People have been feeling disappointed by Ryan Adams for almost as long as they've been liking him. When his band Whiskeytown leaped to the fore of the then-burgeoning alt-country movement with its classic 1995 debut, Faithless Street, Adams seemed like nothing less than a savior, a recklessly prodigal kid equally informed by punk rock and archetypal C&W. However, it soon seemed Adams' legendary petulance wasn't some enfant terrible act, but the manifestation of a self-absorbed temperament that has marked his output to this day.
It's hard to say whether this penchant for navel-gazing was always lurking inside Adams, or if the combined influences of New York City and minor celebrity produced it. Either way, over the past several years he's recognized his true calling as a quintessential singer-songwriter and subsequently shown himself to be solipsistic in the truest sense of the word. Adams really doesn't seem capable of imagining a world outside of himself anymore, and it's his greatest artistic downfall. His music rarely strives to connect or communicate with other people, and even at its best is exactly only as compelling as Adams himself is compelling.
Throughout his career, Adams has always seemed to be more successful the more closely he's hewn to his country roots, whether it be on his acclaimed 2000 solo debut Heartbreaker or 2005's unexpectedly strong Jacksonville City Nights. My guess as to why is that country's narrative and musical strictures keep Adams honest, toeing the line rather than wallowing in the moony murk that has characterized so much of what this too-prolific man has released in the past decade, including his newest effort with his band the Cardinals, Cardinology.
Cardinology, like Easy Tiger or Cold Roses or Love Is Hell or you get the idea, is melodically sound, remarkably insular and largely unaffecting. It's all soft edges, and its punches feel like pillow fights. "Born Into a Light" is an admittedly solid opener, featuring some nice fingerpicking and evoking a rare sense of community, a generosity likewise echoed in "Let Us Down Easy". Unsurprisingly, these are the two songs most noticeably tinged by southern rural musical traditions, in this case an appealingly finessed mix of country and gospel. Early offerings "Go Easy" and "Fix It" aren't half-bad either, well-sung and fuller musically than much of Adams' other recent material, though it's hard to shake the recognition that even his most sonically vibrant moments are often forced to contend with his whininess.
Following those pleasantly modest, Paste-worthy beginnings, however, Adams draws the blinds entirely and Cardinology starts sliding into self-indulgent banality of a sort so pinched and uninviting it makes Conor Oberst seem like Will Rogers (and I'm not even counting the butt-rock red herring "Magick," which makes you wonder what Adams actually hears when he listens to the Rolling Stones or New York Dolls). The dreary "Cobwebs" is emblematic of the myopic stuff Adams has been doing ever since he hitched his star to the likes of Winona Ryder and Parker Posey, outfitted with an oh-so-typical reference to 5th Avenue and actually including the line "if I fall will you pity me?" The likes of "Crossed Out Name" and "Natural Ghost" do attest to Adams' reliably solid melodic sense but still come off wrapped up and wearying, while "Sink Ships" burns a good line about remembering "you laughing/ Coming up the rickety stairs" with a ridiculous central metaphor likening the search for love with filling out a job application. It's just one more reason why Adams shouldn't be putting Cardinology on his résumé.
