The fact that he has a bizarre Swedish dance outfit as support is largely a testament to the clout of Damien Rice’s newfound celebrity. Frankly, the Moose Dance Company are typical Damien – unorthodox, bizarre and slightly ahead of its time.
Due largely to his‘slow-burn’ ascent to success, the Irish audience tend to backslap themselves for having bottle-fed and burped the fledgling singer during his musical infancy, and as such are baying for more bang for their proverbial buck.
With that in mind, the rapport between artist and crowd is truly something to behold – amid the staged intimacy of the candlelit venue, they shush each other feverishly (in fact, during particularly hushed renditions of ‘Amie’ and ‘Older Chests’, you could practically hear a fly fart) or else intone his knowing, worldly lyrics with unnerving sincerity and gusto.
The audience isn’t the only thing that has evolved – Damien and Lisa themselves are very different, more self-assured entities to the performers who frequented Whelan’s three years ago. Far from being the retiring wallflower she once was, Lisa is swathed in a supernova aura, possessed of a throaty, husky voice that is utterly beguiling. Now that Damien is armed with distortion mikes and sampling machines, his normally warm, woody repertoire has a new backbone, and is peppered with moments of hysteria, joyousness and edginess – a sign, hopefully, of things to come. ‘I Remember’ seems particularly charged tonight, while ‘Cannonball’ or ‘The Professor & La Fille Danse’ have rarely sounded more heartfelt or celebratory.
Damien and Lisa – national treasures for now; world domination only a matter of time.