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It was, Ryan Adams says, this girl he's been spending time with; the title of this album is her fault. "She wanted to go out to dinner at eight; I wanted to go right away. She said, ‘Easy, Tiger.' And that hit me. It stuck with me to the point where I called up Neal [that would be Neal Casal, guitarist of The Cardinals] and left a message on his answering machine with those two words. ‘Don't forget this,' I said, ‘cause I want to use it.'"

Adams laughs and adds, "I think he's still got that message."

And I understand that. Some things you just save, because they're worth playing over again.

I think there are really only two kinds of pop music CDs these days. There are the ones you listen to only once or twice, maybe downloading the single good song to your iPod or computer; then there are others that grow stronger, sweeter, and more necessary each time you play them. Gold was that way; Cold Roses was that way; so was Jacksonville City Nights. I won't say Adams is the best North American singer-songwriter since Neil Young...but I won't say he isn't, either. What I know is there has never been a Ryan Adams record quite as strong and together as Easy Tiger; it's got enough blue-eyed, blue-steel soul (with the faintest country tinge) to make me think of both Marvin Gaye and the Righteous Brothers. Probably ridiculous, but true. And the songs themselves are beautiful—the lyrics tightly focused and brief, the feeling one of melancholy calm that will probably be a revelation to fans that remember the old, sometimes angry Ryan Adams.

He agrees that the tone of Easy Tiger is different — not dark, just different—and suggests in passing that it may have something to do with both sobering up and growing up (he's 32). Then he goes on to talk about the process, which is clearly something close to his heart. "I write on a manual typewriter," he says. "I get up, I have a cup of coffee, I sit down at the typewriter. I never spent a useless day behind a typewriter."
I say amen to that, but he's already going on.


"It's like—I don't know, sometimes it's like chasing a pretty girl on the
beach. And things I never thought I could do...I can do."

I mention how prolific he is, aware that I might be touching a sore point. After all, there are plenty of critics who seem to think that's a bad thing. Adams, however, just laughs.

"Yeah, yeah, in America people give you **** for working hard," he says. "But...it's process, that's all. I process things. I went into the dream business. If people need ‘em, I've got extra."

He talks enthusiastically about all the unreleased material he hopes to set free in a box set, maybe at the end of the year ("If people hear it all, then they'll get the connections," he says), but that's then. Now there's this, maybe the best Ryan Adams CD ever. And I know you want to listen to it right away. But slow down. Take your time. This album asks for that, and it will reward your full attention.

In other words—easy, Tiger.

--Stephen King

It was, Ryan Adams says, this girl he's been spending time with; the title of this album is her fault. "She wanted to go out to dinner at eight; I wanted to go right away. She said, ‘Easy, Tiger.' And that hit me. It stuck with me to the point where I called up Neal [that would be Neal Casal, guitarist of The Cardinals] and left a message on his answering machine with those two words. ‘Don't forget this,' I said, ‘cause I want to use it.'"

Adams laughs and adds, "I think he's still got that message."

And I understand that. Some things you just save, because they're worth playing over again.

I think there are really only two kinds of pop music CDs these days. There are the ones you listen to only once or twice, maybe downloading the single good song to your iPod or computer; then there are others that grow stronger, sweeter, and more necessary each time you play them. Gold was that way; Cold Roses was that way; so was Jacksonville City Nights. I won't say Adams is the best North American singer-songwriter since Neil Young...but I won't say he isn't, either. What I know is there has never been a Ryan Adams record quite as strong and together as Easy Tiger; it's got enough blue-eyed, blue-steel soul (with the faintest country tinge) to make me think of both Marvin Gaye and the Righteous Brothers. Probably ridiculous, but true. And the songs themselves are beautiful—the lyrics tightly focused and brief, the feeling one of melancholy calm that will probably be a revelation to fans that remember the old, sometimes angry Ryan Adams.

He agrees that the tone of Easy Tiger is different — not dark, just different—and suggests in passing that it may have something to do with both sobering up and growing up (he's 32). Then he goes on to talk about the process, which is clearly something close to his heart. "I write on a manual typewriter," he says. "I get up, I have a cup of coffee, I sit down at the typewriter. I never spent a useless day behind a typewriter."
I say amen to that, but he's already going on.


"It's like—I don't know, sometimes it's like chasing a pretty girl on the
beach. And things I never thought I could do...I can do."

I mention how prolific he is, aware that I might be touching a sore point. After all, there are plenty of critics who seem to think that's a bad thing. Adams, however, just laughs.

"Yeah, yeah, in America people give you **** for working hard," he says. "But...it's process, that's all. I process things. I went into the dream business. If people need ‘em, I've got extra."

He talks enthusiastically about all the unreleased material he hopes to set free in a box set, maybe at the end of the year ("If people hear it all, then they'll get the connections," he says), but that's then. Now there's this, maybe the best Ryan Adams CD ever. And I know you want to listen to it right away. But slow down. Take your time. This album asks for that, and it will reward your full attention.

In other words—easy, Tiger.

--Stephen King

Mixing the heartfelt angst of a singer/songwriter with the cocky brashness of a garage rocker, Ryan Adams is at once one of the few artists to emerge from the alt-country scene to achieve mainstream commercial success and the one who most strongly refused to be defined by the genre, leaping from one spot to another stylistically as he follows his increasingly prolific muse.

Adams was born in Jacksonville, NC, in 1974. While country music was a major part of his family's musical diet when he was young (he's cited Loretta Lynn, George Jones, Merle Haggard, and Johnny Cash as particular favorites), in his early teens Adams developed a taste for punk rock and he began playing electric guitar. At 15, Adams started writing songs, and a year later he formed a band called the Patty Duke Syndrome; Adams once described PDS as "an arty noise punk band," with Hüsker Dü frequently cited as a key influence and reference point. The Patty Duke Syndrome developed a following in Jacksonville, and when Adams was 19 the band relocated to the larger town of Raleigh, NC, in hopes of expanding its following. However, Adams became eager to do something more melodic that would give him a platform for his country and pop influences. In 1994, Adams left the Patty Duke Syndrome and formed Whiskeytown with guitarist Phil Wandscher and violinist Caitlin Cary. With bassist Steve Grothman and drummer Eric "Skillet" Gilmore completing the lineup, Whiskeytown (the name came from regional slang for getting drunk) released their first album, Faithless Street, on the local Mood Food label.

The album won reams of critical praise in the music press, and more than one writer suggested that Whiskeytown could do for the alt-country or No Depression scene what Nirvana had done for grunge. But by the time the band signed to a major label -- the Geffen-distributed imprint Outpost Records -- the band had undergone the first in a series of major personal shakeups; and in the summer of 1997, when Whiskeytown's Outpost debut, Stranger's Almanac, was ready for release, Adams and Wandscher were the only official members of the band left. Cary soon returned, but Wandscher left shortly afterward, and Whiskeytown had a revolving-door lineup for much of the next two years, with the band's live shows become increasingly erratic, as solid performances were often followed by noisy, audience-baiting disasters. Consequently, as strong as Stranger's Almanac was, Whiskeytown never fulfilled the commercial expectations created for them by others. In 1999, the band -- which was down to Adams, Cary, and a handful of session musicians -- recorded its third and final album, Pneumonia, but when Geffen was absorbed in a merger between PolyGram and Universal, Outpost was phased out, and the album was shelved; shortly afterward, Whiskeytown quietly called it quits.

Following Whiskeytown's collapse, Adams wasted no time launching a career apart from the band, and after a few solo acoustic tours, Adams went into a Nashville studio with songwriters Gillian Welch and David Rawlings and cut his first album under his own name, Heartbreaker, which was released by pioneering "insurgent country" label Bloodshot Records in 2000. The album received critical raves, respectable sales, and a high-profile endorsement from Elton John, and Adams was signed by Universal's new Americana imprint, Lost Highway Records. Lost Highway gave Whiskeytown's Pneumonia a belated release in early 2001, and later that same year, they released his second solo set, Gold, which displayed less of a country influence in favor of classic pop and rock styles of the 1970s. In the wake of the September 11 terrorist attacks, the album's opening track, "New York, New York," was embraced by radio as an anthem of resilience (though it actually concerned a busted romance), and Adams once again found himself touted as the "next big thing."

Always a prolific songwriter, in a bit more than a year following Gold's release, Adams had written and recorded enough material for four albums. Adams opted to whittle the 60 tunes down to a 13-song collection called Demolition, which was released in 2002 as he went into the studio to record his official follow-up to Gold. A year later, Adams' concept album Rock N Roll was released alongside the double-EP collection Love Is Hell. Tours around the globe kept Adams busy into the next year as he maintained momentum writing songs and keeping his ever-changing presence in the music press. In May 2005, Adams released his first of three albums for Lost Highway, the melancholic double-disc Cold Roses. Jacksonville City Nights, a more classic-sounding honky tonk effort, followed in September, and 29 appeared in late December. Always prolific, in the interim period before his next album was released, Adams posted a large selection of tracks -- including hip-hop ones -- on his website, but fans were greeted with more straightforward material on 2007's Easy Tiger. ~ Mark Deming, All Music Guide

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