Although it may not seem so, singer-songwriters are still prevalent in today’s music industry. From James Blunt to Ben Folds to even the haggard Bob Dylan, it seems like there is always a man (or woman) with his guitar or piano ready to serenade a crowd. Maybe it is due to the overabundance of coffee shops in our society that seem to be fertile breeding grounds for these musicians.

An up-and-comer in this genre is Damien Rice. Building off the success of his previous album O, the Irish troubadour is out to prove that he can craft a song with the best of them on his sophomore effort, 9.

Taking a very minimalist approach to his music, this album helps to create a relaxing atmosphere. Often, the songs feature just him and a piano with some light drumming and the playing of the cello or strumming of a guitar. Combined with his delicate voice, it seems to be some of the more inoffensive music around. Inoffensive, however, until you get to the fourth track of the album, “Rootless Tree.” With its cathartic chorus of “fuck you, fuck you” this might make you decide against picking up a copy of this CD for your mom at your local Starbucks.

Sort of like, say, Coldplay, Rice is one who wants to capitalize on the same sound that has made him popular before. It all seems self-indulgent, as if he knows that he can bring more to the table, like with the more aggressive tones in “Me, My Yoke, and I,” but he does not want to stray too far from his rather loyal fanbase. This self-indulgence comes to full effect with the closing track, the nearly 22-minute “Sleep Don’t Weep,” which is only this long because the last 16 minutes or so of the song are simply wine glasses being played. If I didn’t check my stereo to make sure the track was continuing to play, I might have been fooled into thinking the CD was skipping—it’s that repetitive.

The opening song, “9 Crimes” features a vocal duet between Rice and Lisa Hannigan, a member of his band that provides a nice jumping-in point to the album. After this song, save for the final moments of “Sleep Don’t Weep,” Hannigan is unfortunately missed—having her on vocals on more tracks might have helped the appeal of the album. The lyrics themselves do not seem to be all that memorable, as relatively few seem to stick out, such as "Nothing is lost / It is just frozen in frost" on “Grey Room” or the non-rhyming chorus "The girl that does yoga / When we come over" on “Dogs.”

Damien Rice knows what sort of audience he appeals to, and in that sense he is a shrewd musician and businessman. He knows he will sell a plethora of records to the Starbucks-set and seems to be content with such. Artistically, however, he leaves a little to be desired. The music on the album never really seems to go anywhere—it never seems to pick up where you think it should—and while his voice is quite nice, the lyrics he is singing are nothing special. Maybe this is just a sophomore slump and he can prove us wrong with his next release, but for now, this is what we have.