Ryan Adams
Gold
Universal
In recent months, Ryan Adams has been ubiquitous in the music
press. So while more coverage may seem redundant, one glance at the Billboard
charts suggests otherwise. Straight-up rock 'n' roll no longer
contends for large audiences. Understandably then, rock journalists get excited at the
arrival of someone like Adams, an open-hearted singer/songwriter who might be
able to reclaim some of rock's past commercial glory. For better or for worse,
Gold is a key album onto which these hopes are pinned.
Gold sprawls. In terms of length, geography and style, it is a large
record, perhaps excessively so. The first song deals with New York, the
last with Los Angeles, and the front cover depicts Adams standing in front of
an upside-down American flag, implying a journey of sorts. If its departure
point is Adams' previous outfit, Whiskeytown, then its destination is the big time.
Fortunately, though, the remote stretches of the mainstream have not left Adams
bereft of inspiration.
The record blasts off with "New York, New York," an immediate, surging
account of life and loss in the big city. Though in the spirit of
Bob Dylan's "Tangled Up in Blue," the song becomes Adams' own, as he sings:
Found a lot of trouble out on Avenue B
But I tried to keep the overhead low
Farewell to the city and the loved of my life
At least we left before we had to go
A couple of tracks later comes the album's second highlight, "La Cienega Just Smiled,"
a fluttering meditation of a song that finds Adams, as usual, forlorn about women.
The stylistic variety on Gold works to his advantage; those caught sleeping through
the ballads will surely wake up for one of the hard-charging numbers. "When the Stars Go Blue"
and "Enemy Fire" both plead his case effectively, the former softly and the latter loudly;
neither sacrifices an ounce of grit.
Elsewhere, this is not the case. "Firecracker" re-creates any number of
roots-rock anthems, but delivers little in the way of authenticity;
"Nobody Girl" follows too many rules to last nine minutes. The impressive craft
of those songs simply rings hollow against a rawer tune like "The Fools We
Are as Men," which can be found on the Gold bonus disc (found gratis
with the initial pressing of the album).
Along the way, Adams predictably visits the well-marked musical landmarks of
the early 1970s. More often than not, he successfully sifts his influences through
his own extraordinary voice, a somewhat twangy instrument that resembles
Paul Westerberg in directness. "Rescue Blues," for example, may cop the Stones, but
it does so with authority and intelligence — not to mention self-pity. Surely
it would be difficult to imagine Mick Jagger singing,
Everybody wants to see you suffer
They know you need the pain so much
They throw you up a rope when you're too high to cruise...
Then they charge you with the rescue blues
The trouble comes when Ryan lets his influences speak for him, as on
"Someday, Somehow" and "Wild Flowers," where his eerie Neil Young
impression borders on the comic. "Answering Bell," one of several musical
daydreams, suffers from Counting Crows lead singer Adam Duritz's vocal involvement.
It duly emanates a dangerously worn-out Van Morrison feel. Also, the Skynyrd influence
that almost gives out in "Tina Toledo's Street Walkin' Blues" completely fails in "Gonna Make You Love Me."
The second half of the record, though burdened by those two forays, is redeemed by the
touching closer, "Goodnight, Hollywood Blvd." Sounding uncannily natural behind a piano,
Adams croons a drowsy lullaby to his new city — or it could be a pensive hello to a
new chapter, depending on the point of view.
Adams' best work grips its audience roughly by the collar. Gold grabs
the listener a bit more gently and with smoother hands, resulting in a wider reach
and even the possibility of living up to the commercial potential ascribed to it.
If a softer edge is the price of reaching a wider audience, though, so be it.
The moments of emotional profundity here are golden and will suffice.
— David Zahl (zahlie@hotmail.com)
