Clarity (unfiltered)

A day later and I am still looking for the words to describe Ryan Adams’ show at Barbican Monday night. It’s still coming together in my head, but I’ll give it a go at describing the bliss:

From the moment Ryan Adams walked out on stage and forgot his music book, to the cape-enshrouded death metal farewell song, he held the audience in the palm of his hand. Oh My Sweet Carolina, Rescue Blues, Let It Ride, Stop…every moment was pitch perfect from whisper to roof-raising riff. To me, the night felt like a man looking back at his life in retrospect, playing over the things he once said and did, but not with regret, with peace. And most importantly, with hope for a brighter future. 

This is how I am describing the night to others — If you are into any kind of creative endeavor, whether painting drawing, writing, music, what have you, you will get this — Have you ever made art, then put it away for a year or two, or even longer? Then one day, you’re digging through your closet and find a photo, a tape, a painting, old journals. You look it over and realize, “Damn, this is an amazing piece of art.” Whatever you thought about it at the time of making it is irrelevant. It is still personal in some sense, but you are removed from the intensity of the emotion of the moment, and can see it as a valuable object that others can connect with. 

That was what Ryan was doing, flipping through his songbook and pulling out gems. But it wasn’t just a musician going through the motions, playing the songs the way they used to be played back in the day, just to make some money and walk away. It was completely thoughtful. It was as if he had taken each one of those pieces, lovingly brushed them off, shined them up and lifted them to the light so others could have a look. 

In the midst of the nostalgia, the new songs were a bridge from past to future. I saw a man who is making or has made peace with his past, and is moving into warmer waters. During the song everyone is calling Invisible Riverside, I actually teared up. I am not normally one to cry, but there is something in me that resounds when I see people moving from darkness to light. As someone else remarked: “As I left the gig, slightly baffled by how deeply happy I was at witnessing the rehabilitation of someone I haven’t ever met, and with whom I have no real personal connection other than through his music, I heard another audience member say to their date: ‘It was just so great to see him happy, you know?’ Yeah, I thought. It really was.”

This might sound bizarre, but last night was “old Ryan,” only completely new. To put it another way, the old spark for the music, the old voice (albeit even better sans cigarette smoke), the old harmonica, the old wit, it was all there, but without the junk clouding everything. He was spot on, funny, balanced, the best version of himself. He was even calm when things got a little sideways during the encore when a few people decided to call out song suggestions. The man was beyond gracious. A fan even told all the yelling fans to “f**k off,” leading Ryan to comment that ‘Old Me’ had shown up and was sitting in the audience. It was Ryan Adams receiving the respect he has always felt he was entitled to. And he deserved it.

My ticket was £33, but I feel like I got about £1000 worth. I’m always hesitant to say such things, but it was one of the best shows I have ever seen.

Set List

To Be Young

Oh My Sweet Carolina

Damn, Sam

Everybody Knows

If I am a Stranger

Firecracker 

Winding Wheel

Invisible Riverside (new)

New York, New York

Ashes and Fire (new)

Let It Ride

Desire

Rescue Blues

English Girls, Approximately

Blue Hotel

Amy

Encore

16 Days

Two

This House Is Not for Sale

Stop