Ryan Adams, alone at Christmas, sank into a funk familiar to most, one pitched somewhere between introversion and a need for escapism. His formula: ‘1989’ in the style of ‘Nebraska’.
Of course, what we ended up with in our (digital) mitts isn’t quite the same as Bruce Springsteen’s bedroom experiment. Thanks to a malfunctioning four track and a wrecked cassette, Adams’ reimagining of Taylor Swift’s chart-dominating pop gem is in fact a warm, full-band studio affair. But that doesn’t mask his initial intentions.
It’s difficult to create a knowing, wry take on an album that’s already clever and self-aware, so Adams doesn’t try. He imbues the songs with a sense of the hopelessness and empty days that gave rise to the idea, removing the sparkle in favour of a guitar-heavy reading that ends up, much like an Adams solo record, somewhere between Sonic Youth and sleepy Americana.
He searches for the darkness at the edge of the songs, attacking them with earnest intent despite the internet-breaking potential of doing so. The end result is an album wildly different to its source material, but one that doesn’t consistently hit the same heights. Where Swift’s ‘1989’ started strong and revealed further layers to investigate on later listens, Adams’ version hangs a mixed bag from several notable hits.
There’s a reason that the best modern pop is often discussed in terms of precision, and ‘1989’ is a shining example of that. Swift’s arch, soul-searching words were, in its best moments, carried by huge melodies that did exactly what we hoped they would: surprise and satisfy us.
Her Blank Space is pointed and witty, while its chorus hook pulls the rug from beneath our feet, joining the dots between artist and listener. Great pop, in the age of studio mastery, producers and songwriters as smart as Swift, is partly about construction and execution.
Removed from those moorings, Adams’ more freeform take on the material doesn’t provide the same thrill. Shake It Off’s chorus, delivered over plaintive, minimalist guitars, just doesn’t work here, while the percussive, slow burn dynamics of Out Of The Woods are jettisoned altogether. Strung out across six minutes, the build up and payoff of the original is sorely missed this time around. His Blank Space is interestingly cut from 'Love Is Hell' cloth, but loses out to the original in almost every department.
But Adams’ commitment to the whole thing does reap rewards. He clearly has a deep affection for Swift’s writing and, when his stylistic choices lock in with her blueprints, there’s real, melancholy fun to be had. Welcome To New York, the album’s opener and in Swift’s hands a slick misstep, suits his laconic ways and its bridge comes alive under his drawled delivery.
All You Had To Do Was Stay is another winner, coursing from the album’s disaffected beginnings and Adams’ impassioned reading of its chorus, which steps just to one side of Swift’s while managing to add fresh vulnerability to its sentiments: “All you had to do was stay, had me in the palm of your hand…’
Bad Blood, a song with back-story to burn, is yanked from its stop-start origins and sent back into the world as a slick rock song, Adams spitting the hook out with the requisite distaste. Style, though, never gets off the ground despite a neat twist on its chorus: “You’ve got that ‘Daydream Nation’ look in your eye.”
Where this ‘1989’ falls down is that it works best at face value. Swift’s became richer over time, its subtleties becoming clear once the fireworks faded, but Adams has less to work with in terms of both dynamics and melody. His dedication is a constant, but it’s not always enough to paper over all the cracks.
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