Old tricks, new songs enchant on sophomore album

By Erin Emerson

In 2003, Irish singer-songwriter Damien Rice shocked the music world by proving that, in the modern era of instant messaging and 1-800-Flowers, poetry, in fact, is not dead.

Rice's raw lyrics and sweeping vocals brought him international acclaim as well as the Shortlist Music Prize, while entrancing movie-goers in the opening scenes of 2004's award-winning film, "Closer."

And, much to the surprise of critics, he has done it again.

In the music business, it just so happens that most young artists who achieve great fame with their debut album tend to have a mediocre sophomore album.

However, Rice has managed to create an entirely original yet equally mesmerizing collection of songs.

"9" is the closest thing to pure poetry that this world is going to find.

Rice's lyrics are direct and honest, and his voice, as always, makes no attempts to conceal his strife.

His songs are arranged like a well-planned and well-exectued play, beginning soft and beautiful and building slowly, in waves, to a spectacular finale.

"9 Crimes," the first song on the album and the inspiration for the title of the collection, is sure to be heard on radio and television for a long time to come.

Rice's collaboration with Lisa Hannigan is haunting and gorgeous.

It is certainly a song meant to be left on repeat.

The opening lyrics provide a sort of thesis for the entire album: "Leave me out with the waste/ this is not what I do/ it's the wrong kind of place/ to be thinking of you."

The subsequent "The Animals Were Gone" and "Elephant" follow the same theme of a lost love which torments the subject and results in two ballads of depression.

Such endless sorrow could, for a less talented artist, drag upon the soul of the average listener, but Rice enriches his music with a unique energy.

His voice often cracks with passion, a passion that causes audience to be in awe at even the most desolate subjects.

For avid fans of folk, the uniquely up-tempo "Coconut Skins" is as close to the genre as Rice is likely to come.

From a spirited acoustic guitar to the beating of, oddly enough, a tambourine, this is a song meant to be sung around a crackling fire.

Listeners are warned: this is not an album for the faint of heart.

It is dark and full of longing for love lost or stolen memories.

Even the album's lightest song "Dogs" has an undertone of regret as Rice ponders his own selfish nature: "She gives/ I get/ without giving anything to me."

Even more surprising is the song "Rootless Tree."

The track begins peacefully and melodically before breaking into shocking and angry profanity.

With their enchanting lyrics, solemn piano-solos and stirring strings, the highlights by far of this collection are "9 Crimes," "Grey Room" and "Accidental Babies."

If there is one time to hit skip, it is during the song "Me, My Yoke, and I."

This piece is entirely out of place; it is obnoxiously repetitive and for some reason electronically transforms Rice's lovely voice to a metallic twang.

That being said, however, should you find yourself in a contemplative mood, take the time to check out this ethereal album.

Contact Erin Emerson at eemerson@scu.edu.