Thought y'all might be interested in the NY Times review of that show:
December 10, 2003
MUSIC REVIEW | RYAN ADAMS
Moving Along the Timeline of Rock
By JON PARELES
Ryan Adams is moving forward in his self-guided tour through rock history: between 5 and 20 years, to judge by his concert at Webster Hall on Dec. 4.
As the songwriter for Whiskeytown and on his first solo albums, Mr. Adams generally placed himself in the late 1960's and early 70's, the dawn of what's now called roots-rock. His music harked back to, and often directly imitated, songs from the Band, Gram Parsons and Van Morrison.
New songs from his three recent releases - an album called "lloR N kcoR" and an EP, "Love Is Hell pt. 1" (there's also a "pt. 2," and all three are on Lost Highway) - have shifted the time line. He has a new batch of influences, among them the Replacements, T. Rex, the Strokes, Nirvana, Neil Young and U2. And he freely acknowledged it. When he explained that the concert would benefit the Bowery Mission and Housing Works, he joked that he was ``being Bono,'' then mentioned ``So Alive,'' his U2-style anthem.
Mr. Adams is a skillful chameleon, writing songs his sources would not disown. ``I could be anything,'' he sang in ``Love Is Hell,'' and listeners could believe it.
For the first part of the set, Mr. Adams made his voice as disheveled as his hair and joined his band's other two guitarists in distorted, choppy, satisfying riffs. In an older song, ``Nobody Girl,'' the band worked like the Grateful Dead, elongating the riffs and letting guitars and bass scamper after one another. Eventually, he picked up an acoustic guitar, turned his voice into a sweeter tenor and eased back into his older folk-rock
In any musical guise, Mr. Adams often portrays the same guy: someone whose romances keep crumbling, but who misses the strife as much as the affection. He also writes fine character studies, often of unhappy women, that are closely observed and genuinely sympathetic. Between songs, though, he was rarely earnest; he mocked his clothes, teased his band and his light crew, tossed off dialogue from ``Mommie Dearest'' and cited career conflicts: ``I nearly lost my record deal to play you my new songs,'' he sang in a brief polka.
The comedy wore thin, but the songs were full of life. Mr. Adams borrows wisely and works his way into his appropriated styles; the band's guitars could chime or jitter or snarl at will. The question is why someone as clearly gifted as Mr. Adams doesn't take the extra step of hiding his mimicry to aim for something he could call his own.
