Ryan Adams, LC, 10/25

Ryan Adams used to be a heroine/cocaine/alcohol junkie, and now he’s sober. He has also garnered the reputation of being an arrogant jerk, but it was always hard to know if this was a result of the stimulants or if it was his real personality. The sold-out show at the LC last Thursday only muddied the water.

For the first part of the concert, Adams barely acknowledged the audience, but about halfway through the three-and-a-half-hour set, he angrily started spouting off about someone repeatedly requesting “Come Pick Me Up,” a fan favorite about a failed relationship in which a woman stole a bunch of the singer’s records. “However many beers you have between songs won’t make that song fly out of my ass,” he said. “I appreciate that you’re a hardcore fan, but it’s not gonna (expletive) happen.” There was more, and it was annoying, obnoxious and completely uncalled for, especially since the audience appeared to be mostly respectful. It seemed sobriety had not softened the alt-country rocker.

But then, after the next song (“Wildflowers”), something astounding happened. He apologized. Well, sort of. He apologized for lashing out, but then went on to explain the justification for his outburst. Still, the reasoning made some sense. Ryan Adams isn’t just Ryan Adams anymore. The band is Ryan Adams and the Cardinals--his solo days, he said, are over. Though he still played some older tunes, Adams doesn’t want to be that guy anymore, and it was apparent he really loves his band. The set list included almost all of the band’s most recent (and excellent) album, Easy Tiger, and plenty from Cold Roses and Jacksonville City Nights. The guys have an obvious chemistry onstage, anticipating each note their comrades play.

On the flip side, this zen-like chemistry led to jamming. Lots of jamming. Instrumental breakdowns here and there are fine, but on this night Adams and his Cardinals felt the need to jam a little too much and a little too often. Adams is a brilliant, fecund songwriter, serving up alt-country gems at an inhuman rate with seemingly little effort, and too many musical interludes can ruin the artfully crafted tunes. It’s not that the band can’t play well--Adams is a superb guitarist, as is lead player Neal Casal--it just needs an editor.

Plenty of songs did feel truly inspired. “Two” was one of the best, as was the uptempo rocker “Shakedown on 9th Street.” A more mellow version of “Oh My God, Whatever, Etc.” sounded and looked perfect bathed in the blue lights. “Meadowlake Street,” the first song after a 10-minute smoke break around 11 pm, showcased the band members’ individual strengths, and Adams’ voice just seemed to get stronger as the set went on. To sing that well for that long is something to be admired. “Dear John,” which on Jacksonville City Nights is a boring duet with Norah Jones, sounded the way it should have been recorded, with Casal singing the harmony with more gusto than Jones.

At the request of Adams, the bar was closed during the show, which a doorman said had never happened in the 11 years he’d been there, and I’m sure it made some beer-thirsty folks pretty grumpy to have the singer’s sobriety imposed upon them as well. The doorman also mentioned that Adams required the venue’s employees to leave during soundcheck, which falls into the still-a-jerk category. He wasn’t all serious and pompous, though. Adams dedicated “Rescue Blues” to Albert Einstein, whom he referred to as “Spooky E,” and he also composed a funny impromptu tune advising Mick Jagger not to make another solo record. Actually, I guess that is sort of obnoxious, but the humor factor wins out.

The show began around 8:30 and didn’t end till midnight. I’m pretty sure it was the longest concert I’ve ever attended. Complaints about the length of the show are valid, but only because the jamming was excessive. Factoring that in, there was still about two-and-a-half hours of near-brilliance, and that’s more than you get from most concerts. About half the crowd was still in attendance toward the end, but security loosened up and let most folks filter down to the front, so it felt like a club show as the concert drew to a close.

As he left the stage, Adams, always vacillating between agitator and appeaser, complimented the audience.