Damien Rice

Without sounding too much like an Xfm advocate, I have to say that over the past few years, the radio station have played host to some pretty big names in some pretty small venues. Take Damien Rice tonight for instance. He recently sold out a large theatre tour, and tickets for his Wembley Arena date in the summer are flying. He’s also just been announced as a headliner on the acoustic stage at Glastonbury. In a few weeks the minuscule 100 Club on Oxford Street plays host to Kings of Leon, again, thanks to Xfm. That will be a sight to behold. Needless to say, I felt pretty privileged to be amongst the few that were in attendance at London Scala to see Damien Rice.

Earlier in the day I was a little disappointed to hear that the support act, Fionn Regan, had pulled a ‘sickie’ so I didn’t turn up until 5 minutes before Damien Rice was due to kick-off. When I got into the venue it was already packed and similar to a steam room or a sauna. It was actually a little too moist and humid to be a sauna. Before I had time to relax and take in my surroundings (fear not, there were plenty of opportunities during the set to gaze aimlessly at various people and walls) the DJ was on stage introducing Damien Rice for his exclusive radio set. It was at that precise moment that the first dribble of sweat made its way down my back and into my arse crack. All part and parcel of the gig experience.

Immediately Damien Rice gained the respect of the audience as he kicked off his stripped down acoustic set with '9 Crimes'. If anybody had a pin to drop then the whole venue could have heard it. Instead the whole venue had the pleasure of hearing the noise of fake camera shutters constantly going off. I hope their grainy pictures are over exposed. I also had the enjoyment of being able to watch the whole gig on the camera phone of the man stood in front of me. It’s a good job he was filming every single second of the gig because I couldn’t see the stage past his sodding phone. Rather than savour the evening, he wasted his by looking at his mobile for 90 minutes. His memory will be limited to his wobbly clips on YouTube. Mobile phones rant over.

Renowned for being a bit grumpy (possible understatement?), Rice seemed to be in a fairly chatty mood. I had no pity for him when he shared with us that he was meant to be on a day off but instead he was playing with a massive hangover due to his Hammersmith Apollo after show the previous night. It must be tough when you sell a few million records and go out and get lashed after your own sold out show. On a few occasions he also started telling a story before stopping as we ‘wouldn’t understand’. A frustrating side to Rice.

Big news in the Damien Rice camp from this week was that he has split from his long-time backing singer Lisa Hannigan. Midway through the set some fella who had probably been waiting for the right moment all night, shouted “Where’s Lisa?” to which I thought “Who cares?” and Rice aptly answered “I don’t know”. However, a few of the tunes lacked depth without Hannigan. ‘Volcano’ was probably the prime example of a song lost without the support vocals. Hopefully she goes onto some bigger and better things without the shadow Rice hanging over her.

Don’t get me wrong, Rice is capable of producing many moments of breathtaking beauty and he managed to do so on numerous occasions over the course of this gig. ‘Coconut Skins’ and ‘The Blowers Daughter’ were both mesmerising and worth turning up for by themselves. But there also seemed to be a lot of filler where he took to the keyboards for a few minutes of ‘tinkering’. In fact the only time that the audience clapped along and became involved was just after one of the quietest encores I’ve recently witnessed. Cellist Vivienne Long came to the stage and played the charming ‘Random Man on the Motorway’ which came as some light-hearted relief from Rice’s rather self involved look on life.

I’m sure that the die-hard fans appreciated seeing Rice appear in more casual and intimate surroundings but, to me, Rice just seemed a bit half-hearted and slightly contrived. I hadn't turned up to hang on his every word and gauge whether he was happy or not. I had turned up with the hope of being entertained. I don’t really care if he had a stinking hangover because I was hot, sweaty and somewhat frustrated by his drawn out set and long winded stories that he couldn’t even be bothered to finish.

FUTURE GIGS

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