Ryan Adams – Rock n Roll

Strip away all the pretense, all the rock-star posturing, all the booze-fueled belligerence, all the trash-talking antics, all the profanity-laced ranting and raving…and look at what remains.

An artist on the verge of 30, with about a dozen records to his credit (some released, some not). Music that has ranged from magical to mediocre, from imitative to inspired, even inspirational. A penchant for prolificacy that alternately amazes and overwhelms, simultaneously steering and sinking the ship: His catalog is extensive but uneven, somehow demanding both compression and expansion.

All of which is to say that it’s not easy to grasp the legacy of Ryan Adams’ career, and even harder for those who would direct it. With such constantly conflicting characteristics — originality vs. mimicry, exultation vs. desperation, dedication vs. destruction — it’s no wonder Adams seems to have both eclipsed and abandoned all expectations since Whiskeytown first appeared on the map in the mid-’90s.

As such, perhaps the inevitably dueling perspectives of Adams’ recent releases, Rock N Roll and Love Is Hell, are entirely appropriate. The back story has been fairly well detailed by now: Adams submitted Love Is Hell to his record label, Lost Highway, claiming it was “the work of my life” (according to an October Billboard article), but the label didn’t share his enthusiasm. Rather than pull a Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, however, Adams was willing to indulge requests for another record; the outcome was Rock N Roll.

It was, in some respects, a shrewd move on Lost Highway’s part, given that it played to the artist’s prolific nature. As many records as Adams has made and not released over the years, how hard could it be for him to crank out one more? And heck, it might even be good.

As it happens, Rock N Roll IS a good record, on the surface of things. In some respects, it follows neatly in the footsteps of his 2001 quasi-breakthrough Gold, picking up where that album’s ’70s-modeled classic-rock vibe left off and segueing into the punk/new-wave days of the early ’80s. But it holds together much better than Gold, which devolved into wretched excess about halfway through its 70 minutes. At 48 minutes, Rock N Roll is less sprawling, its sharper focus likely due partly to the quick circumstances in which it was made (reportedly two weeks).

Adams’ desire simply to rock out has probably been too much neglected over the years (notwithstanding the hardcore-punk disc he recently issued on the sly with Jesse Malin, billed as the Finger). Rock N Roll slakes that jones well, particularly on swirling, driving, hard-hitting tracks such as “This Is It”, “1974” and “Burning Photographs”. That said, it’s not all balls-to-the-wall; the piano-tinkling title track contradicts rather than reflects its name, while “Anybody Wanna Take Me Home” and “Wish You Were Here” are much mellower in tone and tempo.

On the whole, Rock N Roll holds its own, and probably was worth the circumstances that resulted in its creation.

Except.

Adams believed in Love Is Hell enough to fight for it. Certainly it’s not standard music-biz procedure to release two albums simultaneously (though it’s been done, sometimes even effectively). Lost Highway seems largely inclined to downplay the existence of the two-volume Love Is Hell set; the label didn’t send out promotional copies of the first disc until well after its early November release, and declined to provide advances of the second disc in time for inclusion in this review. (For a review of the second volume of Love Is Hell, Part 2, visit www.nodepression.net.)

And this is a problem, because Love Is Hell, Part 1 warrants a considerably more prominent position within Adams’ oeuvre. Whereas Rock N Roll provides yet another example of his ability as a musician to reflect the sounds that have shaped him over the years, Love Is Hell brings the artist’s own identity much more squarely into the picture.

OK, here’s the key that unlocks the door. The standout track (and obvious single) on Rock N Roll is “So Alive”, a breathtakingly uplifting tune that’s one of the best things Adams has recorded to date. However, there is absolutely no mistaking its transparent similarity to U2, from the Edge-like guitar riff to the soaring Bono-esque vocals.

By contrast, the clear high point on Love Is Hell, Part 1 is Adams’ rendition of the Oasis smash “Wonderwall”. Yes, it’s not even an original song — but Adams recasts it so effectively, and sings it so poignantly, that all manner of imitation cedes ground to the artist’s originality. It is fully, completely, inescapably Ryan’s own voice.

The rest of the eight-song disc follows suit. The material is moodier, perhaps less immediate, but ultimately reaches far deeper and is more intriguing. From the eerie spell of the opening “Political Scientist”, to the desperate declaration of “This House Is Not For Sale” (easily the best original song on either disc), to the striking starkness of “The Shadowlands”, to the shimmering final beauty of “Avalanche”, this is a record that feels like a heart and soul was poured into it.

So what’s wrong with this scenario, then, as long as both records ultimately are released? Perhaps nothing; they may serve different audiences, or at least different purposes, and maybe that’s as it should be.

But what kind of message does it send to the artist? In a recent article on MTV.com, Adams summed up his present state of mind by saying: “I guess I’ve finally come to the realization that I’m never going to be Bob Dylan. I’m not going to be any of my idols, and whatever delusions I had of becoming that good are crap. I am just a decent sketch artist.”

He is that, yes. And beneath the sketches, there is so much more.