As the concert ended, Damien Rice stood at mid-stage, microphone in one hand, cigarette in the other. He swayed slightly, a trail of red wine staining his t-shirt from collar to midriff. The image was fitting for the Irish bard whose often-gloomy catalog echoes sentiments of sleepless nights and feelings oft found in the bottom third of a whiskey bottle. However, it was one of the few times during Saturday night’s show at the Lincoln Theatre, that brooding image had fit.
