Ryan Adams @ Albert Hall, Manchester, 24 September

Live Review by Lauren Strain | 03 Oct 2014

The reverence Ryan Adams commands proves a hindrance tonight – this is one of the most subdued crowds we've been part of in a while. You can only hope people are awed, rather than bored. Adams himself, though largely having a grand old time palling around with his bandmates, seems to pick up on it, his remarks on the atmosphere made with customary ambiguity.

Still, the two boys behind us are in fine voice and swooning through the opening curlicues of Let It Ride and Easy Plateau, two of further surprise renditions from Cold Roses – and it's these little ripples through small pools of the audience, as individuals shiver with the recognition of different favourite songs, that characterise the alt-country star's gigs.

After all, an almost prematurely sprawling back catalogue – at 39, Adams is on his 14th solo album after three with Whiskeytown – makes for an unlimited number of personal moments: the mid-twentysomethings tingle to Anybody Wanna Take Me Home (that call-to-action intro! those sticky, 5am pleas!), while the dyed-in-the-denim rockers raise their pints to the bottomless loneliness of Fix It.

For the teen romantics just arrived at Uni, it's the boozy optimism of A Kiss Before I Go that gets 'em. Everyone, however, falls silent for material from his 2000 debut, Heartbreaker. With Adams' distinctive vocal – charged and clear, like rubbed glass – on top form, Why Do They Leave and Oh My Sweet Carolina are as stalling as they ever were, as stark and unguarded as single flames.

The brawlier songs from the new self-titled record are noticeably revved up, though sadly their gain in speed forfeits them their subtleties – where the set as a whole is remarkable for its dexterity, Gimme Something Good, I Just Might and Trouble feel a bit rushed and foisty. It's probably partly intentional – a nod to Adams' own punkier tastes – and partly that these songs will simply be less-practised, perhaps unavoidably upstaged by the years-polished Cardinals material, which sounds deliriously supple, widescreen and FM-clean.

You can't help but give in to a bout of axe envy; this group is one class act, Mike Viola's lickety-split guitar all neat and wet as though pulled through a butter curler. Magnolia Mountain is the highlight, the crowd finally moving with every modulation as the breakdown collapses in on itself; while towards the end, for the only cut from Ashes & Fire, Do I Wait, Adams pins his voice to the furthest vault of the Hall with searchlight precision – knowing that, though he obviously loves this incarnation of his band, he can hold this room on his own.

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