Damien Rice’s task was not an easy one: follow up an endlessly repackaged debut album, O, which has sold over two million copies since its release in 2002, the slow-burning success of which has meant that Rice hasn’t released any new material for four years (with the exception of last year’s charity single, Unplayed Piano).

Rice could have ‘done a Chris Martin’ and sold his soul to Heat magazine, whilst his music became an evermore vapid rehash of his most popular songs (‘Volcano’, ‘Blower’s Daughter’ and ‘Cannonball’), but he hasn’t. Instead, he has remained virtually anonymous and produced an album, 9, which is better than his debut. Having seen him on Later With Jools Holland recently, I was struck by the realisation that I didn’t know, until that moment, what he looked like.

‘9 Crimes’ is the opening track and the first single to be taken from 9 and it would seem anonymity is what he’s looking for – his voice isn’t heard until the second verse, with Lisa Hannigan singing the first.  It doesn’t scream, ‘I’m back!’ Perhaps that’s part of his appeal; he wins you over with his songs, with very little in the way of ego. The way 9 Crimes builds is so subtle. It begins with understated piano, adds Hannigan’s vocals and then Rice’s gruffer tones, and, almost apologetically, it reaches a crescendo of cello and drums with both vocalists singing over one another. You may not notice it digging a little hole in your soul, but you’ll feel better for it. The b-side, ‘Rat within the Grain’ is a fine slab of acoustic anger, but suffers when played after such a special song.

This is a song of love and betrayal far superior to any of the current singer-songwriter brigade. He should not be spoken of in the same breath as James Blunt or even David Gray. Could they make a line as banal as ‘Is that alright, yeah?’ sound so poignant? '9 Crimes' is much more than alright, yeah!