The Magic Of Damien Rice

Many of the stories I've written over the years are scattered all over the internet. Some of them I still kind of like and would like to preserve, so I'm reposting them here on my blog.

Here's my account of the first time I ever saw Damien Rice perform live. The original post can be found here. 

When Damien Rice walked onstage at Singapore’s Star Theatre last Saturday night, the venue was pitch black. The spotlights didn’t immediately flood the stage as expected, even after he started on his first song. For a few minutes, all audiences could hear was a faceless, disembodied voice wailing “Older Chests.”

I couldn’t help but think he was making a statement. Perhaps it was a way to remind the crowd of the first time they heard Rice’s music: on the radio, on bootlegged mp3s, on CDs. Having him right there in person, in the flesh, was certainly a treat, but for a majority of those who chose to part with their hard-earned money to catch his show, including me, the opening was a throwback to the days when we listened to his music, often alone and in the dark, grappling with emotions as varied as confusion and anger, sadness and grief.

Most music fans have a list of artists they’d like to see perform live. I’m lucky I’ve ticked off a few in mine: John Mayer, Keane, Snow Patrol, Joshua Radin, Sting, The Lemonheads, Aerosmith, Howie Day and many others. But Damien Rice has always occupied one of the top slots in my own concerts-to-attend-before-I-die list. It began almost immediately after a friend, Pedi, introduced me to him via a bootlegged copy of his debut album O.

“I really enjoyed the Damien Rice CD,” I told Pedi via email, dated 16 November 2003. “I think it’ll be living in my CD player for a while. Favorite tracks: ‘Cannonball,’ ‘Cold Water, ‘Amie,’ and ‘The Blower’s Daughter.’”

Since then Rice has been a fixture in my musical diet. The thing with his music though is that it’s not exactly for everyday consumption. You probably could, if you really wanted to, but his brand of melancholic, folk rock lends itself well to moments of sobriety and introspection. He’s not the first name that comes to mind at rave parties, beach trips, or your fraternity’s all-nighter. His songs don’t exactly suggest joy, sunshine, and the promise of happy ever after.

Instead, the music of the fortysomething Irishman seems to go well during our darkest, gloomiest moments. It’s the soundtrack to those episodes in our lives when we’re wounded or scared. We put him on when we’re feeling anguished or despondent, when the tears fall and our insides hurt. He doesn’t celebrate with us when we’re happy so much as he commisserates during heartaches and heartbreaks. Sometimes we play his songs just to temper our relative cheer with a dose of soul-stirring reality. His music is catharsis; sad and painful at times, but always leaving us feeling grateful and hopeful.

Which is why I didn’t hesitate to fly to Singapore when he announced a stop there as part of his My Favourite Faded Fantasy tour. He was just in Singapore late last year as part of the lineup for a music festival, but as far as I can remember, this is his first solo show in the Lion City since 2006.

From my front row seat, Rice was almost luminous in his loose collarless shirt, suspenders (or braces as the Brits call them) and khaki burlap trousers. With his acoustic guitar, he launched into one song after the other with hardly a word to the audience: “Delicate,” “My Favourite Faded Fantasy,” and “9 Crimes.”

Finally he addressed the audience with a humorous allegory about a 13-year-old boy who receives a million dollars everyday but is told not to do anything about it. The punchline (which I won’t reveal here; you had to be there) got a laugh out of the audience, belying the image some might have of him as a staid, ultra-serious singer-songwriter. He then segued to fan favorite “The Professor & La Fille Danse.”

After “I Remember,” Rice couldn’t help issuing a gentle reminder about concert etiquette directed at those with overactive bladders. “Maybe wait till after a song before you get up to go to the toilet?” he said, drawing claps of approval from the crowd, and perhaps sheepish grins from those already up.

“What’s the one thing in common with all your romantic relationships?” he asked. “You.” Rice then revealed how he himself has been staying away from romantic relationships for two reasons. “First, because you don’t want to feel bad about yourself. You’re not a failure if you didn’t do anything. And the other reason is fear.”

At this point I realized how much Rice transcended the stifling limitations of a one-man acoustic show. It’s so easy to bore an audience when you have nothing else but your voice and a guitar, but Rice made smart, efficient use of both of those instruments to deliver a stunning, mesmerizing show. He was such a powerful presence that you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him even for a second. The lighting design helped, too, with dramatic, strategically placed beams enhancing the intimate atmosphere inside the 5,000-seat theater.

In a previous interview for music site Bandwagon.asia, Rice mentioned that he likes walking out onstage without a plan or a setlist. When he asked the audience what they wanted to hear, he was deluged with a ton of requests. “I heard ‘Accidental Babies,” he said, and then proceeded to sing the track from his latest album.

After “Volcano,” he moved to a small set-up on one side of the stage, where he poured himself shots of whiskey while plaintively warbling “Cheers Darlin’” accompanied by a pre-recorded track.

“Fuck romance,” he spat out at the end of the song.

I yelled out “Amie!” when he asked again what people wanted to hear. His rendition of the track from O was as beautiful as I expected, forceful and elegant. His next song,  “It Takes A Lot To Know A Man,” was a showstopper. He used samples and delay pedals to add a rich layer  of dynamism to the end of the regular set. One after the other he recorded an acoustic guitar track, electric guitar, clarinet, percussion, and another acoustic guitar, then mixed them all together in a gut-busting performance that no doubt left many in the crowd picking their jaws up from the floor.

The encore came soon enough. I couldn’t help but scream “The Greatest Bastard,” which, thankfully, he was kind enough to oblige. Security had their work cut out for them when Rice asked audiences to come closer for his final three songs. “Cannonball” was the first song of his that I heard over 13 years ago and it was especially moving to be just a few inches away from him as he sang those unforgettable words: “Stones taught me to fly/Love taught me to lie/Life taught me to die/So it’s not hard to fall/When you float like a cannoball.”

The profanity-laced chorus of “Rootless Tree” is particularly memorable, sending audiences into an energetic sing-along.

Rice’s big finale is also perhaps his biggest “hit.” Most audiences were introduced to him when “The Blower’s Daughter” was used in the Mike Nichols’ drama “Closer.” Fittingly, he used the track to close out the show.

It was likely that last song melted away any vestiges of doubt anyone might have had about the potency and sheer magic of Damien Rice. “The Blower’s Daughter” is Rice himself—intensely personal yet undoubtedly universal. Lots of other people can sing and play guitar, but the way Rice does it makes one believe how connected we all are despite all our unique experiences and sensibilities. And I think that’s what makes him so special.

Walking out of that theater, I was filled with an overwhelming sense of gratitude for having witnessed a truly amazing artist at the top of his game. Judging by all the giddy, slightly dazed expressions on almost everyone else at the venue, I suspect I wasn’t the only one.

I watched the show with my good concert buddy Cheekie 

Tradeoffs: Or How to Go to Europe on a Normal Person’s Salary

This was my birthday essay in 2015. It was previously published in another platform, which has since disappeared. Republishing it here now.

Walking the streets of Pisa

While stuck in Amsterdam after missing a connecting flight last month, I struck up a conversation with a British guy in the hotel’s restaurant. He was in his mid-20s and a businessman on his way to Stockholm. He asked what I did and I told him I write for a magazine in Manila.

“Must be a good gig,” he said. “Get to travel a lot?”

“I suppose, yeah,” I answered. “More than the usual, I guess.” I then proceeded to tell him about this most recent trip, which was actually a vacation, although I snuck in a work visit to Maranello in Italy, hometown of Ferrari, where I got to drive one of the cars out for a few hours in the hilly roads outside of town.

As soon as the words were out of my mouth I instantly regretted it. Not a lot of people can say “I drove a Ferrari in Maranello” without sounding like an obnoxious show-off. The guy must’ve thought it, too, because after that he hardly said anything else and excused himself soon after.

I thought about the conversation later that evening. Not a lot of people can truthfully say that sentence, period. Is it insufferable and conceited? Perhaps. But is it factual? It certainly is. That’s when I realized that, while I had to be careful about coming off as a stuck-up douche when I tell people about it in the future, it is a story I would get to tell and a wonderful experience I could relive over and over again for the rest of my life. So I shouldn’t regret saying it. The fact that it might sound irritatingly pompous doesn’t make it any less true.

The best day

No, this isn’t a humble-brag entry. It’s not a way to casually hint about the Europe trip or the drive in the nice car. I’m writing this to explain to people how I’m able to say all those nice things truthfully. While it probably isn’t such a big deal for the handful of people on this side of the planet who treat Europe as if it was Baclaran or Baguio, for the vast majority of Filipinos, a trip anywhere outside the country, especially to all the big touristy places like Paris, Rome or London, is probably a dream as seemingly unreachable as buying their own home, driving their own car or finding their soul mate. People have told me how lucky I am that I get to go on these trips, and they ask me how I do it. Sometimes, yes, luck has a lot to do with it (i.e. official work trips), but as with most things in life, it’s not quite that simple.

First though, I need to debunk some people’s notion that I’m able to do all of these things because I’m rich. I’ve said before that I come from a very simple family. My parents are both retired and, save for the occasional Sunday lunches when I drive to our home in Cavite, I’ve been on my own and self-sufficient since I was 19, when I graduated college, moved out and got a job. So no, I’m not lucky enough to get travel allowance from the folks for those jaunts in Europe, or for anything else for that matter.

Early morning stroll in Nice, France

I also don’t fatten up my wallet with my working person’s salary, either. Again, I make a living writing for a magazine. In the Philippines, unless you’re a broadcast news anchor or a popular on-cam talent, being on the payroll of a media outift isn’t exactly the way to go if you’re looking for travel-the-world money. I earn just enough to get by and if anybody had the misfortune of getting a peek at my bank account, they would probably laugh in my face and tell me, “That’s it?!”

So how’d I do it? How can I afford a two-week trip to Europe on a normal-person’s wages? Here’s the answer:

It’s all about tradeoffs.

I’m 35 years old (36 tomorrow) and single. I live in a modest apartment in Quezon City, the same one I’ve lived in for the past six years, and I still drive the same beat-up old Lancer. I don’t have the financial responsibilities that many of my classmates (from all periods of my academic life) now have – home and car payments, and providing for miniature versions of themselves. Because of that, I have the luxury to choose what to spend my money on. And it just happens that I choose to save up for plane tickets and train rides and museum entrance fees.

Overlooking the rooftops of Rome

The tradeoff there is obvious. People in my social network are posting pictures of their new cars, updates about the progress of the construction of their homes, their babies’ first smile captured on camera, you get the idea. I don’t have all that. I don’t get to go home to a family of my own, kids running to embrace me and smother me with kisses; I constantly have to worry about my old car suddenly giving up on me while cruising EDSA; and I don’t have the privilege of ticking the “Yes” box when I’m filling out an official form with the question “Are you a homeowner?”

Sometimes the worry keeps me up at night. Every time I see one of those listicles with a title like, “10 Things You Should Already Have By The Time You’re 30,” or “15 Things You Need To Accomplish Before You’re 35,” I recoil. Always they have some entry about how you’re supposed to be financially secure (as in, what-if-you-lost-your-job-tomorrow secure) at a certain age. I admit doubts, and sometimes question my life decisions. Shouldn’t I have invested the extra money on property or stocks? Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to fly to Singapore to watch a concert by that artist that I like; I could’ve used the cash to add to a downpayment on a newer car. So-and-so was right; if I started saving when I was 20, I’d probably be able to afford that condo in BGC by now.

But is that what I really want?

True, I’m awestruck at the variety of things people in my circle (or social media newsfeed) are into. Designer cuisine, Duterte, the Porsche 911, Mariah Carey, Mario Kart, Slade House, Turkey, yoga, Palace Pool Club, Miss Universe, Game Of Thrones, surfing (actual and online), CoverGirl’s Star Wars collection, the conflict in Syria and the refugee crisis in Europe, facial hair, inspirational quotes, rainbow cakes, the LA Lakers, vinyl records, and on and on and on. I’m fortunate that I can see the world through the eyes of people from different corners of the globe and from virtually all social classes, age groups, genders, and religious and political beliefs. I think this makes for a much more interesting world view.

Cold day in Budapest

In the end though, I have to come back to my own decisions and live with them because I made them myself. The only person who has to deal with the consequences is me (for now, at least). Delayed gratification may be the definition of maturity, but exchanging one thing in favor of something more desirable is the essence of self-determination. That’s the tradeoff.

And it’s not just in material things. Tradeoffs can involve prioritizing one task at work over another; subscribing to one fitness and lifestyle routine over another; or choosing to spend time with one group of people over another in the belief they will add more value to your life through good experiences instead of taking away from it with meaningless drivel. We all forge our own paths and along the way, we make choices that we think will bring us closer to being happy. And isn’t that what we’re on this earth for? The pursuit of happiness?  

In other words, the stuff we deem important ultimately defines where we’re headed.

So when people post pictures of their new gadgets or the latest designer handbag on Facebook, I can only trade them a story about the time I almost froze my fingers off as I tried to take a picture of Castle Hill from the Chain Bridge in Budapest. I can only salivate over that new pair of kicks because I can’t justify buying new shoes that cost more than two night’s stay in a nice hotel in Rome. And when a stranger starts talking about business opportunities in Scandinavia, I’ll try my very best not to sound like a complete douche when I tell him about that time I drove a Ferrari California T in the snowy hills outside Maranello. Because damn that was hella fun.

Hanging out in one of the towns of Cinqueterre (forgot which one)

Who I Am: 40 Things About Me

Me on the 500 Days of Summer bench in LA

Another trip around the sun. I’ve been writing these birthday essays for a few years now, but this one is extra special because, well, people say it’s a milestone. I’m not going to deny that it stings a little now that I might have to check a different box on forms, but I guess I’ve had years to prep for it, so it’s not like I didn’t know what was coming.

I’m not going to extol the supposed virtues of aging (especially in a society that values youth as much ours does), but I am celebrating having reached an age in relative good health, with family and a small group of friends that I love dearly, and doing something I love as a profession. That might be insignificant for some people, but to me, those are pretty huge wins.

Candy store in Monterey's Fisherman's Wharf

They say that at this age, you’ve already become the person that you’re supposed to be. In that spirit, I’ve decided to list down some things about me to try and figure out if this person is somebody I like.

Not to be a complete narcissist, but I think I turned out okay.

1. I like the window seat not just because I get the view, but because I get to have a headrest when I inevitably drift off during the flight. (Plus, I rarely ever need to go to the bathroom anyway, except when it’s a long-haul, of course).

2. My favorite time of of the week is Sunday afternoons, specifically at 2:30pm. I don’t know why exactly, but maybe it’s because I like the idea of having a whole stretch of day left to do stuff and not worry so much about the horrors that await come Monday. (That said, I don’t dislike Mondays).

3. I like eating dark chocolate (60% to 70% is ideal) with cold water.

Somewhere along the Pacific Coast Highway

4. I’m not very adventurous when it comes to food and will typically order the same thing on the menu every time. I’m very impressionable though, and will usually cave given the right amount of cajoling.

5. I generally dislike confrontation and will often back down from any sort of argument. Often I feel that expending energy over a dispute just isn’t worth it, but that doesn’t mean I won’t stand up and fight if I feel strongly enough about something.

6. Nothing calms me down and puts a smile on my face faster than seeing my dogs eating and stretching.

7. I can watch Dead Poets Society, Reality Bites, and the Before trilogy (Sunrise, Sunset, Midnight) over and over and over again. That all of these films star Ethan Hawke naturally means he’s my favorite actor. Throw Gattaca and Boyhood in there, why not?

8. I would often lurk on social media and find myself silently passing judgment on people, but I quickly stop myself because, well, it’s other people. If we all liked the same things and agree and disagree about the same things, the world would be boring AF. So I just let it go and scroll right on by. The way I see it is, I get to know a bit more about the person, and I don’t have to engage, which is a complete waste of time anyway. (Some would argue that social media itself is a waste of time, but that’s another story).

Santa Monica Pier

9. On long road trips, I will always volunteer to drive.

10. French fries and chips aside, I can’t eat with my hands. I mean, I probably could, but if I can help it, I’d rather not. I dislike the feeling of greasy and smelly hands.

11. When attending events and other social functions, I’d like to think I’m friendly and outgoing and have no problem talking to people. If I clam up and seem distant or aloof, it’s probably because I’m intimidated and I’m afraid I’ll say the wrong thing and have the other person think I’m an idiot.

12. I like nature but have trouble with creepy, crawly insects and sea creatures. I am deathly afraid of spiders.

Posing in LACMA

13. I cry at movies, TV shows, songs, and books. Sometimes pretty easily. A sampling: when Ross and Rachel break-up (the first time), when Monica proposes to Chandler, and when Phoebe gets married on FRIENDS; when the kid runs through the airport to see his classmate before she flies off in Love Actually; when Aragorn tells Frodo and the other hobbits, "My friends, you bow to no one" in The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King; listening to “It Means Nothing” by Stereophonics, “World Spins Madly On” by The Weepies, and “God Only Knows” by The Beach Boys; when the two main characters finally meet and share a tin can of peaches in the novel All The Light We Cannot See.

14. I like rockeoke more than videoke.

15. I think issues like global warming and climate change are scary, and feel that powerful people and institutions—those that can actually make a difference—aren’t doing enough about them.

16. I like reading the Wikipedia pages about World War 2, specifically the European theater, and how and why some countries chose and were allowed to remain neutral.

17. I don’t think I can ever be friends with anyone who chooses Leno over Letterman. But Conan will always be god to me.

LA sunset

18. I like plays more than musicals but like listening to music more than listening to podcasts.

19. I graduated college when I was 19. That was also the year I found the first white hair on my head. I’ve been on my own since I was 21.

20. Not being politically engaged online doesn’t mean I’m apolitical. It just means I’d rather not engage with others online about politics.

21. My favorite cartoon TV series growing up was Visionaries: Knights of the Magical Light. And my favorite character was Witterquick.

Singing while driving through the desert from LA to Las Vegas

22. I’ve won a FRIENDS-themed bar trivia night. Okay, I was with two other people in the team, but you get what I’m trying to say. That’s how much I love the show.

23. Once I traveled alone by train from Singapore to Bangkok. It took almost two days. It was fun, looking back at it now. But I probably won’t do it again.

24. My favorite modern author is David Mitchell, and his Cloud Atlas is one of my favorite books.

25. The oldest thing in my room is a wooden wall sign with my name on it that I got from Tokyo Disneyland when I was 12 years old.

Walking along the Las Vegas strip 

26. I used to commute from our old house in Pasay to UP Diliman every day. The longest it took me to get home was five hours. It was right around the time the MRT was being built.

27. As a kid, I read this book about real life mysteries and there was an entry about Thuggee, or the acts of gangs of thieves and murderers who lived in India. They supposedly targeted travelers and killed them by strangling them with rope or handkerchiefs. I remember there was an illustration in the book of one of the “thugs” strangling his victim. That terrified me for years. I still think about it today and is one of the reasons why I have reservations about traveling to India.

28. One of my useless talents is that I can recite the alphabet backwards.

29. My most memorable interviews would have to be Liam Gallagher, former Batangas Governor Tony Leviste, Injap Sia, former Senator Gringo Honasan, and Eric Bana.

30. I took French classes at Alliance Française de Manille in addition to nine units of it in college as an elective. I can still only say, “Yes, I can speak a little French because the language is very hard.”

No filter shot of an American highway

31. I believe what Metro Manila needs (besides an effective plan to address traffic) is more parks and green spaces.

32. I once learned how to play Gin Blossoms’ “As Long As It Matters” on the guitar. I can’t play it anymore.

33. I’ve seen John Mayer live three times, Damien Rice twice, Jason Mraz seven times, and U2 twice. The only major acts on my concert bucket list are Dave Matthews Band, Pete Yorn, and Arctic Monkeys.

34. My favorite reality TV show is The Amazing Race. I will be extremely sad if it ever gets cancelled.

Bucket list check: the Grand Canyon

35. The scariest book I’ve ever read as a kid was Agatha Christie’s And Then There Were None (which is also known as Ten Little Indians). I read it in high school and got so terrified I couldn’t sleep that night and needed my mom to comfort me.

36. I like buying souvenirs when I travel for the people I care about.

37. I once spent the night at the Shangri-La Hotel in Paris and drove a Ferrari in its birthplace of Maranello (at two different times, of course). Those were the best night and day of my life.

38. One of my favorite memories growing up is my aunt taking me and my siblings to eat at Jollibee every Sunday for lunch and then buying us books at National Book Store.  

Dali's The Persistence of Memory at MOMA New York

39. I can’t wear flip-flops with jeans. I mean I probably could, but I’d rather not.

40. It’s not perfect, but, just between you and me, I think I’ve lived a pretty awesome life. If everything ended tomorrow, I’d be pretty okay with where life has taken me. I think I’m right where I’m supposed to be.

Just me resting after a nine-hour drive

Read my birthday essay from 2014
Here's the one from 2015
The one from 2016
From 2017
And from 2018 

Back To You

Cambugahay Falls, Siquijor

I’m in my hotel room in Siquijor. It’s the end of a very long day that started at 4:30am. We flew to Dumaguete City, rode an excruciatingly slow yacht, and spent the rest of the day on a drive around this island known for supposed sorcery and mysticism.

When I wasn’t preoccupied with work stuff, concentrating on keeping up with the vehicle in front of me in the convoy, or basically just getting lost in the calm and beauty of this place, my thoughts invariably kept drifting back to you.

I can’t help feeling guilty. I should be allotting space in my head for my dogs, who must be enjoying their stay at my parents’ house in Cavite, but must surely be wondering why I abandoned them yet again. I ought to start getting excited about my upcoming big trip, and making plans for all the things I want to do and all the places I want to see. And I should really spend more time contemplating a pretty huge milestone in my life that’s happening in a couple of months. (And that deserves its own entry).

Instead, I find myself just looking back at the littlest details of the last time I saw you. How I almost went in for a hug when it was always just a friendly handshake between us. The way you kept apologizing for being late, when I was just happy you made time to come see me at all. (Okay, I’m not exactly sure I was the reason you were there in the first place, but in my head, of course I was). And the shirt you were wearing that, crazily enough, made you look both old-fashioned and impossibly hip, either of which suits you just fine.

The way you laughed at the jokes at the table. How you listened and paid attention to the person talking that probably made them feel like they were revealing the secret formula for Coca-Cola. And how I imagined you were stealing glances at me while my head was turned, even though you were probably just turning your head as well, my face just another mundane object in your line of sight as you scanned the vicinity, perhaps looking for other, more stimulating targets.

But I didn’t have time to worry about that. You were there—all patient, polite and, well, pulchritudinous—and that was all that mattered. It took almost all of my willpower not to rest my gaze on you the entire evening. I engaged with the others, stood up to get a new bottle, and basically made excuses to look anywhere else but in your direction.

Oh but when I did. When I allowed myself those one or two seconds of just appreciating your you-ness; those atoms and molecules that come together to form your likeness and being—it made those weeks of not seeing you all worth it.

Even now, here in this hotel room in Siquijor, when I should be worrying about another early and long day tomorrow; when I should be panicking about stuff I have to do for work; when I should be thinking about a million other things in my life—my thoughts keep floating back to you.

It's strange, but thinking about you makes me feel morose and happy all at the same time.