Ryan Adams, the 33-year-old alt-country punk rocker, has come a long way in the last two years. Completely sober since the spring of 2006 and aging gracefully with perhaps one of the tightest jam bands in the game (the Cardinals), Adams has replaced his notorious on-stage volatility with a welcomed seriousness and a more pointed workman-like attitude. This is all coming from the man who a little over a year ago hunted down an audience member who requested Bryan Adams' "Summer of '69" during a show at Nashville's famed Ryman Theater, and then proceeded to pay the ignorant fan $30 for his ticket. Adams only returned to the stage after the fan was escorted out of the building. Needless to say, on Sunday night Ryan Adams and the Cardinals comfortably worked their way in and out of a 27-song set at the Bank of America Pavilion. Calling the audience beautiful and actually having fun, Adams was very talkative in between songs, allowing his cynical, self-deprecating swagger to lighten up the mood created by his often somber compositions.
With the Cardinals now a well-oiled machine, Adams has often removed his name from marquees. He even attempted to release 2007's Easy Tiger under just the Cardinals moniker, but was shot down by his record label, Lost Highway. While the Adams name is the selling point, the Cardinals act as a grounding force by injecting a breath of consistency into Adams' overly extensive and sometimes aimless catalogue. A majority of the highlights from Sunday's performance were plucked from albums released since 2005's Cold Roses, the Cardinals debut effort with Adams. The transcendent dip into Dead-like syncopation on "Magnolia Mountain," the lounge-country shuffle of "Easy Plateau" (both are from Cold Roses), or the rustic four-part harmonies and retrained guitar-spikes on Jacksonville City Nights' "Peaceful Valley" all came across not as a singular effort by Adams, but rather a testament to the band's teamwork. Often evoking comparisons to the Grateful Dead, at the core of the Cardinals' sound is the guitar-strife between Neal Casal, who sits gracefully on the peripheries, relying on the spirit of Jerry Garcia to roll off of his fingers, and Adams (an accomplished guitarist in his own right) with his fatter, far-more-arrogant Neil Young-like attacks. Completed by robust four-part harmonies and lingering pedal steel cries, the Cardinals breathe nicely in the live setting.
In a toast to the guys in Oasis (the Cardinals just completed a short tour in support of Oasis), Adams even dusted off his version of "Wonderwall." Adams performs the tribute on his own terms, which rises much slower than listeners may be used to, but explodes with just as much urgency as the Oasis staple. Even Noel Gallagher, perhaps the toughest figure to please in music, has given his stamp of approval.
After navigating through "I See Monsters," which could easily be Adams' attempt to write his own Oasis song, Adams and the Cardinals left the stage. When the house lights confirmed that there would be no encore, no one in the audience seemed to care - Adams proved that he did not need one. B+
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