Ryan Adams returns with one of those rarest of things, a divorce album.
Like Marvin Gaye’s Here My Dear or Bill Withers‘ +Justments or Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours, it’s a rare breed of an album, when artists often let down their guards and produce music a more visceral and honest body of work – often to their downfall. Gaye was too bitter and Withers too controlled. Fleetwood Mac, were just too, well, Fleetwood Mac, seeing behind that particular curtain shouldn’t have worked, but boy did it.
So what is Prisoner? Is it 12 rage and bile filled rants, or simply the sound of misery dragging us down with it? Or happy little ditties that never let you see the pain?
Well, what it actually is, is a surprise. It’s undoubtedly an album full of heartbreak that can’t be ignored. Adams’ customary rebellion, wit, excitement and playfulness are gone; there’s no New York, New York, no Shakedown On 9th Street, no Taylor Swift covers.
What’s left is a study in grief, only without the prevention or self-aggrandising. Musically it doesn’t wallow in sorrow and it doesn’t depress. It’s continually empowering and uplifting through its vitality and honesty, never needing to resort to cliche or ham-fisted, patronising ‘it’ll be okays’. Instead, you have music that speaks frankly about its subject matter, never pulling punches or backing away from the pain. Heartbreak has rarely sounded so vital and necessary.
Tightrope, which seems to lament and desire what was, is a beautiful and emotionally charged moment. Instantly brilliant and instantly a favourite, it seems natural and almost off the cuff. It must surely be the culmination of so much rumination and love. Shiver and Shake seems like a reaction to his cover of Taylor Swift’s Shake It Off; gone is the abandonment, all that remains is self-doubt and anguish.
Anything I Say to You Now is dripping with a post punk, power pop jangly echo. It’s The Cars‘ You Might Think’ or The Lyres‘ Help You Ann or, well so many others. Only it’s not. Only this time a knowing reflection has replaced the youthful energy of those tracks.
The standout moment must go to album opener Do You Still Love Me?. It’s highly charged and electrifying, almost uncomfortable so. Like being stood in the middle of a personal argument and not knowing what to say. Its fractious pounding rhythm paints a picture of real passion and loss.
Throughout, Prisoner has a raw earthy, almost live feel, never feeling over-produced. Track by track you fall deeper under its spell and with each listen it becomes more compelling, more fascinating and more beguiling.
Of course, Adams has done heartbreak before, but it’s never sounded so raw. Songs like Two and his cover of Wonderwall felt more like reminisces of love gone bad, only filtered through experience and distance. Prisoner isn’t that. Here, Adams is working through his emotions, letting the songs lead him, taking him instinctively forward.
Such amazing results probably surprised him the most. Now let them surprise you.