Taking a vacation away from death-inducing exam studying is a luxury i cannot afford. So only for a night of a live-and-very-close Damien Rice, would i gladly take the risk.

And what is after many a mind-blowing rendition of the countless songs i have come to know far too well, i fear that i have become too much of a die-hard for Rice’s version of musical poetry, for i know what is written before he sings it.

Due credit must be offered the band as well; for never have i heard a cello to be such a worthy ambassador of melancholy, nor have i ever seen a drummer work his hands so much like magic. All added to the exquisitely haunting voice of lisa hannigan, i can only say that tonight brings a utterly new chapter to my pocketbook of musical love affairs.

Struck down with a case of very potent, very drowsy, and very, very hot Irish fever.

I am hopelessly, and perhaps some might say most pathetically, content.

But this is honestly good, for i haven’t been in too long a time.

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