Ryan Adams
Wednesdays

In February 2019, Ryan Adams is known as a prolific musician with a volatile character, often described as a genius asshole by those who share his capriciousness and creativity. He has just announced the release of 3 albums, Big Colors, Wednesdays, and Chris, when the New York Times publishes a bombshell article in which Adams is accused by 7 of his exes of sexual misconduct and sexting a minor (the latter charge dropped by the FBI due to lack of evidence).

Result? Albums and tours canceled, and a series of articles and testimonies from people accusing Ryan Adams of being a monster. The American Rolling Stone publishes a hilarious article in which they retroactively analyze all the Carolina singer-songwriter's lyrics for clues about his behavior.
He disappears, changes manager, writes a letter of apology to the Daily Mail ("empty apologies," according to the press), and in December 2020, releases Wednesdays digitally. In America, no one reviews it, and on this side of the Ocean, there are two factions: those who say "we judge the artist, not the man" and those who say "you can't separate the man from the artist, so the album might be good, but he's an asshole: score 4."

I belong to the first category, also because if I had to listen only to artists with impeccable behavior, I'd limit myself to buying Frate Cionfoli and Aleandro Baldi (who, being Tuscan, must have let out a few curses in his life... so I exclude him).

So, how is this Wednesdays? Produced by Adams himself alongside Beatriz Artola and Don Was, in some ways it recalls 29, his melancholic 2006 album, the final chapter of a trilogy that included the splendid Cold Roses and Jacksonville City Nights.
It's a slow work, full of songs with sparse arrangements that rarely move away from voice, guitar, and bass—played by Don Was—with drums present in a few tracks, like the final, optimistic Dreaming You Backwards.

It's a whispered album, with more sophisticated and interesting lyrics compared to Adams' recent output; it's a work that mixes sadness and self-pity, with some excellent songs including the opening "I'm sorry and I love you," almost a Neil Young demo, So Anyways with its harmonica unsettling certainties, or the lively (the only upbeat in the set) Birmingham with an accusatory lyric directed at a former friend (Jason Isbell?).

It has heart-wrenching tracks like When You Cross Over, dedicated to his brother Chris, and the piercing Mamma, a song of almost Lennonesque honesty. It's a nocturnal, wintery album, meant for low lights and headlights off, a slow burner, as the English say.

With a few more refinements, it could have been a semi-masterpiece, but even so, it deserves a chance, and after all… Ryan Adams has been drinking, not Wednesdays.