Concert Review: Ryan Adams and the Cardinals at the Uptown
Scott Spychalski Click on photo for slide show.
Much like the band's frontman, Ryan Adams, himself, Friday night's sold-out Cardinals show at the Uptown was short, dark and depressing.
I'm tempted to make this post merely a photographic supplement to the hilarious and vitriolic review my Star counterpart Tim Finn filed early Saturday morning, which has garnered an amazing 61 comments as of this writing. Well done, Tim.
From what I've heard, Adams makes few live appearances at which he does not behave in some way that is frustrating to his audience. This was the second time I've seen him. Late 2007 at the Uptown was the first, and my only complaint was that he jabbered too much between songs, but he played for a good three hours and allowed actual concert lighting to be employed, unlike Friday's show, which was ridiculously poorly lit. (But then again, I heard that on that same '07 tour, in some other town, he'd stormed off the stage after 40 minutes. Just one of many famous Ryan-Adams-is-a-douche-live stories I've heard.) The dude is so neurotic and self-loathing that he is almost incapable of putting on a drama-free performance. He probably does need a nice, long break from music, at least from playing live. Because if you've got a great backing band, an awesome original song catalog, a beautiful venue full to capacity of people who have paid 42 bucks a ticket to see you, why the fuck do you have to go and spoil it?
At 8:45, when the band came on to the dopey strains of Paula Abdul's "Opposites Attract," chosen, no doubt, for irono-absurd effect, I should've known there'd be trouble. But when the show ended just past 10, after the band had played only 15 songs (and, in the middle, taken a stupid and confusing 10-minute intermission) and given no encore, and the lights came up and the fucking Doobie Brothers song "What A Fool Believes" began playing through the fucking PA, I nonetheless found myself struggling to grasp how disrespectful and disappointing the whole thing was.
I turned around to see how the women behind me were reacting to this staggering slight. During the show, one of these girls had repeatedly and drunkenly shouted out demands for the lights to be brought up so she could see HRH Adams' pretty face. Instead of a picture of outrage, what I saw was a content-looking lady sitting there calmly, singing along with the Doobs. Minutes later, in line at the men's room, I made the mistake of voicing my disappointment to the guy next to me. "That was disappointing," I said. "Yeah?" the guy intoned in a drawly accent, sounding surprised. "I thought it was good -- short. Short but good." This fellow and I then proceeded to the next available urinals, which happened to be right next to each other. As we were relieving ourselves, the man began shouting. "Oh God! Not a kidney stone! Not now!" He was not actually passing a kidney stone. He, like the woman behind me who was upset by the lowness of the lightning but had no problem with the fact that instead of an encore we got Michael McDonald's hooty falsetto piped at us -- and like anyone else who went that night and was not at least a little bummed out by the show -- was 100 percent INSANE. And apparently, what Ryan Adams has learned, is that when your fans are all insane, you can do whatever you want.
This would include stopping after the fifth song and announcing "It's time for the evening joke with Jon Graboff" and having your pedal steel player get up and tell an intentionally bad joke, which you then chat about with your band mates for five more minutes while you tune one of the two dozen or so guitars that you need for this barely hourlong performance. It also includes hanging a gong behind the drum set and setting up a piano to one side of the stage and not using either of them. And it especially includes having animated conversations with people in the wings, presumably your roadies, anytime you're not singing.
I love Ryan Adams' music, I do. And that's why it's heartbreaking to see the artist himself disrespect his own work so much. Probably the greatest act of sacrilege at this show was when Adams chose to play his brilliant, gorgeous hit "Come Pick Me Up" only seven songs in. Normally, fans would come expecting to hear that -- maybe, if they were lucky -- in the encore, right? So, people are jumping out of their seats and cheering and swaying and singing along. Meanwhile, up on stage, instead of putting any feeling or soul into the performance, Adams is just standing there in the shadows, phoning in his vocals while fiddling with the tuning pegs of his guitar and looking down at his tuning pedal. Asshole.
Despite Adams' best efforts, there were still some good moments. The Cardinals are such a good band, and Adams is a fine singer; when they do settle into a song for real, they can't help but be shimmering, harmonious and pristine. This happened during the opener, an arresting, Crazy Horse-like electric version of "I See Monsters" from Love Is Hell, and also during "Stars Go Blue" and "Rescue Blues," both from Gold. The rest of the set was heavy on Cold Roses and Cardinology, the first and most recent Cardinals albums, respectively, with a few from Easy Tiger. Many of those songs were expanded to allow for Allman Bros.-like noodly jams.
I don't know, man. If this is Ryan Adams last tour, ever, he certainly didn't leave us with a good taste in his mouth. It probably won't be. The guy's a songwriting genius, and I'd bet my life savings (all thirty dollars of it) he goes on making music. And I'll continue to follow his recording career with interest and quite possibly adulation. As for going to see him live again ... only if he promises to turn on the lights and behave like an adult.
Set List
I See Monsters
Everybody Knows
Fix It
Let It Ride
Two
(evening joke with Jon Graboff)
When the Stars Go Blue
Come Pick Me Up
Born into a Light
(intermission)
Wonderwall
Into the Canyon
Mockingbirdsing
Goodnight Rose
Oh My God Whatever Etc
Peaceful Valley
Bartering Lines
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