Review: Ryan Adams, Glasgow O2 Academy, 25/06/11

Ryan Adams isn't exactly known for his gracious, crowd-pleasing hospitality. Famous among casual music lovers for refusing to continue playing until the heckler at one of his shows who hilariously shouted for 'Summer of 69' was removed from the premises, and more recently prone, in his gigs with the Cardinals, to eschewing his more famous material in favour of bouts of self-indulgence, Adams has a tendency to be a bit of a difficult bugger, cantankerously refusing to play the game and irritating a significant proportion of his audience as a result. 

It's perhaps something of a surprise, then, that tonight, at one of the final shows of his once-in-a-bloody-blue-moon acoustic tour, he seems hellbent on pleasing every last soul in the jam-packed building, slowly, cautiously unravelling a set peppered with cuts from his most successful LP, 2001's glorious 'Gold', alongside the very best moments from his other records. He is unquestionably nervous, appearing  restless as he shuffles onto the intimately arranged stage, swathed in flattering blue, uncomfortably fumbling with his well-tuned guitar and cursing the less responsive monitors, which, as he jokingly remarks, 'were out late last night and aren't feeling so good.' He is quite clearly perturbed by this for the first few tracks, but he needn't be.

 'Oh My Sweet Carolina' is the perfect opener, easing us all into the heady mix of melancholia, heartbreak and, occasionally, celebration (yes, it does happen, despite the singer's self-effacing claim that he 'wishes [he'd] written some happier songs') that is to follow, Adams's voice fluctuating between gorgeously cracked and soaringly powerful throughout. The track may not be as polished as he'd like it to be, but therein lies its genius. The cracks give the song its weight, its emotional gravitas, and the two minute applause at its end speaks volumes.

Adams is more satisfied, however, when the monitors begin behaving themselves and things go according to plan. He cracks jokes, self-deprecatingly apologizing for his apparent lack of fashion sense, telling us all that he had intended having a style war with support act Jesse Malin but that he quickly realized he couldn't compete as his wardrobe consists of seven of the same shirt. He's also keen to point out that the moshpit is about to break out any second, a playful way of commenting on the O2 Academy's all-seated set-up this evening, but serving instead to remind us of the muted nature of his material which, let's face it, just isn't suited to moshpits and punching people in the face. This is music to quietly appreciate, to chinstoke to, and therein lies its beauty.

Indeed, the audience barely even sings the material, not because they don't know it (judging by the whoops and wolf-whistles that greet each track, they most definitely do) but because to do so would detract from our appreciation of 'the moment'. It's deference that prompts the virtual silence during 'My Winding Wheel' and, indeed, the piano version of 'New York, New York' (now that really IS once in a blue moon), the crowd soaking it all up rather than losing themselves in the moment. When things get a little louder, such as on a majestic 'Firecracker' (oh, those harmonica parts shoot straight through you) and a rollicking 'Let It Ride', their voices are raised in unison, but for the most part, Glasgow takes a step back and lets Adams shine, allowing him to have his two and a half hours in the spotlight. 

And yes, folks, you read that right. Tonight, Adams just doesn't stop, boldly defying the Academy's strict  curfew and playing on until an ungodly 11.45pm, despite the house lights turning on after a particularly brutal 'Come Pick Me Up' - preceded by an incredible 'Sylvia Plath', giving everyone goosepimples on their arms and a gigantic lump in their throats - and half the audience nearly disappearing into the night. Seemingly having the time of his life, Adams saunters back onto the stage, thanking everyone for their patience and for sticking around (as if we wouldn't!) and proceeds to launch into what can only be described as a phenomenal encore, tearing through 'English Girls Approximately', 'Jacksonville', 'September' and, yes, a bloody brilliant 'Dear Chicago', despite his protestations to the contrary. However, it's tonight's closer that really gives the evening its edge, that extra special something to mark it out as one for the ages. 

Having misheard a heckler's request as the nonsensical 'Goodnight Bob', Adams proceeds to
write a song around the refrain,  starting out as a jokey thirty seconds centered around a Metallica-esque riff but soon turning into something far more tangible. The joke turns into a fully-fledged song, Adams bottling lightning before our very eyes, improvising every step of the way and comfortably, effortlessly proving his genius. Astutely, Adams declares himself satisfied at song's end and quite clearly, the awestruck crowd agrees with him, unleashing round after round after round of appreciative applause, bums rising out of seats and delivering one of the most deserving standing ovations this writer has ever seen.
It's the kind of magical moment gigs were made for and, brilliantly, something no one else is ever likely to experience.

If you were to walk into tonight's show without any prior knowledge of the floppy-maned troubadour onstage, you'd probably think he was one of the most crowd-pleasing SOBs in the 'alt country' (whatever the hell that is) genre. With razor-sharp wit, a penchant for self-deprecation and a set that showcases every last one of his finest moments, and qualities, Adams has his audience eating out of the palm of his hand. It's almost unfathomable to think that this is the same guy whose sets with his band could be deliberately difficult, or who used to be prone to deliberately omitting his more well loved material. Thank the Lord, then, that tonight, Ryan gives as good as he ever has, harnessing all of his talents to deliver something utterly amazing. If you were lucky enough to be at this show, you'll never forget it and if you weren't, you'll be kicking yourself until the end of your days. A truly magical evening.