Been living on faithless street, all by myself

Ah, country music. My pantheon of greats – whilst admittedly dominated by shouty middle aged (middle aged by now anyway) men with guitars – has also always had much room and love for the country.

For a time, the roost was well and truly ruled by Whiskeytown and Wilco and I’d urge anyone to get hold of (although, why you don’t have them already I do not know…) of Strangers Almanac and Being There respectively. The roost was then thoroughly moved into by Wilco (until they turned into a Steely Dan covers band) and Mr Ryan Adams – who some may remember I was somewhat obsessed with (which had an unfortunate effect on my choice of jean fitting for a time – ah, the follies of youth. Let’s just say I was never a skinny leg kind of a build…).

Aaaaanyway. Ryan was, for a time, just unbelievably damn good. And then he just kind of went a bit, well, average. There’s a whole essay waiting to be written about lack of self-censorship and Pronce-like splurging (and don’t get me going on Pronce) but suffice to say I kind of lost faith and interest for a bit.

But, we checked him out on BBC4 (and there is another essay to be written on just how damn good BBC4 is. Equally, does anyone get the reason for BBC3??) t’other day in concert with Neil Finn and some deeply dull 60’s lady and he was – frankly – awesome. Mr Finn was clearly in a state of ‘how do I follow that?’ for most of the programme.

Anyway, welcome back Mr Adams. All of which is a long winded way of saying – here’s a picture. Which isn’t Ryan, but sort of is.



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