Miss Hannigan, where are you??

So....here begins a tale of adventure, great anticipation, loss and heartache.
Thursday night, we (my best gal pal and I), venture out to see Damien Rice. We were disappointed within minutes. Where the hell was Lisa Hannigan - the ethereal, shy voice that so strikingly stood beside this handsome, angst-ridden, Irish bloke? Gone, I say. Gone to pursue G-d knows what, G-d knows where and we were left with an aching, lonely folk singer left to sing duets on his own. It hurt, both visually and aurally. It hurt deep inside, and why, may you ask? Because as a musician, you wear your heart on your sleeve. One is, in essence, EXPOSED.

At the Greek, this chilly, fall-filled night, we sat witness to this sad guy, waiving his heartbreak like a flag whipping in the wind. I wanted to crawl under the seat. Having seen him before, both of us privy to the beauty that was the two of them, it was disconcerting to see him alone. Granted, the man is talented. Talented in that Jeff Buckley way of anguish. But when he had Lisa, she softened the ruddiness in his voice, made you feel as if you were wrapped in velvet and burlap. It was mesmerizing, watching them.


Now what? Will he find someone to provide him with a soft place to rest his pain?? Does he even want to, with his admittedly childish behaviors? I don't know. I really don't. To me, either he reinvents himself or he fizzles. And truth be told, it would be a huge waste of talent to do the latter.

The whole show wasn't a loss, though. There was some phenomenal storytelling, confessional and wry, and a performance of Cannonball, minus the mic!! Check this out! I mean really, hello Mr. Folk Singer. That's some singer's formant (that lovely reediness that makes him noticeable sans mics and the like:



The rest, my friends, has to be told by Christine, who is a far better storyteller than I.

Here's to Folk singers, love, full gas tanks and strong arms!