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Ryan Adams is admitted-ly hard to pin down. One minute he’s making

the most heartbreaking and quint-essential folk record of our genera-tion (aptly named, Heartbreaker) and the next he’s churn-ing out post-punk rock anthems (2004’s Rock ‘N Roll), de-spondently crooning over exploding Fer-ris wheels and World War 24 (the visceral Love Is Hell), or wan-dering through the murky shadow lands of magnolia moun-tains and peaceful val-leys (2005’s Cold Roses and Jacksonville City Nights). Adams even gave us a picture of what he might look like as a main-stream artist with 2003’s Gold, even if that picture was somewhat blurry, crumpled and covered in cigarette burns. Not to mention four addi-tional LPs, at least ten completed and unreleased records, multiple side projects, production credits for Willie Nelson and Jesse Malin records, and two published books of poetry. Conjoin all of this work with a volatile public image, un-

predictable stage antics, open drug addiction and, at times, sheer bril-liance as an artist, and maybe it be-comes a bit more reasonable, if not forgivable, for Adams to defy com-mon singer/songwriter categories.

If you are at all famil-iar with Ryan Adams’s work, or even just the media shorthand that surrounds his work, then you’ve no doubt heard the criticism that he is far too prolific. Many people seem to think that if Adams took longer to produce records, was more se-lective of his tunes, and paid more attention to quality than other things (read: his blog) that this would somehow cata-

pult his music into another level of sonic awesomeness. For example, critics often say, “Cold Roses was just okay. But it would have been GREAT had it been one concise al-bum rather than an over-long dou-ble LP.” (Interestingly, The Beat-les received similar criticism about The White Album, which has proven to be only the greatest double al-bum of all time, ever.) Whether you agree that quality is proportional to

Ryan Adams & the CardinalsCardinologyBy Clint Wells

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output or not, the fact is that from 2006-present the quality/quan-tity principle is exactly what Ryan Adams has applied to his career.

With the final lineup of the Car-dinals (Adams’ backing band) more or less in place, and with Adams’s newfound sobriety, things seemed to have gotten more consistent and intentional. The Car-dinals spent all of 2006 touring the world, form-ing one of the most co-hesive bands since, well The Band. 2007 saw the release of Easy Ti-ger, a collection of songs that may not have had the edge of previous re-cords but goes down as smooth as they come. Easy Tiger is thoroughly inoffensive, which would typically offend me, but in this case it is a welcomed change of pace from Mr. Adams and Co. The one flaw of Easy Tiger was that for the first time, for reasons both ob-vious and mysterious, Ryan Adams wasn’t very believable. This remains my only complaint about that re-cord, aside from the fairly harmless criticism that there is not a single bridge to be found in any of the songs and that the watch display-

ing “4:20” on the cover art is lame, even if it was supposed to be ironic.

Cardinology, released in the fall of 2008, while very similar to Easy Tiger in style and execution, is a far superior record, not necessarily be-cause the songs are better, and not because the band performs bet-ter, but simply because it is one of

the most sincere works of Adams’s career. The first single “Fix It” ac-knowledges the hopeless melancholy of sharing in the destruction of love. When Adams sings, “Look what I did to you/look what you did to me/I’d fix it, I’d fix it if I could/and I’d always win”

he is more than believable —he’s downright haunting. Both “Cob-webs” and “Crossed- Out Name” seem to be cast from the same mold, as both depict a romanticized alien-ation that one can only experience in a city as populated and as lonely as New York. The former ends up being more anthemic than the lyrics suggest (“Will you confuse my love for the cobwebs?”) but nonetheless pounds away like a beating heart, while the latter features sparse production and a cracking vocal

The lyrical thread generally seems to be about kindness amidst

tension and disappointment

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performance whispering lines like, “When I close my eyes I feel like a page with a crossed-out name.” By far, the best band moments of the record are, “Go Easy” and “Let Us Down Easy.” Both have uniquely solid rhythm tracks, creamy 70s sounding guitars and breathtaking backup vocals. The lyrical thread generally seems to be about kindness amidst tension and disappoint-ment with “Go Easy” almost embarrassingly personal and “Let Us Down Easy” more cor-porate and altruistic.

The most polarizing track is easily “Magick,” baby brother to “Hallow-een Head” from Easy Tiger. It is a walloping (dare I say, classic?) rock tune that conjures images of vintage radios, zombies, warheads on legs (whatever that means), power-hun-gry clowns, and basic Eastern ideas of karma. This tune seems to be di-rected toward the obligatory rock show stoic (or critic) who stands around with “arms folded/head down,” who needs to be reminded “what goes around comes around.” That or insipid stoners. Aside from the clever correlation between the

karmic cycle and a spinning record, this song is mostly unimportant, but more importantly a shitload of fun. I’ve objectively decided that if you do not like this song then you are a robot: “Let your body move/Let your body sway/Listen to the music play/its Magick” Yes sir, Mr. Adams, I couldn’t agree more.

The slower jams on Cardinology exhibit a lyrical maturity I haven’t seen in previous records. In “Evergreen” Adams seems to be growing out of his bad boy, self de-structive habits when he sings, “You can stop at anytime/maybe find someone to lay some

roots down next to you/ be more like the trees and less like the clouds that keep moving around.” His need for the external is endearing as he sings, “Make me feel whole again/help me undo these chains, my love.” The album closer, “Stop,” is a moving reminder that you also have the power to change your own cir-cumstances. In a blatant reference to his substance abuse Adams sings, “There is a darkness and there is a light/and there is a balance/a choice to be made every night/if you want

Ryan Adams has never

had difficulty conjuring images

of ghosts and phantoms.

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to stop, then stop.” The soothing, Motown-inspired three part har-monies of “Like Yesterday” make the forlorn musings of the past less pressing and more bearable.

The two best songs on this re-cord are “Natural Ghost” and “Sink Ships.” As a seemingly haunted in-dividual, Ryan Adams has never had difficulty conjuring images of ghosts and phantoms. Both tunes feature guitars dripping with reverb, pained and vulnerable vocal performanc-es, and surrealistic images of grey ghosts, transparency, and loss. The bridge to “Sink Ships” is the emo-tional highlight of the entire record as Adams sings, “The war is over and I’m waiting in the sinking ships.”

Wherever you fall on the spec-trum of emotion when it comes to Ryan Adams, few could argue that he isn’t at least interesting, if not totally erratic. Most of his career has been a self-delivered punch line to an inside joke we’ve all been too self-serious to understand (I got it, actually). Ironically, now that we’re learning to relax around Adams, he’s made one of his most sincere and compelling records to date. Cardi-nology is the sound of a balanced, controlled, and healthy artist still struggling with the proverbial rain cloud and ultimately making a home somewhere inside of it. And damn, Sam, I love a record that rains.

Photo Courtesy of 6tee-zeven via flickr.com