The Wake

Somehow, I have nearly all of Ryan Adams’ albums. And while this is an embarrassing admittance, I feel the accumulation has been strangely necessary. Perhaps I continue to lend my ears in hopes that Adams will escape his status as alt-country’s biggest tool. After all, his infamy is best attributed to hurried, expendable albums (three in 2005 alone) rather than spontaneous masterpieces.

Therefore, it was easy to get excited about 29, Adams’ latest on the Lost Highway label. Each song on the nine-track narrative is meant to represent a year in the 31-year-old Adams’ t20s, hinting at sincerity. He also re-teamed with Ethan Johns, producer of 2000’s Heartbreaker, the solo debut that established Adams’ initial potential.

Unfortunately, 29 produces wildly unsatisfying results in its sameness and lack of attitude. Adams ditches the full-band sound and, conclusively, the cocky laments of hillbilly rebellion. Gone are the fast-driving guitars, replaced by slow-burning piano ballads hard to distinguish from one another.

The repetitive content is equally frustrating. For an album meant to chronicle an era of realization and change, Adams just keeps pining for “the one that got away.” Oh, and it’s always raining and he’s always drunk.

29’s only standout is “The Sadness,” a gritty, Western-like tune with Adams making like a lone, loveless gunslinger. Sure, the histrionics are hilarious, but it suffices as one of the few original aspects to the album, alongside Adams thanking Jay-Z in his liner notes.

The rest is forgettable. Adams has simply become a caricature, just another sad bastard wailing the blues around closing time. Sooner or later, everyone may just call it a night and stop listening.