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At the risk of falling prey to the ubiquitous and incidentally, wholly unwarranted Bob Dylan comparisons lofted on Ryan Adams, his "Love is Hell" provokes confusion and knee-jerk repulsion similar to that which Greil Marcus succinctly encapsulated decades ago when infamously confronted with "Self Portrait."
"Love is Hell," a morose collection of self-pity-infatuated, emotionally hollow singer-songwriter drivel, presents a portrait of an artist arriving at a creative dead end as he finishes the painful transformation from precocious to self-consciously precious. Granted, the revisionist revaluation may soften the initial condemnation of "Self Portrait" as Dylan's repertoire revitalized, and hipsters like Wes Anderson find charm even in Adams' low points, one doubts Mr. Adams and this ill-fated "Gold" follow-up will ever receive the same reconsideration or clemency.
For those just tuning into the Adams Saga, "Love is Hell" arrives with a great deal of baggage. Following the quasi-success of "Gold," an album sprawling in vision yet bloated in production, Adams recorded no less than five albums worth of material. He was, however, discontent with each of the sessions and opted to cull some "highlights" for the mottled "Demolition." Despite a few restrained beams of sunshine ("Hallelujah," "Chin Up, Cheer Up"), "Demolition" rained down hideous, lethargic songwriting ("Cry on Demand," "You Will Always Be the Same").
Finally ready to lay down a proper third solo album, Adams teamed with esteemed Smith producer John Porter in New Orleans and New York to record his brooding homage to self-absorbed, muted Britpop -- "Love is Hell."
Americana purveyors Lost Highway accordingly winced upon hearing the dour tapes and sent Adams back to the studio. There, finally surrendering to his Paul Westerberg envy, he churned out the empty "Rock N' Roll," an unholy alliance of both clichéd 80s stadium "rawk" and copped garage rock attitude."Love is Hell," meanwhile, arrives split into two EPs with Adams, maybe fresh off an "Eight Mile" viewing, already slandering it in the press as if to preempt critical blows and deny any grand ambitions for the album.
But for an album condemned as a radical deviation, "Love is Hell" does little else than simply emphasize the faults that have hastened the downward trajectory Adams has been tumbling down since he followed commercial aspiration down its rabbit-hole.
Porter's production drapes Adams in stylized Britpop melancholy as he mercurially adds another style to a catalog already substantiated by its lack of consistency.Adams anglophilia may hold the Smiths at its epicenter, but his resulting tribute only reaches the sonic level of a lesser Jeff Buckley or Coldplay, a band whose empire is erected on pillaged Smiths roots.Adams crafts songs calculatedly atmospheric at best, content to let songs like "Political Scientist" and "Afraid Not Scared" drift in a glum lull devoid any semblance the strong melodic sensibilities he once possessed.
Most remarkable about "Love is Hell" in fact isn't the Britpop emulation, but rather, in ironic Fogertarian twist, Adams' plagiary of himself
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