Albums Of The Year: Numero Uno!!!

DAMIEN RICE - '9'

Damien Rice's last album, despite reports and radio plays, came out some four years ago. It was then re-released and used on adverts and TV shows to near-extinction when Radio 1 got wind that it was a bit good and championed it as their own discovery. In the actual real-time between Mr Rice writing and recording his new album, the war has turned to Iraq (again), Saddam Hussein has been caught and convicted to death, 2 films of 9/11 have been made (one incredible, the other diabolical), and All Saints & Take That have got back together.

Let's just say that Rice isn't all that prolific, if you don't include the song he made with Tori Amos 'The Power Of Orange Knickers', which was awful. But his last album '0' was amazing. Stripped down and heartfelt, melodic and angsty, it proved a vital stop-gap for 20/30-somethings who were too old for Nirvana (again) but not quite ready for the emotional graveyard of Keane. Here was a songwriter that spoke to insecurities in everyday life that everyone could relate too. It was an album you could listen to without buying a noose to die to, or a coffee table to keep it on.

Now, Rice is back. And bloody hell is he pissed off. He's not even the first vocalist you hear on the album. Opening track '9 Crimes' sees Rice switching guitar for piano (as he does a number of times on this record), and has Lisa Benjamin starting the song by singing about leaving him, asking him "is that alright with you?". It's painful, but still beautiful - and so much more destructive for it.

That's not the only new trick up his sleeve. After previous singles were given the 'drums' treatment to make them radio-friendly, Damien's taken matters into his own hands this time. Many tracks on '9' feature drums and full-on heavy guitars. But this time he's doing it his own way, making them sound as fucking dirty as he can. Rice's gift for noticing the slim parts of life and making them heartbreaking is still here, if not more so in spades, but now sounds more mature and muddier than ever.

It's his departure from the tried-and-tested formula that makes this album untouchable. Two songs in particular. 'Rootless Tree' was no doubt predestined to be the big comeback single, and he seems to have agreed to this, apart from littering the chorus with a venom-fuelled chant of "FUCK YOU, FUCK YOU, FUCK YOU". He may as well have written these words on a postcard to his record company execs, as it's clear he wants no part of being in the machine (apart from live performances, to this day Rice has done no promo work for the album).

'Me, My Yolk, and I' is the song of the album and the one you'll still be listening to in 20 years time. This is a fucking emotional wrecking-ball of a song, building from a quiet opening to the most screwed-up sounding distortion and screaming you can imagine from a so-called 'acoustic artist'. It's here you realise you're not listening to an album as such, more an event-marker in this man's life. I initially had a problem with the track listing, as it started strong then grew invincible, but ended with 2 slight piano tracks. I now realise this only adds to the album's impact, as we're basically being asked to experience an hour in the mind of an emotionally frustrated Rice.


The fad is over. Damien Rice is no longer an ad-friendly, radio-friendly artist for the coffee table crowd. This is a fucked-off bloke, and true visionary, fully aware that a lot of people won't like this record as much as his last, but who still puts his feelings forward in both beautiful and disturbing music.