To Be Without You – Ryan Adams, and separating the art from the artist.

On February 13th 2019, the New York Times published an in-depth article exposing singer-songwriter Ryan Adams as a manipulator of women, featuring several allegations of emotional and sexual abuse. In the article, featuring testimonials from musicians and ex-partners, Adams was accused of dangling the prospect of success for sexual favours and, in the case of ex-wife Mandy Moore, obstructing her music career. Arguably the most serious of these allegations however, was engaging in text and online correspondence with a minor. The article, in which the author claims to have read over 3,000 text messages between Adams and the victim known as “Ava”, began with the musician suggesting potential career prospects with the then-fourteen year old before the topic of conversation moved onto a more sexual persuasion, with Adams repeatedly asking for confirmation of her age, and constantly demanding that their conversations be kept private, making references to him being compared to R Kelly (himself convicted with a string of sexual misdemeanours with minors) if people were to find out. 

Up until February 12th 2019, I listened to Ryan Adams on a daily basis. First becoming aware of his music in 2005 as an impressionable fourteen year-old, I was instantaneously immersed in his wonderful, melodic alt-country and quickly went through his extensive back catalogue. Whether it be solo, with the various incarnations of his band The Cardinals, or with the band with which he first found success, Whiskeytown, there was so much life-changing material which immediately had a massive impact on my life, particularly during these formative years in which I was discovering a musical identity of sorts. When times were difficult, I would always turn to Adams’ music. It was always my first port of call. Records like Love Is Hell, Easy Tiger and Heartbreaker helped through various stages from difficult teenage years right through my twenties as a form of solace when life was getting too much. His material was vast and wide-ranging, with sixteen studio albums to his name, alongside a number of other EP and single releases. His lyrics made sense at times when very little else did, and resonated in a way that none had done before. I was compelled to get his lyrics tattooed on my arm. Ryan Adams was, in no uncertain terms, my musical hero. 

Despite there being a lot to love about Adams in a musical sense, I was already acutely aware that his general behaviour was erratic to say the least. A recovering drug addict, Adams is renowned for his online rants, whether this be fellow musicians, journalists and even his own fan base. Father John Misty and The Strokes have both been called out by Adams and he infamously left an abusive voicemail for journalist Jim DeRogatis in 2004 after a poor review of a live show in Chicago. In fact, Adams vented his rage on me and two friends via Twitter direct message after discussing his then-new track ‘Do You Still Love Me?’ upon its release. After the three of us received similar maniacal rants, requesting we focus our (non-existent) ire at Trump and war, amongst other things, and featuring the sign-off “laters, mashed potato”, we were all blocked by Adams instantaneously (Adams then rescinded mine after a mutual exchange on Instagram, blaming jet lag for his mood). Numerous fellow fans have received similar treatment from Adams over the years, predominantly online. 

I had seen Adams live easily into double figures and had already bought a ticket for his upcoming tour to promote the three albums he had planned for 2019. Adams had unveiled first single ‘Fuck The Rain’ from the upcoming first album of the year ‘Big Colors’ and “leaking” two tracks from a second album, tentatively titled ‘Wednesdays’. The NYT article rightfully put paid to these grandiose plans, with all release plans almost immediately cancelled, with the tour following soon after. Adams was quick on the defensive on his social media channels, but without ever really showing remorse for how his behaviour affected his victims. It took over a year for any sort of apology to come from Adams, eventually arriving via a statement published on a Daily Mail article in July 2020 in which he stated “There are no words to describe how bad I feel about the ways I’ve mistreated people throughout my life and career… All I can say is that I’m sorry. It’s that simple”, before going on to state how he has used the period of time since the allegations came to light to reflect, and that he had written a host of new music (although did not elaborate on any plans to release this). Some of Adams’ victims responded to his statement, the common message from all being that Adams did not take the time to apologise to them directly.

Without looking to ignore the victims of not only his actions, but of all those who have had to suffer at the hands of manipulative abusers around the world – these actions are unforgivable – the news of Adams’ abusive behaviour left me feeling numb and cheated. I had significant emotional investment in his music, a beacon of hope amongst dark times. Even with the knowledge of what came before, there is a significant difference between being a shitty person and he who is an manipulative abuser.

This led me to an entirely new debate - where do you separate the art from the artist? To focus solely on musicians, John Lennon openly admitted that he abused women, yet myself and millions of others continue to listen to The Beatles. At the time of writing, Lennon’s estate has just released a best of compilation to “celebrate” what would have been his 70th birthday. Ozzy Osbourne tried to kill his wife in 1989, but is celebrated as a reality TV star, and continues to tour and release music to this day. More recently Chris Brown, who physically abused his ex-girlfriend Rihanna, also continues to release music, tour globally and have chart success. None of this is in defence of Ryan Adams, but it certainly blurs the lines of abusive behaviour and whether an artist can continue to work and be celebrated or, to quote a thoroughly modern phrase, is “cancelled”.

In the immediate aftermath, I instantaneously blocked all of Ryan Adams music on streaming services, hid all the physical copies of his music that I owned, and got rid of all his t-shirts which I had amassed over years of attending his live shows. Suddenly the lyrics from the title track of his (at the time of writing) last album have a sinister undertone – “I know our love is wrong, I am a criminal, I am a prisoner, for your love”. Still there was that empty feeling, along with a guilt for having the audacity to feel bad over this. There were real victims who would be feeling the effects of having sensitive, lived experience shared so publically, yet I was merely devastated and let down because I couldn’t bring myself to listen to songs that I liked. There are plenty of other songs about heartbreak, plenty of other straight, white males serving their hearts on a melancholy-shaped plate to indulge with. There just wasn’t anyone who had done so in the way Ryan Adams did and how it directly affected me.

In the intervening period, I reflected with friends. All of us massive Ryan Adams fans, all dismayed at what had been revealed about our musical idol. None of us listened to his music, yet we all had a common feeling of emptiness without it. The fact that Adams seemed to show little to no remorse in this period did little to garner him any favourable treatment from us. His (now former) manager published a series of texts purportedly from the musician in which he demanded his career back, with one text of his stating “I’m not interested in this healing crap. I want a plan and I want it to work”. Adams was digging himself a hole that it would be impossible to emerge from with any semblance of goodwill. 

2020 then happened. Amidst a period of a global pandemic, with enforced isolation thrust upon us all, there began to be moments in which everything was getting too much. As previously alluded to, any other time prior to February 2019, I would go straight into Ryan Adams’ back catalogue. Perhaps starting with ‘Cold Roses’, through ‘Gold’, and sticking ‘Love Is Hell’ on repeat. Now it was different, though. His music was tainted. I’d only ever attempted to try it once, putting ‘Dear Chicago’, the song I always went to at my lowest, but it had lost any magic it once had. I had immersed myself in other music, other artists which had also had a profound effect on me (all miserable-sounding) like The Twilight Sad, Bruce Springsteen, Craig Finn and The Cure. None of these, however, hit the same notes the way Ryan Adams had.

In the last few weeks, I have attempted to revisit his music again. Despite the numerous, indefensible failings of the man, his music had always been transcendent to me. It took several internal debates with my own conscience – could I ever listen to his music the same way again, knowing now what I know? I began with his albums that I felt the least attachment to, to ease back in. There was an initial overriding guilt while doing so. Continuing to dig deeper, to the likes of ‘Gold’ and ‘Heartbreaker’, the guilty feeling did not dissipate, however there was something else. It was like meeting an old friend after significant time apart. The memories attached to the music came to the fore, and I began to enjoy it once again. Deeper again to my all-time favourites of his – the likes of ‘Easy Tiger’ and ‘Love Is Hell’ - and while not having the significant emotional impact which they once had, my appreciation for the music reappeared. 

While still early days in getting back into immersing in his art, revisiting Adams’ music, at arm’s length, is beginning to help again. I made the decision early on that I will now no longer fund any future artistic endeavours he may decide to undertake, except the minimal financing which comes from streams of his music online. If Adams were to tour again, I could never bring myself to go. If he releases new music, I could never physically buy one of his records, therefore funding an abuser. The acts of the man will likely always have an impact on how I listen to him but, and I am aware that this may sound contradictory, being able to isolate his art/music from the man who made it has meant that music which has previously meant so much to me over the course of several years can now be consumed again and potentially provide the solace in time which it once did.

Disclaimer - I am keen to make it abundantly clear that this is not a piece in defence of Ryan Adams. His actions towards women are unforgivable and I have nothing but sympathy for his victims and hope they get the support and justice they seek.