Life Taught Me to Dieeeeee.

A few weeks ago my friend Amy offered me a ticket to a Damien Rice show, and even though I've never seen him live, I was so excited I immediately jumped in the car. Then Amy said, "Oh, it's not for a couple of weeks," and again in my excitement I just said, "It's ok, I'll wait here!"

In preparation for the show, I probably should have done some homework. Sure, I really like Damien Rice, and I have one of his albums and it's great on rainy days when your window is clouded with tears from the sky and your entire self-worth is wrapped up in some song lyrics from 2003. And he's Irish, and you can't not like an Irishman who sings, plays piano and wears corduroy. But still, as I learned after the show, I should have bought his B Sides album before sitting in the car for two weeks anticipating a quiet night of acoustic melody.

I think he did three songs like that, all soft and sweet like, between sips of wine and stories about bottled water. Anyone who's seen his show is starting to chuckle right now because they know what's next: they know that right after one of the most heartbreaking, gut-wrenching songs ever put to pen and music staff, all of the sudden he just. Starts. Screaming!

For two hours! Belting out "FUCK YOU!!!!!!" into a mic full of feedback and distortion, with great big drums pounding behind him and a guitar screeching into oblivion. And after about 15 minutes of ear shattering emotional regurgitation, he'd just casually sit down at the piano and sing about love again. WTF!? I had no idea. All I know is when some girl yelled out, "Play Blower's Daughter!" he took a minute before saying simply, "No." Which to 80% of the audience meant they'd just wasted $40 and an episode of Deal or No Deal.

I for one was kind of surprised, but oddly I still liked the show. Which is fascinating to me because I typically have no patience for bipolarism or overtly emotional people. In fact it's mysteriously pleasing for me to watch people go from irritated to angry to indignant! simply because I don't really give a shit and that just eats them up inside. Emotional people want so badly for someone to validate their feelings with pats on the back and "I'm sorrys" and for someone else to take all the blame for their inability to keep their shit together. I'm basically not like that, I wasn't one of the people in the audience nodding slowly through Damien's screams with an emphatic sense of understanding. I was sitting there going WTF!? Seriously? This is happening?

Then at the very end he decided to make it up to everyone. He brought all the house lights down save for the flickering of five small candles around his feet on the stage, and for the next 10 or 12 minutes strummed softly by himself with the occasional help of a cello and just sang so beautifully, I was stunned. We all closed our eyes and drifted off into a fantasy of green fields and long lost loves coming back, and it was like the entire cycle of hurt and anger we'd just witnessed made sense. We got it, we were there with him, it was healing!

And the best way to end a song like that is to turn on these enormous flood lights and point them right at an audience who's just sat sleeping in their chairs in the dark and start screaming at them again while loud drums start up again and scare them shitless. Because the next five minutes won't be uncomfortable for anyone, especially when you end the song and walk off stage and everyone just sits there like those flood lights just molested us in public and we can't even get up out of our chairs because our ears are ringing and all we see is spots.

That totally makes sense.