This is a mad wide world. All sorts of people, of allsorts of mindsets, with a chock-full knapsack of assorted motivations, tools and extroversions, are just beyond the ends of our fingertips. Achieving, sacrificing, progressing, being damn ridiculous, thinking outside the box. Take one girl, or this boy, or that one, or perhaps this fine example of ambitious delusion. And then there are those that step back, sink into their furrow and plough forwards on their knees. But then Ryan Adams’ current frame of mind borders an altogether more yellowed, antique picture. Which is perhaps why we see this frantic (or as frantic as it can be) burst of prolificacy. To do bijou 180 degree explorations of your near influences until you are comfortable can continue ad infinitum.
And thus we get three lengthy albums (one a double) in 12 month brackets from Adams and associates, that don’t seek a path anywhere rather than bed down. On edition 2/3 we get no curious skim searches of genres, which is a surely a comforting plus. These compositions are unrelentingly closed communities, where the careful detail is treasured. A subsequent minus is the instant familiarity, but the heightened satisfaction and easily roused crescendos that being a learned member of this club naturally summons is a welcome response to that. Take the way ‘The End’ fades up the passion to a bright peak.
There are some very beautiful moments here, the elegant course plotted by a falling feather, softly lit, on Norah Jones duet ‘Dear John’ being the most pleasant surprise. There is some typical, trotting country heartbreak running loose on ‘The Hardest Part’, ‘Trains’ and ‘My Heart Is Broken’. Some maudlin loneliness on ‘Silver Bullets’ and ‘September’. And a spot of loyal homage in the key of minor-regrets on a weepy cover of ‘You Were Always On My Mind’. The fact is that this is very much standing still, but then sometimes you have to, to find out where you are. This year we can focus on exactly that. It’s not thrilling but it’s nice to get the grid reference.