Having a lot to say doesn't pay so well in the music world these days. Double albums either have a reputation as career killers or relics from a bygone era of musical pretension. In addition, most artists give themselves at least two years between the releases of new records. Ignoring the standard calendar set by record execs the world over, singer-songwriter Ryan Adams released his third and final album of 2005 in December.
Following the remarkably consistent Cold Roses and Jacksonville City Nights, the expectations surrounding 29 are weighty. It is hard enough for an artist to complete an album's worth of material. Being able to justify writing enough songs to fill three full-length releases is a project few artists would take on.
The songs themselves, however, do offer an insight into the prolific Adams' nature. On the whole, 29 is a considerably more personal affair than either Roses or Jacksonville. The albums' nine songs, in fact, each represent a year from Adams' 20s.
Owing more to the traveling band sound of The Grateful Dead than the country crooners Adams idolizes, the self-titled "29" is a take-no-prisoners run through the struggles of an emerging rock star. The singer muses "I should've died a hundred thousand times/ teetering stoned off the side of buildings" to the sound of a bar room boogie.
While "29" provides a solid initial punch, it is misrepresentative of the album's true character. The understated acoustic guitar and ukulele strums of the waltz-time "Strawberry Wine," on the other hand, define the remainder of 29, a bare-bones collection of the melancholy.
In "Blue Sky Blues" this sentimentality pushes the listener overboard. If Adams' emotionally wrenching vocals and solo piano aren't enough, a tried-and-true orchestra arrangement renders this tune less affecting and just plain sappy. The feeble longings of Adams' hopeless romanticism render "Starlite Diner" the same unfortunate fate.
Among these failed attempts, "The Sadness" is a unique moment on 29. The spaghetti western guitars and Spanish flamenco drumming cut through the monotony of Adam's downer lyrics, presenting them as something akin to a bullfighter's heroic last words.
Apart from the album's title track, the mid-tempo folk on "Elizabeth, You Were Born to Play That Part" is an obvious musical highlight. Opening as a solo piano ballad, the song eventually emerges from its minimalist cocoon into a beautiful collage of circular acoustic and electric guitar lines.
All things considered, 29 is a fine effort from an artist who has had quite a year. While 29 is the only of his recent trio of releases that screams out for quality control, the album makes a number of excellent additions to Adams' songbook. Not every record label would be supportive of such ambition. Lost Highway's accommodating nature towards Ryan Adams' ever-active muse, however, speaks volumes to his talent as a songwriter.