Menconi David Lawrence - Ryan Adams : Losering, a story of Whiskeytown

Ryan Adams

AMERICAN MUSIC SERIES

Peter Blackstock and David Menconi, Editors

Ryan Adams

LOSERING, A STORY OF WHISKEYTOWN

David Menconi

UNIVERSITY OF TEXAS PRESS AUSTIN

Copyright 2012 by David Menconi

All rights reserved

Printed in the United States of America

First edition, 2012

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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA

Menconi, David Lawrence, author.

Ryan Adams : Losering, a story of Whiskeytown / by David Menconi.

First edition.

p. cm (American music series)

Includes discography.

ISBN 978-0-292-72584-3 (pbk. : alk. paper)

ISBN 978-0-292-74459-2 (e-book)

ISBN 978-0-292-74576-6 (individual e-book)

1. Adams, Ryan. 2. Alternative country musiciansBiography. 3. Whiskeytown (Musical group). 4. Cardinals (Musical group : Ryan Adams). I. Title. II. Series : American music series (Austin, Tex.).

ML420.A257M46 2012

782.42166092dc23 [B]

2012020600

Contents

Preface

August 3, 1995

One hot August night in 1995, I went to a downtown Raleigh nightspot called the Berkeley Caf. I had a show to see, and an interview to conducta typical working night out, one of thousands Ive spent over the years. There was no reason to suspect it would be anything out of the ordinary. But it turned out to be one of the most memorable nights of my career, and not just because it would be my first direct brush with the subject of this book.

That nights show was a regular monthly happening, the Songwriters Alliance Series, organized and hosted by a local musician named Jeff Hart. Under this format, five musicians would gather in an acoustic setting to play and talk about favorite songs. There was a hootenanny-among-friends vibe, with other musicians comprising most of the audience of several dozen.

My interview subject was Ryan Adams, a last-minute addition to the bill when someone else had to cancel. At the time, Ryan was leader of a fast-rising country-rock band called Whiskeytown. I had seen one of his earlier groups, Patty Duke Syndrome, but I am embarrassed to confess that they hadnt made much of an impression. But Ryan sure made one that night, especially when he broke out his old Patty Duke song Sara Bell. Even with the velocity and the volume turned down to a solo acoustic rendition, it was drop-dead amazing, the outro refrain of your eyes made all the more haunting by his hushed delivery.

A couple of things were immediately apparent. First, even though he could have passed for a high-school freshman, Ryan was goodreally good, easily one of the best singer-songwriters Id ever seen. Second, he did not lack for brashness, because the titular subject of Sara Bell (a woman every indie-rock boy in town had a huge crush on) was sitting to his left onstage and turning a bright shade of crimson. And third, even though he was playing a borrowed guitar and reading the lyrics from a crumpled piece of paper balanced on the dirty denim knee of his jeans, Ryan had It, a presence that lit up the room. It was not unlike walking by a pickup basketball game and noticing Michael Jordan on the court.

Between songs, Ryan did exude a modicum of uncertain shyness, which manifested itself as self-deprecation. He introduced one number as a song I never do the same way twice because I dont really know it, drawing a decent laugh from the audience. But once he started to sing and play, Ryans obvious talent overwhelmed his modesty. Music seemed to just pour out of him, perfectly and beautifully formed, and he sang in a keening wail that cut straight to the heart. Ryan was a natural, and it was obvious he wasnt going to stay Raleighs little secret for very long.

I wasnt the only person in the room that night who thought so, either. One was sitting in the audience not far from meDana Kletter, Sara Bells bandmate in a folk-rock band called Dish, who had just released a major-label album that summer on Interscope Records. Kletter had seen Ryan in both Whiskeytown and Patty Duke Syndrome, but it took seeing him solo to win her over.

That was the first time Ryan really stood out to me as a songwriter, that night at the Berkeley, Kletter said in 2011. It was the power of the songs by himself, and the fact that he had to sit in one place without much posturing. He played some amazingly beautiful songs that night, despite the fact that he infuriated Sara Bell. That song about her really was great, though. So was another song he did, about how he used to get drunk behind the furniture store but he dont get drunk no more.

Speaking of alcohol consumption, out-of-control intoxication figured prominently into the memorably bad part of that nights events, which began when a crazy drunk managed to talk his way onto the stage at the end of the show. Identifying himself as Kenneth from Nashville, he took the event hostage once he got behind a microphone, mumbling a surreal string of non sequiturs. Of course, he couldnt play or sing at all, and it had been a mistake to let him try. But he seemed harmless enough. Jeff managed to usher the show to a close, and that appeared to be the end of it.

Afterward, Ryan and I sat down to talk at a table by the bar. The interview was for a short Whiskeytown feature in No Depression, to run in the magazines Fall 1995 debut issue. Ryan was an eager interview subject, a totally open book. I could not have asked for a more accommodating conversationalist. And even though he still hadnt done many interviews at that point, he already showed a flair for rock star dramatics in body language as well as quotes.

My life is my life, he said in his barfly rasp, lighting another in an endless string of cigarettes, and as bad as it is, thats how bad the songs will be. If my life is bad, then the songs will be bad. If its good, theyll be good.

Ryan was just getting started, but I wasnt going to get much more out of him that night thanks to the man from Nashville. Kenneth (described in subsequent police reports as a forty-six-year-old white male) had been sitting nearby muttering to himself, which was easy enough to ignore. But then he startled everybody by picking up and slamming down a bar stool. It boomed like a gunshot, and the bartender told him to cool it. That was when he started making threats, about killing himself as well as others.

The police were summoned, and they entered the room with flashlights. Kenneth retreated behind the bar, vowing to cut anyone who came near him. Then he said the magic words:

Dont make me shoot.

Not wanting to trigger a shootout, the cops cleared the room and a standoff ensued. Hostage negotiators couldnt budge the guy, and the stalemate stretched long into the night. Finally, the police departments Selective Enforcement Unit donned helmets and riot gear to forcibly remove poor Kennethwho, as it turned out, had no weapon except for a can opener. Casualties were limited to some broken bottles, a few scratched-up guitars, a broken video camera, and everyones night of sleep. After his arrest, Kenneth was committed to the local psychiatric hospital, Dorothea Dix, from which he had recently (and prematurely) been released.

Unsure of what to do, Ryan and I went outside with everyone else. I considered trying to continue the interview on the sidewalk, but the mood for that was gone. So we stood around in the late-night heat, chatting about the oddity of the situation. The musicians were all stuck because their instruments were still inside, which made for some crankiness. But I remember Ryan expressing sympathy for Kenneth and his down-and-out demeanor.