Ryan Adams
Vicar Street, Dublin
★★★☆☆
There have, to use Taylor Swift’s terminology, been several eras of Ryan Adams. The North Carolina-born musician began as a darling of the alt-country music scene with Whiskeytown, before embarking on a successful solo career that exploded with Gold, from 2001. Later, a sorrowful cover of Oasis’s song Wonderwall provided him with indie-rock crossover appeal; he formed a new band, The Cardinals, which imploded and would later go on to record a track-by-track cover of Swift’s album 1989. It’s safe to say that his career has charted an unpredictable course.
Adams has also become known for less than savoury reasons. In 2019 a New York Times report saw several women musicians allege harassment and controlling behaviour, as well as the alleged exchange of graphic texts with an underage girl. In 2020 Adams apologised for “the ways I’ve mistreated people throughout my life and career” but offered no specific response to allegations. As with Arcade Fire’s Win Butler and many others, the age-old conundrum of separating the art from the artist rears its head once more.
Adams, who is now 50, is at Vicar Street for the first of two sold-out gigs celebrating the 25th anniversary of his debut (and, arguably, his best) album, Heartbreaker. He has always had a fractious relationship with his fandom, and following reports of tantrums, walk-offs and bizarre behaviour from the weekend’s gig in Belfast there is a nervy edginess to the crowd. Taking the stage carrying a cane and wearing a three-piece suit, he launches into a loose, bluesy version of Heartbreaker’s sprightly opening track, To Be Young. It’s clear that this is not going to be an ordinary gig.
What follows over the next three hours is certainly unorthodox. Adams seems fragile, to say the least; an array of rambling anecdotes trail off unfinished, he stops some songs abruptly to address members of the crowd, and he repeatedly refers both to his seizure disorder (there is a stern warning about flash photography) and to dying.
Paul Brady in Dublin review: A welcome stroll through master song writer’s rich past
‘You have to be delusional to be successful in anything’ – Bray Jazz Festival star Nubya Garcia
Gavin Friday in Dublin review: Svelte, swooning performer lays bare his life on the stage
Bon Iver: Sable, Fable review – From carefree Supermac’s fan to angsty melancholy and, now, romantic yearning
At one point he references the 2019 controversy, muttering that he’s “terrified of women” and that “they called me a lech”, as well as something about “faked texts”, but later he requests that any “hot Irish girls” in the audience come to his hotel, describing its location and the name his room is booked under.
The audience, who have been entirely respectful throughout, react to the erratic babble with a mixture of puzzlement and nervous laughter. It’s behaviour that Adams may think is endearingly eccentric, but it creates an often unsettling tone and comes across as self-indulgent bordering on narcissistic.
The thing is, when Adams lets the music do the talking he’s often in tremendous form. Winding Wheel, dedicated to his young son, is an early highlight; the soft, sonorous rumble of Amy is another; and he perfectly pitches the delicate ripple of Oh My Sweet Carolina.
Surrounded by an array of lamps, Adams switches between acoustic guitar and upright piano except for when he takes up an electric guitar, backed by two musicians – one of them his “merch guy” – for a ferocious Bartering Lines.
There is a 20-minute interlude where Adams allows the crowd to “go get a beer”, during which he remains on stage, dancing around and twirling his cane.
The second set is filled with cuts from his other albums, as well as a smattering of covers, including Fats Domino’s Ain’t That a Shame, a scuzzy, ramshackle Waiting for My Man and a tentative tribute to Shane MacGowan in the form of a feeble take on Dirty Old Town.
Adams’s own material fares better: the tremulous shimmer of Desire is goosebump-inducing; a Bolero-infused version of Gimme Something Good is delightful; and he song he closes with, Come Pick Me Up, is a huge crowd-pleaser.
Once again, however, the rambling anecdotes are patience-stretching, tipping from quirky into tedious; if Adams was to receive a report card it would probably read: “Ryan is clearly a talented musician, but he needs to apply himself more.”
It’s certainly a gig that nobody will forget anytime soon, but perhaps not for all the right reasons.
