Ryan Adams
48 Hours

THE REVIEW

Nice site, DeBaser: it's frequented by great people (sometimes even less than great...) as I once said; I'm fascinated by the controversies and discussions triggered by some reviews, as well as those that arise by chance, having nothing to do with the works under review.

I like the fact that everyone is given a voice: the ignorant and the literati, the humble and the smug, the learned and the know-it-alls, jesters and bean-eaters, everyone has their say, and in the end, the veil that separates right from wrong is so thin that it's no longer clear which side you're on, and the important thing isn't to reach a conclusion, a final statement, but to keep discussing, review after review, page after page.

So, friends, what I want to offer you today is precisely a starting point for discussion.

Why, wanting to continue being a part of this community, should I keep swallowing without batting an eye your most eminent and balanced reviews of immense and mostly untraceable masterpieces of post-doom-noise-electro-emo-folktronica?

Why should I feel more ignorant than I already am, just because I'm subtly suggested that if I don't "understand" a certain album, I don't know what good music is?

Why do many (so many) of you talk about albums that will only be released in months as if they had composed and played them themselves, and others chorus back "great, I'll get it!" knowing they're extolling more or less legal downloads, amassing hundreds of files that will never be listened to properly?

Well, my answer to all this is "48 Hours".

An album that doesn't exist as a physical entity, as a reproducible medium, but exists on the net, or rather the web... Because "web" better conveys the idea of something that captures you and won't let you go, just like a "spiderweb," the "spider's web," in which we get entangled without realizing it, and it steals precious time from us with our consent, never giving it back.

The "web," however, grants us glimpses of hope, flashes of joy, and occasionally jewels, like this album, (for now) rejected by its own creator; I say "for now" because it seems that in the infamous upcoming box set, Ryan will include the album along with other rarities. Knowing the type, though, I wouldn't take anything for granted.

To the fans of the American wonder boy, some of the titles included here will sound very familiar: "Desire", "Hallelujah", and "Chin Up, Cheer Up" were included in the demo collection "Demolition," and here (apart from the first) they aren't even the best tracks in the batch; for that, you'd need to look to the delicate and folkish "Karina", the lively "Angelina" (indeed very similar to the mentioned "Hallelujah"), and the troubled "Born Yesterday", which Ryan sings with the intensity as if it were a blues.

"Walls" made me think of how it would be sung by Springsteen, reminding me of certain things from "Devils and Dust"; the noted "Desire" also evokes the Boss's spirit thanks to the harmonica and the poignant melody.

"Drunk & Fucked Up (Like The Twilight)" is one of the most beautiful songs crafted by Ryan Adams, featuring an epic chorus accompanied by a poignant mandolin and guitar, with lyrics about spectacular benders and sleepless nights spent getting wasted waiting for the dawn.

The rest of the album moves between country-rock moods and slide guitars, with generally calm tempos and rhythms, but the quality remains extremely high, enough to make one wonder what could have driven Ryan or his record label not to officially release an album that would certainly be on the podium of his best works.

Now, DeBaserian friends, it's up to you to decide whether I'm just a hopeless case, or if I've provided a good service to you all by presenting what I believe is the "Great White Wonder" of the 2000s.