The Saddest Man on Earth

I often wonder to myself what it takes to achieve greatness. What sacrifice is necessary to transform oneself from someone ordinary and unmemorable into something truly special, something genuinely unique, a creative force capable of capturing the emotional climate of the masses and communicating those emotions vividly, vibrantly; communicating them so that they take on a lifeblood of their own?

I went to the Damien Rice show at the State Theater two nights ago and I think those questions may have been answered. Ruminating on simple themes with his entrancing, wildly expressive vocals: love gone wrong, the pain of being alone, unrequited attraction, themes at the epicenter of the human condition. Constructing each successive song out of thin air, beginning with a simple melody and building into an operatic monument so grand in scale that the only option was to escape into catharsis.

Damien Rice was an exhibition in sadness and melancholy. His emotional suffering could single handedly employ a team of psychologists for life, and this is the heart of his greatness. He’s able to communicate angst better than any other musician, author or poet alive. He hasn’t necessarily experienced more pain than the average joe, but he accepts it as a gift, dwells upon it till it ruins him, then spits it out in the only way he knows how: honestly, genuinely, from his soul.

This honesty is the most endearing aspect of Damien Rice. If in a song he means to say “fuck you,” then he says “fuck you” (Rootless Tree). As he stood up on stage with only his guitar and piano, repeatedly pleading with the “spotlight man” to dim the glare so he could be lit by only the candles surrounding him, regaling the audience with fascinating tales in his charming Irish accent, he let us into his world, doing everything in his power to give us an intimate evening with a genius.

It would be impossible to pinpoint a highlight of the show. Possibly the stirring, piano driven rendition of Accidental Babies. Or maybe the encore, when he pulled an audience member on stage and shared a bottle of wine with her (it was gone in about five minutes) as he told a story of a disappointing encounter with a beautiful woman and proceeded to sing to his guest from his knees. Or was it the final song of the night, as a male attendee joined him to sing “Purple Rain?” (Purple Rain in Minneapolis. That’s ballzy.)

I imagine each individual in attendance would have a different favorite moment, and that’s what made the performance so unforgettable.

Thanks for reading.