Ryan Adams turned 32 yesterday, and boy is he one screwed-up mofo. A prolific musical genius, an asshole, a dork, maybe all of the above. From critical acclaim (Heartbreaker, which had me at "Argument With Rawlings Concerning Morrissey") to critical bashing (Rock and Roll), he's been all over the map. Perfect evidence of his enigmatic oeuvre can be found at his new Battlestar Galactica designed website with a welcome rap with the lyrics "It's autumn in New York, y'all!" If you dare click on the multitude of buttons (be afraid, be very afraid), you can find Teleport with blog entries, an optical illusion, a Missle Command game (no shit), and random song snippets. Then there's Cardinals Radio (named after his band, not the World Series champs) where you can stream a bunch of his tunes, as well as enjoy the Beck-ish rap stylings of DJ Reggie, and various rap/country/punk tunes by The Shit (all of which are Ryan Adams, of course). I can't decide which is my favorite song, "David Fucking Letterman", "Hillbilly Joel", "Drunk Santa", or "Drunk As A Pile of Shit". Wonderfully weird and pretty hilarious.
His birthday blog entry celebrates music, being sober for 6 months, chocolate, Eddie Izzard, meeting Jennifer Aniston, and spending his birthday in Trinity Church with Cowboy Junkies playing "Sweet Jane"--a lot more exciting than my birthday. Most of all I respect the guy for doing whatever the hell he wants, hipster naysayers be damned, because that's what music is all about. Happy birthday, you crazy bastard!
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