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Demolition Ryan Adams Universal, 2002
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Reviewed by Brian James
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In a pop music world that's painfully devoid of surprises, Ryan Adams can't help but stick out. He took his former band, Whiskeytown, and marched them double-time to the threshold of true breakout success while simultaneously driving away one musician after another with his unbending dictatorship. When that outfit finally sank, Adams took only a couple of albums before he looked ready to cash Whiskeytown's checks, becoming a household name with last year's Gold. Still, most Adams devotees prefer that album's predecessor, Heartbreaker, and feel that, while fame may have already come to Adams, he has yet to deliver the magnum opus he seems constantly poised to make. In many an eye, he is Springsteen before Born to Run, Bowie before Ziggy Stardust and the anticipation has grown rather sizable. Anyone holding their breath for Adams' knockout punch should exhale for now and start again. His new album, Demolition, is not a real follow-up to Gold but rather a distillation of a mountain of previously unreleased tracks. According to reports, Adams had built up enough rough material for four new records. He had originally not intended to release this quartet at all but then, in a typical Adams switcheroo, decided to release all of them as individual albums only to again change his mind and promise to put them out as a box set. That idea was vetoed by his label who suggested that for the sake of his rising clout, he might be better off paring down the collection to one disc. That he did; hence, Demolition. Though all involved with the project stress repeatedly that this is not an official follow-up and that the songs are still in demo form, it's hard not to be intrigued by the prospect anyway. Beck's Mutations was not an official follow-up, and Bruce Springsteen's Nebraska was an album of demos, yet they managed to be among the most memorable releases of their respective decades. Demolition, however, is likely not destined to join their vaunted company. Beck succeeded by putting more effort into his sneak attack than he led his audience to expect. Springsteen won the day by presenting his songs in such a shockingly raw manner that it made everything else on the airwaves look downright phony. Adams takes neither approach, giving each song production so full that the sense of halfheartedness in the album can only be attributed to his writing. That's not to say that Demolition is completely unredeemed. He does have some decidedly inane moments, but they breeze by inoffensively enough, and the better songs -- "Nuclear," "Cry on Demand," "Starting to Hurt," "Tennessee Sucks," "Gimme a Sign" -- could easily have formed the solid core of a real Adams album. But that's the reason why Demolition is such a singularly irritating move on Adams' part. Adams has developed a hefty reputation for playing fast and loose with his music, first sabotaging Whiskeytown and then getting into the habit of writing the songs he would perform on his solo acoustic tours the afternoon of each show. His prolificacy and willingness to whore himself out to Gap ads shows that he has the talent and desire for stardom, but like the Replacements, he gets shakier the closer he comes to it. He seems more comfortable winning as a habitual loser. It's as if he vastly prefers the lowered expectations that are applied to underachievers, and Demolition is his attempt to, well, underachieve. Why else would he put out this album now? He's still hot enough that he doesn't need a stopgap release, and if all or part of the material here is good enough to put out and charge full price for, why not either call it an official follow-up or spend a bit more time getting it into shape? Most any recording artist amasses songs that the public never hears, but there's usually a good enough reason for this that few tears are shed for orphaned tunes. Demolition, if it had to exist in this form (which it most certainly didn't), should have been put on a shelf until Adams burned out or faded away or died in a car crash so that fans with a lingering hunger for more music could've been happily taken by the nostalgia mongers. Neither Adams nor his label has any good excuse for why this record is appearing now. This is a perplexing situation, but perhaps it isn't an inexplicable one. Remember that Adams, like Kurt Cobain, cites his influences almost as if they were more important than whatever he might have to offer. But unlike Cobain, Adams frequently lets influence slip into imitation, and this was nowhere more apparent than on Gold, an album that should have seen Adams forging a voice of his own. He has provided ample evidence all along that he can make it without really trying, but now he seems to be balking at the thought of what it might mean if he did try his hardest only to find that he falls short of the accomplishments of his oft-cited heroes. Consequently, the image of the disaffected, ramshackle songwriter is looking more self-consciously cultivated, more like a ready-made excuse. Until Adams becomes willing to wrestle with expectations commensurate with his talent, his best moments will be squandered and his potential will remain frustratingly unfulfilled. Demolition, for all its false modesty, is an unmistakable step in the wrong direction. | December 2002
Brian James is a freelance writer and musician based in Chicago. His writings pop up here and there on assorted music sites. |
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