Just got back from the Frames/Damien Rice concert at Theatre Outremont. It was strange seeing a performance from up in the balcony; with all the indie rock shows lately, I'm not used to being more than twenty feet from the stage. Still - twas lovely.

In the almost two years since I reviewed his record, Damien's become a star in North America. He's no U2, certainly, but he recently appeared on Letterman for the second time, the Short List Prize, yadda yadda yadda. There was definitely more adulation tonight - more unequivocal reverence - than at the show I saw in NYC last summer. It's understandable, really. The songs on O are remarkable, flush with feeling and musical sweetness. In person, he can sometimes do the same but better - freeer, braver, more playful. On the other hand, live, Damien can come off a bit precocious - and given my increasing impatience with big strummed acoustic guitar chords, there were moments when I couldn't help but wish he'd get on with it. (In addition, what's with his new material's fixation on, um, naughty words for 'penis'?) Nevertheless, Mr Rice brought with him the wonderful, plucky Vyvienne Long (on cello) and the incomparable Lisa Hannigan (on smoky vocals), and played some Leonard Cohen ("Hallelujah") in the man's hometown. There was a great deal to like, particularly the finale "Blower's Daughter," and a nearly drunk karaoke version of "Cheers, Darlin'," the high-point of which was Ms Long sawing on an imaginary cello.

The Frames opened, playing a short set. Which is a pity, because what they played was absolutely terrific. They are a band of such shining talent, so deserving of an audience. Quiet-to-loud with a sincere will to move; lyrics that rung out clear and sweet; rock'n'roll that reared and roared. I relished Glen Hansard's clumsybeautiful explanations between songs, the struggling to make poetry out of the rattling sounds of his heart.

Today, then, another installment in my diligent Frames advocacy. Two more songs that point to their poignancy and power. Dance the Devil and the Albini-produced For the Birds are records to buy.

The Frames - "What Happens When the Heart Just Stops". Introducing this song, Glen said something like this: "This is a song about letters... Because when you feel something it's important to write it down. To get it on paper. Because then it's physical and- and when something's physical you can hold it in your hands, and you can- you can burn it. Or tear it up. Or frame it and hang it on your wall and look at it every day." This song grows slowly, like moss over a grave, guitars tripping through and around the vocal melody, a synth tremble in the corner. When the horns rise up from the earth, wide and thick and blooming, it's enough to drown in. To dream in. And then it stops; cuts off; falls quiet. And you're left with grey. (Listen and listen loud!) From 2002's For the Birds.

The Frames - "Your Face". Something quieter: a beautiful and terrible lovesong. Such shining, languid loveliness, and yet that distance - that gap - that only the violin can cross. Electric guitar that mumbles like Julie Doiron (or, at 2:51, like Adam Sandler's character in Punch-Drunk Love), a melody that confesses like Jeff Buckley, and such confident use of stillness. It's a song about distance, about closeness, about "sending a tape" and remembering a face. "But if you wanna try again / I'll fall / ... / And all you have to do is give / Give me that look again." Off of 1996's Fitzcarraldo.

And finally, in the same spirit as The Frames' crashing live show -

Seachange - "Anglokana". Brought to my attention by James (many thanks!), here's a song from Matador's latest coup, Seachange. It's a breathtaking song, equally coarse and pretty, opening with a long stretch of seashore and then closing with a raucous mess of electric guitar, like The Wrens with a dose of English rain. The genius is in the way the different modes are two sounds of the same coin - the noise that roars under the melancholic drear, the hollow sadness that persists beneath the yells. This is what I daydreamed that British Sea Power sounded like - the reality's rather more boring.

Matthew's One-T and Cool-T song from a few days ago is wonderful, multicoloured pop.

Aaron pointed me to the quite likable sneak-peak of Royal City's upcoming record, Little Heart's Ease. It's a song called Bring My Father".

A day with Quentin Tarantino.