Sound Check — Geoff Carter: Destiny certain to carry ‘Heartbreaker’ Adams away

Friday, Sept. 29, 2000 | 10:41 a.m.

Geoff Carter's music column appears Fridays. He can be reached at carter@vegas.com.

I'm going to hate it when Ryan Adams breaks big. While I'll be the first to declare that the Whiskeytown frontman deserves a wider audience for his music, it's still going to be sad to see Adams improve his seats because he won't be sitting with us any more -- smoking beers, making obnoxious cigarettes and swigging commentary in the back row.

Alas, the brat will not be caged. In a perfect world, Adams' solo debut "Heartbreaker" would be a starmaker -- a million-seller to put the former punk musician on "Behind the Music." It's a terrific showcase for Adams' many gifts -- singing, songwriting, sweetness, sarcasm -- and the only thing keeping it from going nova is America's depressing notion of what country music should be.

In a way, Adams tweaks his nose at the cheaters with "Heartbreaker's" opening track -- an argument between Adams and guitarist David Rawlings over where Morrissey's "Suedehead" appears. "It's on 'Viva Hate.' " "No, it's on 'Bona Drag.' " The between-the-lines message is clear: Adams would claim the former Smiths vocalist as an influence, something Tim McGraw would never admit to even if he knew who Morrissey was.

What follows the good-humored dust-up is the finest country record of 2000. (To my ears, Steve Earle's "Transcendental Blues" is more of a folk record, but there's no denying that Adams and Earle are parked at the same truck stop.) Adams' brand of pickin' and grinnin' -- called "alternative country" by critics to differentiate it from the work of Nashville's robotic army -- is as pure an expression of low times as anything Morrissey ever put to vinyl, and perhaps even more so.

Alternative? "Heartbreaker's" classic folk-country elements -- the live, twangy guitars, world-weary homilies ("I ain't never been to Vegas/but I've gambled all my life"), solid-gone hillbilly swing and delicate Hammond organ washes -- recall the benchmark 1970s work of Willie Nelson, Joe Ely, Gram Parsons, Bob Dylan.

Free of the constraints of a band, Adams' talents as a vocalist (his boyish, gravelly tenor is instantly addictive) and songwriter truly bloom. "Come Pick Me Up" plays a harsh dissing of an ex-lover against a sentimental ballad. The rockabilly rave-up "Shakedown on 9th Street" rumbles along like a convoy of flatbeds. And "Why Do They Leave?" is destined to become a lost-love standard, soon to have thousands weeping into their beers.

It doesn't hurt that Adams picked some of the brightest stars in the (real) country world to accompany him, from critically acclaimed singer/songwriter Gilliam Welch to the legendary Emmylou Harris. Generally, when this kind of talent gathers together, it's for one of three reasons: the artist called in some favors, being seen with the artist is a sound career move, or the artist is simply a stellar talent who draws like talents.

Seeing as the earthy Adams has been sitting back here with us the whole time, it seems like the third reason would be the applicable one. And like I said, it's going to be sad to see him go to the head of the class -- but if he didn't, how else is Shania Twain going to learn anything?