Damien Rice - 9
When I listen to Damien Rice, a few things happen. One, I get a fierce desire to drink hot coffee in front of a huge bay window looking out on a garden that is being furiously rained on. And sometimes, I want to hug my knees to my chest and rock back and forth with my eyes closed, perhaps even with tears trickling hot down my face. There's something pained in his voice, intentional or not, and something wistful in his solitary piano that flashes snapshots of the sad and happy moments of my life back to back to back on the insides of my shut eyelids. Maybe you know what I'm talking about. Here's a reminder.
Me, My Yoke, and I
*switched hosting so you don't fry my bandwidth for the month*