Damien Rice: Float like a turd in a swimming pool

“Oh Damien, your music touches me so"  (Some chick magazine)

“It makes me feel, not listen… feel”  (Jo wiley. Radio 1.  Possibly)

“The finest talent of his generation”  (Woolworths’ Hit 40 store display)

Fans love to say this type of guff about Damien Rice.  I hope he actually gets to hear some of it before he disappears up his own arse.

‘Singer/Songwriter’ (as in anyone who has ever picked up a microphone) Damien Rice hails from Ireland.  Seemingly a ripe land for growing the likes of U2, The Corrs and anyone else who makes your ears bleed when they’re on the radio.

The pretentious-or-doomed Rice will soon go on to replace the likes of Bob Dylan (can’t sing) and Jeff Buckley (overestimated cowboy namechecked by anyone spelling out their album title in lower-case letters). A high accolade indeed. Must be fun being remembered as the artist everyone has to own but never actually puts on because they “have to be in the mood”.

We’ve all seen Rice’s embarrassingly art-wank TV advert for his album ‘O’ (give me strength). He sits there; tears almost dripping from his eyes, poetically stroking his guitar as if it were his favourite teddy bear. 

This pitiful album has ‘the new Coldplay’ written all over it (the Yanks love him). And that stupid bloody pencil drawing on the front cover just smacks of a self-indulgent wanker. 

Visit Rice’s fan website ‘Eskimo Friends‘ (named after one of his cack album tracks) if you really want a laugh. 

It features a quote, so profound it leaps off the screen and into your pocketbook of memories (or something)…

“The day I get happy, I’ll probably stop”. 

Damien, for the love of God: stop now. We’ll all go and listen to Badly Drawn Boy instead. At least he smiles sometimes.