RYAN ADAMS

HEARTBREAKER

Bloodshot

Ryan Adams
Aladdin Theater, 3017 SE Milwaukie Ave., 233-1994.
8 pm Wednesday,
Feb. 14.
$12.50 advance,
$15 day of show.

Similar enchantments: Bob Dylan, Whiskeytown, Return of the Grievous Angel: A Tribute to Gram Parsons

A quick exchange of opinions regarding Morrissey's discography, a moment of in-studio hilarity, a riotous countdown, and they're off--tearing down Highway 61, conjuring the sound and spirit of mid-'60s Dylan with the same fetishized care Elliott Smith brings to his traveling Beatles museum.

Leaving his former band, alt-country also-rans Whiskeytown, behind in the dust, Ryan Adams enlisted a handful of friends who make groovy-sounding records (among them Gillian Welch and David Rawlings) to craft what ranks among the most astonishing solo debuts in rock'n'roll history. After the raucous opener, the album settles into a tender ballad groove for the next 10 tunes without ever sounding samey. Beautiful details rise out of the mix: gorgeous lines like "Precious little thing / with eyes that dance around without their clothes"; a delicate harmony vocal from Emmylou Harris; the restrained violence of producer Ethan Johns' drumming on "Come Pick Me Up"; and the complex aural pastiche, "AMY" [sic], which begins with circular, Nick Drake-style picking, but then takes on a more floral, psychedelic air, recalling the Southern-accent-imitating-British-accent approach of classic Big Star. The last-gasp breakdown "Shakedown on 9th Street" proves the album can rock like nobody's business, but its real strength is the time it spends ambling along, like it's nobody's business when it'll get to where it's going. Like Dylan's own favorite motorbike, it's a capital-T Triumph. Jeff Rosenberg

STEPHEN MALKMUS

STEPHEN MALKMUS

Matador

RIYL: Weezer, Jets to Brazil's Four-Cornered Night

No doubt the Clever Kids turned on by Pavement's hipster musings will glory in many aspects of Stephen Malkmus. Their idol's Lou Reed-esque delivery retains its cold-eyed distance, and his lyrics still trip over quizzical nothings, as on the hilarious pirate confessional "Hook" ("The coast of Montenegro was my favorite target/It was ever so fun"). But what about the rest of us--those not entirely enthralled by the old band? From that perspective, a certain suspension of
cynicism is in order. Amid the lackluster "secret" shows and Spin hagiographies, it would be easy to miss the fact that S. Malkmus is actually--honestly, no kidding around--a pretty fine record. Malkmus' icy singing and soaring guitar plunge into and out of some of the most maniacally detailed and skillfully rendered pop lately set to disc. Maybe he's maturing, or maybe he's just spectacularly relieved to be free of Pavement, but these songs are songs, not the tossed-off sketches his former band often got away with. Supple keyboards, plush piles of extra guitar and chiming female vocals flesh out his new compositions. It's also most gratifying to report that a human heart seems to beat within. For all the book-l'arned riddling of the lyrics, the music's flexible dynamics and gliding grace give away a real emotional core. Malkmus' own promotional propaganda for the record may claim he's going for "the precision of Saab...with the laid-back (yet heavy) beats of deepest Trenchtown," but there's no escaping the actual feeling behind the smart-guy sass. To those of us who weren't that excited about having Pavement's collective tongue buried in our cheeks, that marks one large step forward for an undeniable talent. Zach Dundas