Dear Mr. Damien Jacob Jingleheimer Rice,
Now that it's official: Happy Birthday m' friend of the Eskimo persuasion. If ever there was a man so many looked to when they're down, down, down it is you.
Since I'm literally now broke from buying tickets to all your gigs in the vicinity allow we to offer these words in appreciative return to what the invaluable gift you give to our world means:
I'm afraid I must disagree with you that your songs are depressing. The fact that you share your sadness with us does what all great art does: it reminds us of our commonality, our shared humanity, that no matter how bad things get we are not alone in our pain and suffering. That knowledge is what gives us the hope that we can make it through, the courage to attempt the journey and the strength to do it. Indulge me a short related treatise on your seemingly favorite new imagery, balloons.
The perfect metaphor for this truth is contained in the simple beauty of your video for "Nine Crimes": two who believe they are as down as can be find each other and in so helping one another they both find happiness. The fact that others can destroy our joy almost as soon as we discover it is immaterial. The memory of the moments when we briefly soared is enough to keep us striving and furiously flapping out wings for those next glorious precious seconds we're lucky enough to spend airborne.
Surely, it can be no mere coincidence that Chagall entitled this lovely painting "Birthday":
But perhaps I've gotten too deep. Well then, *ahem* rum-diddly-um-diddly-um-diddly! This calls for a change of tone, yes?
Anyhow, I'm hoping to tell you a happy belated in person next week at the Beacon. I know you probably won't remember me again but perhaps the third time really is the charm.
P.S. Other Eskimos: 33 isn't old! At least I hope not since Damo and I are the same age (actually I'm over 6 months older). So C'mon! Let's all hear it for the Jesus year!