Pitchfork Interviews Ryan Adams

[DudeAsInCool]

Interview by Amanda Petrusich

Ryan Adams' sprawling public persona is its own kind of self-aggravating prophecy: incessant public squabbling (see spats with Jack White, Jeff Tweedy, Paul Westerberg), shrill admonishments deposited in critics' voicemail boxes (then promptly leaked online), and increasingly unpredictable live shows have cast Adams as rock's newest, and oldest, firecracker. Subsequently, trying to decipher Adams' intentions is almost impossible; given the stylistic scope of his discography and the shiftiness of his recorded work, which ranges from haunted and sincere to absurdly bombastic, Adams is a bafflingly spastic public figure.

In November, I wrote a review of Adams' latest full-length, Rock N Roll, calling the record "overblown," "humiliating," and "ridiculous." In January, Pitchfork's Hartley Goldstein deemed the Love Is Hell EPs "maudlin," christening Adams "diet Chris Martin." In early March, newswriters Micah Harding and Ashford Tucker reported on Adams' new label Paxamerican, suggesting that Adams has finally been "run ragged by utter failures."

Last week, Adams' manager contacted me to request an interview on her client's behalf. I said okay. It turns out he talks really fast.

Pitchfork: Ryan, I was a little surprised that you wanted to talk to me.

Ryan: Me fucking too! I'll tell you how I came across Pitchfork. A friend of mine, a writer, came over, and we were having lunch. And he was like, "You know, I read this really funny review. You know this site?" And I was like, "No, is it cool?" And he was like, "No, it's not very cool. It's not very cool at all." And I was like, "Awesome." So I went and I read your review, and I read everything. And I was thinking, these guys fucking hate my guts! Some of the stuff was so mean that I was laughing out loud. Because it was just really super awesome. The kind of conversations I used to have in school. You know, "Did you getDaydream Nation?" "Yeah! John Cougar Mellencamp sucks!"

Pitchfork: Are you comparing yourself to John Cougar Mellencamp?

Ryan: No. But that would be funny, too. I don't know, it was pretty brutal. And I was like, maybe I should just call and then they'll know I'm a real human being.

Pitchfork: It's not that we don't know that. I mean, Pitchfork is...

Ryan: No, since I read the thing-- there are records on there that I didn't know were out, and it's a good resource. And I have an idea of what Pitchfork thinks. There's a vibe. It's very indie, it's totally supporting underground stuff which is good. It's just that some of it was so incredibly brutal that I thought: I have to talk to her. I mean, I'm not really even doing interviews now!

Pitchfork: We have a lot of freedom to be honest. Sometimes obnoxiously honest.

Ryan: By all means! I think that this is the venue to be obnoxious in. Rock records. It's the main source of inspiration for people-- fans, or musicians, or both-- to act out in ways that they wouldn't normally act out. Especially rock critics. Ultimately, records don't really hurt anybody, and neither do reviews.

Pitchfork: But do you think it was unfair, what was said?

Ryan: No. I mean, I'm pretty aware of the cool/uncool status thing, and that it bends a little bit, and changes shape. And I'm definitely in the market for being uncool. There was some funny stuff, like the thing about making sure I show people that I have tattoos and cigarettes so that they know I'm badass. But really, I do have tattoos! And I do smoke cigarettes sometimes, and I can't change that. But I am not badass, by any means. I do some stuff that's tongue-in-cheek, and some stuff that's on the line. And it could be funny, it could be serious, and I never even know myself, because it could be funny that day, and the next day it's totally embarrassing.

Pitchfork: Yeah, but...

Ryan: I know that it isn't the cool thing, if I was... I mean, I am super into records. Today I got the first Pussy Galore record for $50 from Final Vinyl, which I've been looking for for so fucking long. So I get cool records. But if I wasn't me, I probably wouldn't be like, "Dude, you have to check out this record, Gold, it kicks ass." But then again, if I write songs like that, I think I better put them on a record. I would be full of shit if I were to just do insane art-rock. That just wouldn't be me.

Pitchfork: Yeah, but your records are still so different from each other. Is there any point where you say, this is what I sound like, and this is me just fucking around?

Ryan: But that's the thing. Definitely there are times when I want to be plainspoken about my feelings in a song. But there are other times when it's really good to try and get my head around different kinds of song structures, or maybe I might get turned on by trying to write a song that would fit in this one scene in a movie. And by the end of all this, you just end up with a bunch of different ideas. And songs are really just ideas. Putting little ideas into motion and giving them a little bit of spit and polish and maybe a little bit of heart if you're lucky. But that's the good thing about playing the guitar: You can take on different kinds of music. I'm always doing something different from the last thing I did because I have the shortest attention span on earth.

Pitchfork: Do you understand how that might be difficult for your fans, and for critics? Like, [Whiskeytown's] Stranger's Almanac or Heartbreaker-- those are sincere, graceful records. And they became meaningful to people. And then you gave those people something so different.

Ryan: I don't know. I mean, I've had a pretty good run. When I play live shows, it seems like people are excited about the new stuff. I would imagine at this point that people are geared up to think, "I don't know what the fuck this guy is going to do." But then again, I don't know. When I played Rock N Roll, I was expecting people to not want to hear it at all. But it seemed like people were most eager about those songs. I don't really try to think about it. If I thought about what I had already done, with Heartbreaker and Whiskeytown being the foundation of a house, and I'm building the house, I'm building the roof. But that's scary because then you have to think, well, pretty soon I'm finished. The project is finished.

And I like the idea of it just being records and songs, just voicing the most immediate thing that you're on about. That way it's fresh to me and fresh to other people. Heartbreaker was a certain place at a certain time, and I certainly couldn't emulate it now. And the same can be said for Whiskeytown, or Gold, or even Rock N Roll. I don't think I could make a record like that again. That's what felt really interesting to do at that moment. When I'm hearing songs back, I listen and want to know if it's making me excited, if it's something I want to listen to. Which isn't always good, but second-guessing is the worst thing, because that, ultimately, can really ruin a good idea.

Most of my songs are pretty sketchy. There's not a lot of bass sections. I don't write big bridges. Sometimes I'll try. But it's hard for me to focus that way, because I always think it's more interesting to just see what will happen next. The process of making music is more interesting to me than the end result. If I was a cook, I'd be more interested in cooking food than eating food. Or in tennis, it's like tennis is really fun, and you can win the match. But that's it, and then you're done. I mean, I don't have anything else to do!

Pitchfork: What are you doing now, since you've broken your arm?

Ryan: I haven't really been able to do much of anything. Part of the problem is that they screwed these things into the bone of my arm, and then they took one and screwed it into the bone of my hand. And then they connected this metal rod on the outside of my arm, and it's tightened so it pulls the ligaments and muscles to a degree where they can't be moved. And then they shot, with, no shit, a compression gun-- they shot two bolts into my wrist to try to stabilize it. For the first week, I couldn't do anything. They gave me painkillers, but it was so overwhelming. I probably slept about two hours a night if I could. For the first month, there wasn't a lot I could do. Television noise would make me nauseous. It was just really brutal. Now, I get the metal out on Monday and I have to start a month and a half of physical therapy where I have to re-learn how to use my fingers and my wrist.

Pitchfork: Do you ever think about not being able to play guitar again?

Ryan: Every day since it happened. Actually, that was the only thing I really took offense to, or thought was unfair. That story about my record label. Micah and somebody else, saying I couldn't masturbate anymore. I just thought that was bad in general, even if you don't like my records. It was a terrible accident. You shouldn't play with karma like that. That was really terrible.

itchfork: Alright, that was a little nasty. But I'm curious about the public persona of Ryan Adams, because there's an element to you, and I don't know if it's performance art, or just being ridiculous, or that you're perpetually getting caught on an off night. But bickering with other musicians, and storming off stage, and all that shit, just being silly-- do you think that might give writers a free pass to respond to you in a way that they feel is equally ridiculous?

Ryan: Well, I haven't really stormed off stage in a long time. If anything, I don't leave the stage soon enough. I stay on too long. No shit, really-- if it's a really good show you get a good buzz on, and it's been two hours, you're like, "Fuck it, let's play the new stuff!" Then you think, uh, maybe we should stop now. But disagreeing with other people-- to me, that is a normal fucking thing to do at your job. I've had tons of other jobs, and I've always bitched about people. It's my job, it's my gig, and some shit could be wrong.

But I'm never argumentative for the sake of being argumentative, I don't think. And more than ever, I've had to be willing to fight just to get records released, or just to be able to walk away with a little bit of self-respect and pride. Because this can be a pretty humiliating gig. It can be pretty bad. As good as it can be, I get to play music and tour and make records, but all these things come out of nowhere and take your original idea and steer it in wrong directions. And especially dealing with big corporations. Or being in a venue where you can't control the circumstances. And I know how it comes off, people go, "He is such a hothead, he is such an unbelievable dickhead, and oh my god!"

Pitchfork: Well, there's that voicemail you left for Jim DeRogatis...

Ryan: That was totally my fault, for giving it power. But I've been going to Chicago for a long time, and doing what I think are really good shows. And no matter how good or how mellow or how little I would sing or how engaging I was, I was always getting these really fucked up next-day-in-the-newspaper vibes from that guy. And I think that my point was-- and I stretched it too long, but it was my phone call to him, it wasn't my phone call to the world, and I think it was pretty classless to take that message and put it everywhere. Because he already had that chance. He wrote an article about me, without allowing any form of defense.

I think I was trying to say that these are sold out shows. I'm not the cool thing, and I'm not going to be the cool thing for a really long time, and it isn't like I'm not the cool thing and I sell 3,000,000 records every time. I'm not the cool thing, and I barely sell 150,000 records, if that, ever. So I'm obviously working really hard to sustain myself. I'm actually a target to be dropped, because that's just not enough records for a big company. But as far as my live shows, I was like, you don't like it, you've been a couple of times, you don't like me, so why go the third or fourth time? Why not give that ticket to some kid that does like it?

Pitchfork: I thought some of the things in DeRogatis' review were a little curious. He called "Do Miss America" misogynistic, but...

Ryan: I think "Do Miss America" is retarded. I think it's really fucking funny and retarded. And I just don't understand anyone thinking it should be serious. The whole record, Rock N Roll, is funny as shit. I thought it could be a wild, fun knockoff to late-80s/early-90s alt-rock. I fucking love those records, and I love to play like that. And I was thinking, I need a record which isn't so fucking self-serious. Being a rock musician is already like ego-tripping hardcore. You're self-consumed, and you're always thinking. It's really easy to say, "I'm going to write a song about this situation, and when I'm done, everyone will care." To everybody else, that's ego-tripping. And I was tired of it.

I thought it would be really nice to make a record that would be super-fun to play live-- a record that would be funny, with a little bit of heart. Obviously, I'm not confessing my sins, or revolutionizing modern rock. I'm not expecting that from myself. I don't really think I have the responsibility to make any landmark statement, I'm just trying to be myself. And fuck, that's hard enough. I get shit for being a hothead, or for being overzealous, or for being a bigmouth. But I'm not editing, I'm not being pretentious and saying, "I'll watch my mouth here, and then they'll think I'm cool." It's hard enough just to say, "This is what I'm like." But that isn't going to be interesting to any news forum. You know: Ryan Adams Gets Up and Says Something Nice! Ryan Adams Makes Cup of Ginger Tea! Billy Corgan Spends Afternoon Writing 'Thank You' Notes!

Being a human being is lost. For 120 shows, the one that goes bad is the one that people will talk about. And I got good advice from people when I was first coming around-- that it was hard, don't hang on to it too much. It's a weird job, too, 'cause it's the kind where your feelings can really get super hurt. When I was a plumber, I didn't get shit from anybody if the toilet didn't work. We just went back and fixed it. Bullshit was already implied in that job. This is a different gig.

Pitchfork: But like you said earlier, rock writing is really the exact same kind of exhibitionism. I mean, we're not cool. I'm not cool. I listen to the Grateful Dead.

Ryan: I fucking love the Dead! Jesse Malin got me for a coupon for a Steal Your Face tattoo for my birthday. 'Cause, you know, I want to be badass. [Laughs] There are a lot of things expected and not expected. I mean, back in the day, Jim Morrison fucking going crazy in Florida and maybe or maybe not pulling his penis out, or attacking a police officer-- all this unbelievably decadent shit. That was news. Now it's "singer/songwriter can be slightly hotheaded." I'm not trying to hurt anybody.

Pitchfork: And I wouldn't say we're trying to do that, either.

Ryan: No, I don't think you are, either, and I'm really not coming at this from a defensive standpoint. I just wanted to put a human being on the other end of the phone. And I'm not saying anybody has to like my records. I don't know. But Micah, and who was the other guy? They need to be careful if they're ice-skating anytime soon. Karma. Karma! I mean, of course it should be open for people to talk about whether music is up to standard, or good. I really don't like Sting's new music very much, but he has a total right to make records. I wouldn't call him up and say, "You gotta stop making records, man, you suck!"

I think it's fair to be open about it. I'm a fighter, too. It's not been easy. I've definitely gotten breaks that other people haven't gotten because I'm making records, but it's been as much of a fight as anybody. And trying to break into people's heads to put these fucking records out. There are a couple of records that still aren't out, from before and after Gold, that I think would have told a different story. It's not always easy.

Pitchfork: Was it hard, then, to hear that Love is Hell was being shelved?

Ryan: That was a weird time for me in general. There were a lot of things getting shifted around. And at the time, the record that I made was so totally different. Not just for me, but for everything that was going on. Which to me was good. [Pause] I was probably crushed, more that ever, but that was only because I really, really liked it. At the time, I was like, "I really fucking like this. This is something, it fits my mood, I've gone to new places." But good stuff happened out of it. I got to make another record on top of it, and get that one out. And fine, some people really don't like Rock N Roll, but it was fun as fuck.

Pitchfork: You recorded that on Avenue A, near Hi-Fi?

Ryan: Yeah, we would just go down there and write songs everyday. Just go down there and bash them out and have fun. If people think the ones on the record are stupid, they should hear those-- some of them don't even make any sense at all. But that's funny, it's good to come out of the fog and see what's good. Hey, did you get the Winterland DVD box set?

Pitchfork: Not yet.

Ryan: Aww, you gotta get it. It's so fucking good. It's that whole era, the first real introduction of the band. It's really slow, but it's pretty fucking amazing, and it's pretty long, and the audio is kickass.

Pitchfork: Sometimes I stare at it in record stores.

Ryan: You can get it from channel 13, through PBS. And all the money goes to keeping the station on the air. It's kind of expensive, but it's worth it. They also have this super badass Mister Rogers documentary.

Pitchfork: I suppose I should do more shopping through PBS.

Ryan: Yeah! Listen, I'm gonna go make some food now, but it was nice talking to you.

Pitchfork: Right. I appreciate it.

Ryan: Well, I figured, why not call these people? At first I was like, I'm throwing myself to the dogs! But you know...take care.