Ryan Adams, without the provisos

bplenser | 7/21/2007 2:53 pm | Weak Sauce

A few weeks back, while perusing the reviews of Easy Tiger, it dawned on me that discussions of Ryan Adams, whether pro or against, almost invariably come packaged with a caveat. They usually read, "Yes, Adams is prolific, but my does he need an editor" or "For every 'Let It Ride,' you get two 'Nightbirds'" or "At his best, Adams makes modern classics. At his lowest, he's an indulgent hack-artist." Though largely accurate, this line of commentary grows tiresome. Even his personality is subject to qualifications and intentional contradictions, like the phrase "lovable asshole." (I prefer Adams' self-description on "Nuclear" as a "sentimental geek").
His latest release, Easy Tiger, has received generally warm reviews. But, even in their high marks, many critics didn't commit to outright approval. The great irony is that some have characterized Easy Tiger's firm consistency as a drawback. What's a reasonable standard, then? Due to his schizo-antics, brash talent, and overflowing output, it seems that Adams' career will never cease to be a checkered and celebrated struggle.

I propose a pause from this melee. Here are five unheralded nuggets of gold from our volatile troubadour, free of vacillating critiques and full of A-plus veneration.

5) "Damn Sam" off Heartbreaker. Bookended by "Call Me On Your Way Back Home" and "Come Pick Me Up," two lasting expressions of need and despair, "Damn Sam" plays very unassumingly. The backdrop - just acoustic rustles and a piano/percussion drop-in at the refrain. The personal insight of Adams' lyrics proves most compelling. "As a man, I ain't never been much for sunny days" and "Damn Sam, I love a woman that rains." What better lyrical distillations of Adams and his ideal counterpart.

4) "Please Do Not Let Me Go" off Love is Hell. Adams is a master of fundamentals. Here the clipped acoustic shots and almost undetectable bass amount to a minimalist garnish. But the thin linger of steel guitar that he applies really awakens the instrumentation. All is still spare and calm until a gracefully chirping piano and drumwork kick in near the end, transforming a spare piece into something briefly vibrant. Still, it's another instance of quiet, non-impact emotion.

3) "Dear Chicago" off Demolition. Unlike its companion ode to NYC, "Dear Chicago" stays grounded, using only the layered plucks of wispy guitars to guide the way. Adams' vocal holds sturdy, even as it moves the song's tonal arc from lightly bittersweet to just bitter and blunt. His closing line is a memorably cold send-off - "I think that I've fallen out of love with you."

2) "Cherry Lane" off Cold Roses. This is one of Adams' most unconventional entries, despite its hugely accessible trappings. The strutting, honky-pop riffs that open "Cherry Lane" point to an uncommonly cheery passage for this alt-country sulker. Adams appears to confirm this suspicion with his idyllic musings - "Curled up with a book down on Cherry Lane." Then the course dramatically re-routes. The pace breaks to a pristine halt as Adams, aided by lovely harmonizing, continually confesses, "I can never get close enough to you"- an unguardedly moving sentiment. The song then re-expands with panoramic steel guitar notes, making for an up-and-down, sweet-to-swooning excursion of the heart.

1) "Strawberry Wine" off 29. This disarming gem is the victim of its unflattering surroundings, basically the whole of 2006's 29. A shame on its own, but more so because this might be Adams' finest work. Nearly 8 minutes long and not a strongly evolving piece, it's a definite grower. Just a ukulele/acoustic combo and Adams' lonely narration to go with. His lyricism is shambling and sorrowful, composed of a patchwork of vignettes that meditate on aging, death, and, most surprisingly, not on the man himself (the word "I" isn't dropped until the six and a half minute mark). Despite the non-personal tact, Adams lets us in on a possible hang-up of his when he wittily asks, "Can you still have any famous last words / If you're somebody nobody knows?" "Wine" doesn't offer much resolution, but that's not the point. The genuine intrigue lies in Adams' ability to totally play against form- here you'll find no pastiche, no bravado, no neediness. Just an artist wrapped in humbly unadorned beauty.

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