Whenever I voice my concerns about Ryan Adams to friends, they cringe in preparation for a misdirected, elitist screed about the dangers of selling out-- just as you may be doing right now. So let me be upfront: I'm happy for the guy. I don't have any personal issues with him, nor do I think he's committed any brazen acts of treason toward the music community at large.
Adams has been grooming himself for rock star status for a very long time, without an ounce of subtlety. In fact, he was qualified from the very beginning, when his band Whiskeytown signed with DGC subsidiary Outpost Recordings. If anything, he's overqualified now: he's prolific, talented, and cocksure, and he's got the kind of apple-cheeked, midwestern good looks (and jean-jacket) that suggest rural summer nights spent listening to "Pink Houses". Even before Winona, Alanis, Elton John duets, Gap commercials, MTV specials, and the incredibly fortuitous and profitable coup of releasing Gold, with its flag-bedecked cover art and single "New York" mere weeks after 9/11, he was as good as in.
Gold, though, was a disappointment to many longtime fans, not because he was suddenly the very definition of mainstream success but because it simply couldn't hold a candle to its predecessor, 2000's stunning Heartbreaker. And yet, as uneven, flawed, and possibly symptomatic of megalomania as Gold may have been, it increased Adams' celebrity tenfold. No longer consigned to Sunday morning fodder for sentimental hipsters, alt-country purists, and aging public radio DJs hunting for latest reincarnation of Gram Parsons, Adams became so very famous that both of my parents now own at least one of his albums-- and that, ladies and gentlemen, is saying quite a lot.
I once offered up the observation that Ryan Adams would be capable of churning out some of the most solid, affecting music around were he contained in a room and limited to a four-track and the fewest possible instruments. Demolition should, by all rights, be that project. Demos hold the promise of the understated songs I've always wanted to believe Adams left off his bombastic, overwrought last offering. Given what it is, though, Demolition is awfully slick. And while not, in theory, a follow-up to Gold, it's clear from the record's first track, "Nuclear", a radio-friendly hybrid of New Nashville and jangly college pop, that Adams intends for this record to be more than just a modest, for-the-fans compilation.
The swaggering, AM-dial rock 'n' roll of Gold is recalled in "Gimme a Sign", a wide-open space-rocker carried off with satisfactorily crunchy guitar that gets bonus points for the Byrdsian flourishes of Rickenbacker in the choruses. But "The Pink Hearts", recorded with Adams' touring band, falters, and despite its roughhewn affectations, sounds mysteriously clean for a purported demo. The ballads, thankfully, fare a bit better. The Nick Drake-flavored "You Will Always Be the Same" features sparse accompaniment from an acoustic guitar, cello, and light percussion. Lyrically, it's pretty straightforward, and it's also one of the few tracks here on which Adams is content to be himself, rather than imitating his influences. Likewise, the near-elegiac "Tomorrow" features one of most subtle and perfect harmonies I've heard recently, and despite its faulty sequencing (it really ought to have been the closer), it's by far the album's best song.
Of course, while Demolition forgoes the overproduction and even much of the shameless rock-god posturing that plagued Gold, Adams hasn't yet found his way out of his songwriting rut. This, perhaps, could be attributed to the nature of the record, since artists tend to save their best material for their official releases. But both the harmonica-driven "Hallelujah" and the highly polished "Cry on Demand", sound strikingly like many of the misfires that haunted Gold. Elsewhere, the pickin' n' grinnin' "Chin Up, Cheer Up" is a none-too-subtle rehash of Heartbreaker's "Winding Wheel". Such is the cost of prolificacy-- you can only write so many songs before they all begin to sound alike.
Now, Ryan Adams is no stranger to wearing his influences on his sleeve, and it seems like the harder rocking tracks on Demolition want to suggest a punker spirit, despite that, for the most part, it sounds as if he's traded in his Replacements LPs for John Cougar Mellencamp. Still, it's possible that Adams may overcome the somewhat pandering nature of his last two albums to release his best work to date, provided he can rediscover his muse and find a producer that better suits his music. Talent, after all, doesn't just evaporate. And despite all my bitterness at having to stare at Adams' smug, airbrushed glare every time I drive past The Gap on Franklin Street, I like to think he might end up being more than just the guy who used to write good songs.
