29

Ryan Adams29

“You’ll regret the things that you done, one of these days you’re gonna rue all the messed up things you do. You’re gonna die the way you live and the way you drink, you’re like a river bound for falls and not much fun.” So said The Old 97’s concerning an experience they had with a late 90s version of Ryan Adams on their now classic Americana album, Fight Songs. Yes, he was (and at times still is) a very bad character.

Adams has always been very introspective and open with his personal life by way of his music. That includes the good, the bad and, most often, the ugly. With 29, Ryan’s final album in 2005, he offers a new personal touchstone for frankness; some would even call it sincerity. On the album’s opener, “29,” Ryan sings, “I think I died one hundred thousand times, mixing liquor with mystery pills.” Nothing new there; the surprise comes seconds later as he sings, “Most of my friends are married and making them babies, to most of them I already died.” And better yet, on “Strawberry Wine,” Adams sings “I’m getting old and I gotta break out of it my old friend, ‘cause it’s getting winter and if I want any flowers, I gotta get these seeds into the ground.” Can it be David Ryan Adams maturing? Or maybe he’s just playing up the whole “I’m getting older” slant as so many have before him. Paul Westerberg: guilty. Ryan Adams: not likely. He’s too much of a reckless extrovert for a play serious.

When talking about his three forthcoming albums in early 2005, Ryan briefly portrayed 29 as “nine, nine-minute songs, each one representing a different year from my twenties.” (Apparently, he forgot an entire year somewhere along the way.) That’s the most input you’ll find from Adams concerning his darkest, most personal album to date. And it’s inaccurate to boot, as most of the tracks clock in at about four or five minutes. 29 producer Ethan Johns told British press upon the album’s release that, for the first time ever, Ryan felt like his music could speak for itself. No macho, drunken bragging, nor any sappy, thin-skinned sulking, 29 is what it is: nine immensely delicate songs about a guy very few people really know and a good many despise.

That said, 29 could very well wind up being Adams’ first “fans-only” album. Specifically, listeners who have come to know Adams over the years through his lyrics will most appreciate the significance of an album so personal. It’s not the best album of his career (and probably isn’t even the best thing he released in 2005) but it might be his most important, singular work to date.

As always with Mr. David Ryan, we have his vast influences to discuss. Let’s recap: Heartbreaker was his Dylan album; Gold was a slightly distorted Stones pedigree; Demolition technically doesn’t count, given its nature; and Rock N Roll was his ode to the NYC garage scene. Love is Hell seemed to secretly pay homage to Jeff Buckley’s Grace, while Cold Roses was a shameless adulation to The Grateful Dead’s legacy. The recently released Jacksonville City Nights finally saw Adams wearing his Gram Parsons costume in public, and those older Whiskeytown albums can’t help but sound a little too much like Uncle Tupelo masquerading as an early 70s Neil Young. So what about 29? What’s left? Leonard Cohen? Johnny Cash? Townes Van Zandt? Or maybe his precious Sonic Youth?

Actually, none of the above. 29 seems to finally be “it,” Adams’ first completely honest and sincere piece of work. No spiky hair, beard, goofy specs or backing band drama to hide behind, just Adams and a couple of steady friends. Sure, the title track sounds like “Truckin’” and “The Sadness” sounds faintly similar to every other Spanish rock song you’ll hear, but, overall, 29 is the best representation of Adams’ sound to date. Sweet vocals and brooding, poetic lyrics accompany varied backdrops. There’s no bloodline for this release, no map to follow and no Cliff Notes, just a long book of lyrics and nine reckless, delicate songs.

For an artist who attempts to toil out a new song each day, 29‘s innards are both long-pondered and frenetically imperative. Bluntly, Adams is giving up more of himself through 29‘s nine compositions than he has on any two of his previous releases to date. The end result might not be as triumphant as Cold Roses, as classic as Jacksonville City Nights or as essential as Heartbreaker. Regardless, 29 will stand as the album where Ryan invited his closest fans to get all that much closer. For you listeners that still don’t get it, this one is “Rated M for Mature.”    8/10

Written by G. William Locke