hidden almost invisibly behind the last track was a good sixteen minutes for such self-recovery.

There were comforting sounds from a Tibetan singing bowl, which allegedly possessed healing powers for wounded souls. The mysterious instrument sang alike to light wind chimes hanging by the window bathed in breeze, and the tip of wine glasses crooning as a finger performs magic around the mouth. It was a good idea, to have something like that to end all things sad. However, in my opinion, the singing bowl was needed much urgently in O than 9. It fit alongside Sleep Don’t Weep, or perhaps Accidental Babies. But 9 Crimes was too far away in the journey to hear it.

9 lacked of something O had. The first album managed to go places the second failed to pursue. There was a sincere pain written in blood with every single word Damien penned down for O. Every single track was so beautiful it hurts. For 9, it had its moments. But if one were to search for a familiar sadness, for me, it lied only in 9 Crimes and The Animals Were Gone. And Accidental Babies. Rootless Tree and Me, My Yoke and I held a different type of bitterness altogether, walking the line of Woman Like a Man.

I am not saying that it is a bad album, because honestly, it is not. Maybe it is because 9 does not have the flow O does; one that seems to tie one from a song to another without feeling like one has been thrown around the room. O had something 9 did not have. But still, I am glad because 9 ventured into a whole new world that was nothing like O. And it seemed like a small crime itself to compare these two albums. I do not think I will be half as satisfied if 9 were to sound exactly like O. Damien’s confidence in versatility is enough of an excuse to check out the second album.