stop making sense

Critics are beine revisionist about Ryan Adams. You should be too.

Last night I caught him at Massey Hall. The show has since inspired me to delve into his intemperate catalogue, an activity that is proving very fruitful. Some notables include: "If I'm a Stranger"; "Dear Chicago", and "My Winding Wheel".

The relationship between quality and quantity is delicate in art. Often we are inclined to agree that quantity pollutes. What is privileged is always a singular. Hence, the Mona Lisa over Cecilia Gallerani. (This seems like a formulation of Saussure's principle of difference...artwork obtains meaning precisely because it detaches itself from every other piece of art. And yet at the same time, exists, within an economy of meaning that is historically and socially contingent.) More interesting: not only are singulars privileged within a given canon, or context, but also seem to be given a special cult-like status in examples of extreme singularity. For most people, da Vinci is that guy that painted the Mona Lisa. That is all. A whole life dedicated to art, and this is the end result!

Whereas singularity and minimalism is privileged, excess breeds social suspicion, and even condemnation. Ryan Adams fall under this backdrop. He's consistently put out an album a year since 2000, culminating in the eye widening release of three full length albums in 2005. Is it eye widening or eye narrowing? He's the fucking Derrida of the music world! It's no wonder his albums have often been criticized. Who doesn't feel threatened by weight of this alleged prodigy?

Ushering at Massey Hall has its benefits. Before the show started, before anyone was even in the theatre, I had the opportunity to sit down and watch Ryan Adams and his band setup, soundcheck, etc. And what a memory it will be. If there is something like a "rockstar" archetype, or caricature, Ryan Adams hit it, and passed it, with flying colours. He was a fucking diva, and it was captain fantastic to see this fantasy-archetype actualized, the man behind the music. Who, it is true, swears profusely into the mic, wines like a baby and a punk to the sound technicans, and even submits to the hilarious reality-tv show-like scenario of his band comforting him therapeutically on stage. (I distinctly remember Ryan pressing his palms to his temples at one point and declaring that he was "just so fucking stressed out". To this, the other guitarist responding, "keep it together, Ryan, we're almost done with this tour")

If that's not rock and roll, I don't know what is. A lot of my coworkers were really affected by his attitude, and this seemed to permanently change their attitude towards him and his music. As if being an asshole actually cheapened his music. I just laughed, and got my kicks out of it. But it's a good question. Do artists' actions or personalities ever cheapen their art? Really good question. But one in which I nevertheless answer in the negative. For me, the artist as a person has no bearing on the artifice. Funny enough, this is often the argument I find myself applying when asked to explain my adoration for Tom Cruise. "But he's CRAZY!" Libby says. I smirk, and agree: you're probably right, Tom Cruise is two-ways sideways off his rocker. But then artists have never shyed away from the concept. All the more power to him! When an artist produces art, that is, when they are either in the realm of performance or create something performative, the significance of their idenity ceases with the origin of their art. What becomes significant is the identity of their art. Hence, what should I care about Tom Cruise the person outside his art, in relation to Tom Cruise the artist, and the work that he does in character? What rationality links these two? What rationality disqualifies one on the other?

To be strict about it, this logic entails me to abandon even my claim that I like Tom Cruise. This indicates that I like something about him independent of his art (which I happen to, but that's neither here or there). I can only say that I like Tom Cruise's art. And yet, it appears I can't even say that. If the author of the art is, in fact, the art itself (Barthes's turn), and the art must be judged on its own grounds, then what I like strictly isn't Tom Cruise, but the character Bill in Eyes Wide Shut. David Aimes in Vanilla Sky. Because, in a sense, Tom Cruise is not any of these, and thus it makes no sense to compare him to them, or to rate him by them.

Still, how ridiculous is it to think that saying 'I like Tom Cruise' on artistic grounds is an identification fallacy? I want to say I like him for his art. Just like I like Ryan Adams, for his art, and his amazing ability to be that pretentious rock and roll asshole archetype. I don't know how to end this long post, so I will just refuse to make any attempt to. And now observe how me and language are steeped in contradiction. Thanks for reading.