Ryan Adams- Easy Tiger

At 32 years of age, Ryan Adams is already one of the more prolific songwriters in the business. With 9 albums under his belt in a meager 7 years, Adams has become one of the most renowned alt-country artists on the planet. Sadly, many of the 9 albums he's released are average at best. In fact, it could be argued that everything since 2001's Gold has been dismal.

The final verdict on Adams' latest isn't clear just yet but Easy Tiger does mark a slight maturation in the ex-Whiskeytown frontman's bibulous twang, with the New York native putting forth crisper, more refined songs than ever before. While this album does contain instances redolent of the Come Pick Me Up era, Easy Tiger sadly suffers from the flaws Adams can't seem to shake from his more recent work.

Easy Tiger kicks off with a rock n' roll bang as dizzying guitar lines introduce Adams on Goodnight Rose. There is a prevailingly positive theme on the album's opener as Adams claims "Don't live your life in such a hurry, life goes by us so so fast. And the sun will come up again and I will be here. If you get scared, just hold my hand". Solid lyrics and a catchy chorus has me hoping Goodnight Rose may serve as this record's New York, New York.

The next song to capture my attention is the all-out rocker Halloweenhead. That's right Halloweenhead; I couldn't believe it was the name of a Ryan Adams song either. The songs preceding it were fairly pleasant yet forgettable tracks and when the guitar comes chugging in seconds into the fourth song, it was clear that this was to be one of the record's standouts. Chugging guitars and dirty rock n roll vocals is most certainly a departure for Adams but he pulls it off with surprising swagger and aplomb. The track is so damn enjoyable that I feel compelled to exclaim "guitar solo!" every time the second chorus comes to a close.

Oh My God, Whatever, Etc. follows Halloweenhead and despite being a mellow acoustic number, doesn't drag the album down and does a nice job in preventing Easy Tiger from losing any steam. The pleasant acoustic guitar-driven track finds a more self-aware Adams claiming "I'm open all night and the customers come to stay/And everybody tips but not enough to knock me over."

Things then take a turn for the worse. Tears of Gold is memorable for all the wrong reasons as the group vocals seem out of place and distracting while The Sun Also Sets has loud, busy choruses for the sake of cacophony.

Thankfully for Adams and his faithful fans, Off Broadway isn't far away and enthralls listeners with haunting vocal harmonies and dynamics that perfectly conjure melancholy. The brevity of the song (2:32) is its only shortcoming as it effectively manages to redeeem what was rapidly becoming a worrying situation.

Adams has clearly grown musically and while progression is to be commended, he happens to be one of the few musicians for whom regression would likely be the wisest artistic move.

Easy Tiger is a documentation of how far Adams has come and where he hopes to be as he clearly dabbles in all of his prior work on this release.

Hints of the more subdued, pensive moments from Gold can be found on Off Broadway and the throwback song-for-a-rainy-day aesthetic from Heartbreaker manifests itself on Oh My God, Whatever, Etc. Unfortunately, the poorer songs' faults outweigh the encouraging signs as far too many tracks take cues from Adams' less interesting releases.

No stranger to heavy criticism, he should get his fair share for Easy Tiger, a generally enjoyable, focused effort from a musician who's finally coming of age. Thing is, it was Adams' inebriated, unfocused ramblings that constituted the essence of his appeal.
5.7/10

Song of the day

Today's song of the day is Ingrid Michaelson's The Way I Am, not to be confounded with the decidedly more abrasive Eminem song of the same name.

Song of the day

The first song of the day in over a week I believe, is Prison Is Private Property by Rocky Votolato.

You Wouldn't Want An Angel Watching You. Surprise, Surprise, They Wouldn't Want To Watch

Here is the first single off Boxer, Mistaken For Strangers.

The National- Boxer

You're pink,
You're young
You're middle-class
They say it doesn't matter
Fifteen blue shirts and womanly hands
You're shooting up the ladder

Marked by the notion that we are aimlessly going through the motions, young adulthood can be downright dreadful. Reaching for the skies when standing on your own two feet should suffice, you work toward goals you had never set out to accomplish. You ogle that corner office, bemoaning it one moment and longing for it the next.

This is all too familiar to The National, who captures these fleeting wants and needs brilliantly on its latest opus Boxer. Boasting brooding orchestral arrangements, the band finally uncovers its sonic niche on this gorgeous ode to the disenchanted work force.

The most immediately distinctive facet of this New York troupe is the vocals. Hints of Lou Reed, Leonard Cohen, and Stuart Staples (of Tindersticks) can be detected within Matt Berninger's timbre as he speaks of blindfolded men being carried through trees with the nonchalance of someone merely describing their day. In Berninger, The National is fronted by one of the most compelling voices in rock music. It just wasn't always on display in the band's previous work. While 2005's Alligator is interesting at times, the occasionally raucous approach did not complement what Berninger brought to the table. And when you've got such a sensational talent at the helm, not taking full advantage is absurd.

The National commits no such blunders on this release. Every song on Boxer is an absolute gem which, while capable of standing on its own, serves as a chapter in one continuous, fluid tale; a bridge from one dissected moment to the next.

The band emerges with richer textures which accompany Berninger's engrossing croon far more adequately this time around. The piano, organ, trombone, trumpet, bassoon, cello, viola, violin, clarinet, flute, and french horn round out the band's arsenal as Boxer takes listeners on a late-night stroll by vacant stores and deserted city streets.

At first glance, this may seem overwhelming but the influx of new instruments perfectly adorns the baritone vocals without ever eclipsing them; Boxer never becomes grandiose nor does it ever transgress its prevailing message, which is one of personal ennui and drab day-to-day routine.

Sometimes you go la di da di da di da da
Until your eyes roll back into your head

On the lyrical plane, Berninger paints a muddled picture of urban despair. Detailing the tedium of professional life while offering the latitude necessary for interpretation, Berninger is either a true poet or a bumbling fool who can't string a coherent thought together. At this point, it has become inconsequential to the journey.

The National's latest effort defies all that "indie" has come to embody. No synthesized blips, no curveballs for the sake of diversity, no token instrumental track, no pretension. Only twelve numbers that come together to form a wistful, cohesive unit. A flawless marriage of orchestral composition and modern rock.

One time you were a glowing young ruffian
Oh my god it was a million years ago

This is growing while having no desire to. This is nostalgia in a 3-piece suit. This is that chasm, that abyss that divides providing for yourself and being provided for. This is leaving those who provided for you. This is their dream come true. This is becoming someone. This is making it. This is loathing the vehicle you drive, the job you've slaved for, the path you chose. This is lack of direction. This is settling down. This is compromise. This is pining for the past. This is regret. This is not teetering over lines but being trapped between them. This is working class prose. This is vague aspirations becoming utmost priorities. This is complacency. This is living your life half awake in a fake empire. This is the whisper of a trumpet amidst a crowd. This is restlessness. This is the life of a professional. This has never sounded so good.
9.1/10