verexposure has not necessarily been kind to Ryan Adams. As the troubled young singer/songwriter for mid-90’s upstarts Whiskeytown, his talents flourished. His tales of anger, loss, regret, and post-adolescent confusion, set to a backdrop of fiddle-tinged balladry and shit-kicking mania, resonated with the depth of a young Alex Chilton or Paul Westerberg. Adams could have probably rode to glory in the beat up Whiskeytown vehicle, but as the decade passed, the inner turmoil and public bickering of the group stretched to its breaking point, and his partnership with bandmates Caitlin Cary and Mike Daly erupted in a cloud of North Carolina dust.

As rumors of their then unreleased final album continued to spread, Adams retreated to the harrowing confines of his key inspiration: ancient country music. The resulting album, 2000’s Heartbreaker, resonated with the depth of the oldest dustbowl ballads, and proved once and for all that Adams was an immensely talented and powerful musician. However, the following year, Whiskeytown’s swan song, Pneumonia, saw the light of day and went on to become the real signifier of its creators intentions.

With its FM pop, studio gloss, and genre dabbling, Pneumonia, became the most telling precursor to Heartbreaker’s 2001 follow-up, Gold. Spurred on by his relationship with Elton John, Gold, which was recorded in Los Angeles and featured contributions by Adam Duritz and Chris Stills, was part AOR nostalgia played by a genuine purveyor of its ideals, and part overindulgent pandering. Much of the record’s mediocrity could be attributed to Adams’ blindingly fervent prolificacy; most of the songs were simply second-shelf material. With that in mind, the fact that Demolition is touted as a compilation of Gold leftovers should give more than enough insight into both its content and quality.

There’s really nothing to this record. There are no underpinnings or hidden meanings; there is no continuity; what you see is what you get, and what you see is a bulk of songs that apparently didn’t warrant a spot on a stodgy album. The songs included here are far from bad, but they’re also worlds away from Stranger’s Almanac. In fact, they’re far from anything-- they’re just there. Occasionally, an appealing melody, cunning turn of phrase, or weepy chorus will emerge, but for the most part, Demolition is a wholly stationary album.

The songs here can easily be separated into two categories: those that should have been included on Gold and those that should not have. “Nuclear”, representing the latter, opens the album on a befitting note, possessing none of the panache and charm of Gold’s “New York, New York”. “Hallelujah” is a likeminded rocker that steps up the quality, but ultimately comes off as an inferior, inbred cousin to “Excuse Me While I Break My Own Heart”. “Starting to Hurt”, with its clumsy musicianship and embarrassing synth tones finds Adams at rock bottom. Alluring title aside, “Tennessee Sucks” plays out more like Michael McDonald then Jerry Jeff Walker. “Cry On Demand” and “Desire” are the most Gold-esque songs found here, and probably would have fared better than some of that album’s second half. Then again, so what?

On the other side of the spectrum, “You Will Always Be The Same” finds our young squire penning some of his best work since that fabled debut album. This song, like many of Demolition’s better moments, bears a striking resemblance to the “Side Four” bonus disc that was included with early pressings of Gold. “She Wants To Play Hearts” and “Tomorrow” (which was recorded with Adams’ real friends, Gillian Welch and David Rawlings) continues on the sparse, acoustic track of “You Will Always Be The Same” with similarly inspired results. “Chin Up, Cheer Up” and “Gimme A Sign” finally find the singer having fun without sacrificing (much) musical worth.

“Jesus (Don’t Touch My Baby)”, a song recorded alone with a guitar and cheap synthesizer, is entirely estranged from anything else Adams has ever done, and stands as one of his best songs yet. The slicing wash of faux-strings that closes the song (and record) cuts like a knife in winter. Its stark atmospherics and weary delivery hint at a detour that Adams will hopefully take again in the future.

It bears re-iterating that Demolition is just that-- a collection of demos. For all logical purposes, these songs were not intended to see release on a cohesive album. Nevertheless, it may be the best indicator that we have as to what direction Adams’ music is taking. Whether or not he will ever make another album as good as Heartbreaker remains to be seen, but in all honesty, that prospect is looking bleaker with every passing day.