Let's address one of the more troubling concepts that regularly come up in music discussions, "sincerity." Putting "sincerity" in quotes is sort of oxymoronic, I know, but I just don't know what "sincerity" is supposed to mean. Does being sincere mean that you "believe" or "feel" what you're singing? Does it mean that what you're singing reflects your personal experience? And if these things are true, does that mean that your song "means" more than a song coming from an "insincere" person? And what does "meaning more" mean anyway? Isn't it enough just to have good songs?
I realize I've already put most of you to sleep. But I've been wondering how these questions apply to Ryan Adams, who lately has been busy, once again, sharing way too much about himself on his blog. (Which, sadly, is down at the moment, though you can read some of the gory details here..) A lot of people can't stand Ryan Adams, and I perfectly understand why. I'm a big fan, and I often can't stand him, either. The fact that he once credited then-girlfriend Parker Posey as an "exe'cute-ive producer" in the liner notes to Rock N Roll makes him worthy of a lifetime supply of swirlies. Factor in that he still doesn't have a sense of humor about the Bryan Adams thing, and the myriad insecurities that spill messily into his public life, and the guy is a big, fat fish swimming in a very small barrel.
The old knock on Adams–before he re-settled in his country-rock comfort zone—was that he was a phony brazenly chasing the latest trends or, worse, acting out like a "rock star" in order to get attention. Even people who like Adams feel he's not being true to his talent most of the time. A.V. Club contributor Amanda Petrusich summed up this argument in her scathing review of Rock N Roll from Pitchfork: "Ultimately, the problem isn't knee-jerk alt-country purists getting pissed about Adams' penchant for electric guitars, or cred-obsessed indie kids hollering about Gap commercials, it's Adams' newfound incapacity (or refusal) to write a song with any acceptable degree of sincerity— and knowing that he probably could really stings." Adams was supposedly at his realest on his much-lauded 2000 debut Heartbreaker, one of the decade's archetypical singer-songwriter records. (This seems to have more to do with how people define sincerity—acoustic guitars, twang, songs about North Carolina—than with the record's quality in relation to Adams' other albums.) Heartbreaker has become Adams' Blood On The Tracks or Illmatic, the one record sure to be name-checked in every review of every record he makes, as in "his best since Heartbreaker" or "still not as good as Heartbreaker."
But Adams seemed like a phony to some even before Heartbreaker. The music blog Aquarium Drunkard ran a post recently called "Grieving Angel (or, Whatever Happened to alt. Country) in conjunction with the reissue of Whiskeytown's penultimate record Stranger's Almanac, which included this passage: "You know you've got something going when the chameleons show up. The great imitators, the ones who can shift and shuck and jive with ease. Ryan Adams is one of them. Not to cast aspersions on Adams' legitimacy as a songwriter or musician – quite the contrary. He's a gifted and rare breed. But the trajectory of his career is a roller coaster of phases and stages – from the sub-Tupelo of Faithless Streetthrough the American music museum of Stranger's Almanac to Gold's populist anthems and on and on." While I agree with a lot of that, it's what goes unsaid in this post–that Adams followed in the footsteps artists who didn't imitate, "shuck and jive with ease", and otherwise were more sincere–that I take issue with. Not because I think Adams deserves more credit for his realness, but because Adams' realness illustrates how realness in general has more to do with crediting your girlfriend as "exe'cute'ive producer" than writing great songs.
Call me naïve but Adams' public persona, to me, seems like the polar opposite of contrived. In fact, Adams is a case study for why contriving a public image is good for an artist. Most artists, whether they like to admit it, put a lot of thought in how they're perceived by their fanbase. They want the image to fit the music so the two can become interchangeable and feed off each other. Because it's the art that ultimately matters, not the person that made it. Arcade Fire won't be doing any photo shoots with Playboy models, for example, because fake tits might undermine the inspirational, chin-stroking power of "Intervention." This is seen as Arcade Fire acting like Arcade Fire, but it's really about maintaining a premeditated public perception in a consistent, orderly fashion. Win Butler doesn't really dress like an Amish farmer in real life, and I'm sure there are days when he doesn't ponder the future of existence or experience swelling crescendos of uplifting emotion. Some days he might feel like sleeping in, or curling up on the couch with some Cheetos and his Gilmore Girls DVDs. Butler, though, is able to block out the non-Arcade Fire-esque parts of his life from his public persona, which really isn't that hard to do. (Not blogging about it is a good first step.) But Adams can't do this. He behaves in public exactly the way he's feeling that day, which makes him look insincere when he's actually being completely, utterly, stupidly sincere.
But Adams' sincerity has nothing to do with his talent. In fact, the two stand in steely opposition. Adams' unguarded persona has always overshadowed what's really noteworthy about him: he writes so many damn good songs. As much as Adams himself would hate to be called as much, he is a consummate craftsman. He has what show business people used to call "the knack." He's a natural with melody, he sings beautifully, and he can churn out good songs like a one-man Brill Building. He's more Neil Diamond than Neil Young. If Adams' realness didn't always get in the way more people would admire his talent especially since he's getting better over time. I like Heartbreaker, but the record is a little undercooked and samey when heard in the context of his later, better records. I think Adams really started to hit his stride with the grossly underrated Love Is Hell and its 2005 follow-up, Cold Roses, his first record with the bang-up backing band The Cardinals. Last year's Cardinals-backed Easy Tiger plays like a improved update of the stripped-down, easy-going folk-rock of his debut. Adams' growth as a songwriter is re-enforced by the re-release of Strangers Almanac, a late-'90s alt-country touchstone that doesn't really hold up 10 years later. Because he hadn't yet developed his craft, Adams was forced to fallback on the down-home, genuine country fella shtick that Jay Farrar and Jeff Tweedy laid on thick on the early Uncle Tupelo records. (I still cringe whenever I hear that part in "Screen Door" when Tweedy sings "Down here, where we're at, everyone is eq-ually poor.") Adams was only 23 when he made Strangers Almanac, and he wasn't good enough at songwriting yet to make up for his lack of lyrical insight. (Lyrics still are Adams' weakness.) Only "Excuse Me While I Break My Own Heart" and "Dancing With The Women At The Bar" stick, and point the way to the better songs he'd write later on and, hopefully, will continue to write in the future if blogging doesn't take up too much of his time, or the public's attention.
So, what do you guys think? What do you think about sincerity? How important is it to you? What does it mean, anyway?