August 10th, 2007 -- 1:57am
EASY, TIGER by RYAN ADAMS

No one makes me think so hard about whether or not I like their stuff as Ryan Adams does. I compare him to two things: A girlfriend and a bottle of gin. I'll start with the booze, and work my way to the girl. (appropriate, right?)

The first time I had gin was at a party my friend Joel, who shall remain nameless, was throwing at his mother's house while she was out of town. It was there, and it seemed like a classy thing to do. So I mixed my own Tanqueray and tonic (T n' T as the cool kids call it) and grew more confused with each sip. Did I mix this right? Is it supposed to taste like trees? Is this "not for me"? But I kept drinking, thinking maybe I'd get used to it. And I did. Before midnight I was drinking it straight from the bottle, swearing to everyone around me that it tasted just like 7-up. I woke up in a garden with the second-worst hangover I've ever had and nursed it away with biscuits and gravy in a little-known Tacoma cafe. Nowadays I opt to like it that much on the first glass, and save myself a trip to the garden. And Tacoma.

When Ryan Adams' double-disc album Cold Roses was released, my first reaction was "What the fuck is this? Is it terrible? Is it so good I don't get it? Why is he trying to sound country? Is it supposed to taste like trees?" So with a smug smirk and a grumble I gave it 13 or 14 more tries, and before I knew it I was loving it, all the while still wondering if I liked it. Two weeks later he came out with Jacksonville City Nights, and two weeks after that was 29. I had similar experiences with those.

Easy, Tiger only took me three listens to like it. And the like on the third listen was a far jump from the loath on the first. There were two strikes against it before I heard a note: One, the cover is all black and white except for the blue indigo of his wristwatch which is blazing the time - you guessed it - 4:20. I love a pot reference just as much as the next guy, but that's kinda silly, yo. Two, the album is some kind of Starbucks exclusive, so upon its initial release you were limited to going all the way to... well, any corner I guess, and buying it from the Wal-Mart of burnt coffee. I only said all that to say that despite the strikes, I'm digging it. Oh, and you can get it on itunes from the comfort of a decent coffee shop.

Now, Ryan, let me compare thee to a girlfriend. Or better yet, a wife. Bill Cosby said that a wife will always try to change her husband, and a husband will try to get his wife to stay the same as she was the day they met. The reason I crack open a new album by this guy expecting to hate it is because I want it to be Demolition, or Gold, and I know it won't be. I want a song like Dear Chicago or Come Pick Me Up. A song that I can learn to play on the guitar and make girls fall in love with me. Instead I get a stoner trying to sound country. But the truth is, I think he's not trying anymore. I think he swallowed gallons and gallons of moonshine, and the country is just on his breath when he burps now. Now when he writes a song like Goodnight Rose or Tears of Gold, it sounds like he was born in a garage full of dusty old mandolins and steel guitars. And yeah, I think it's supposed to taste like trees.

So keep it up, Tiger. Drink your moonshine, smoke your doobies, and pump out another five or six albums this year. And I'll keep trying to hate them for as long as I can before I just love them a lot.