IT CAN be hard to read someone in the dark, an audience or a performer for that matter.
After 30 songs (more if you throw in the skits) and more than three hours, the standing ovation was a little unexpected. North Carolina-born Adams obviously has a real affection for York – this was his fourth show here since 2007 – and he talked of moving him and his cats to the UK.
“I love you so very much, York. You have always treated me like one of your own. I love you all so very much,” he wrote later in his Instagram account. It was clear we felt the same way.
With more than 1.2 million followers, he remains a big deal and can certainly command an audience. Adams tours with side lamps, piano and acoustic guitars for company (so presumably lots of space in the large tour bus outside). The same set-up as his April 2023 concert in the same venue, this time ostensibly marking the 20th anniversary of 2004’s Love Is Hell and tenth anniversary of 2014’s self-titled album.
A sufferer from Meniere’s disease, he is particularly susceptible to bright lights, and a red LED light led to an early dressing down for one unthinking audience member. From there it was a mostly digital-free affair, which allowed us to focus on the songs and the voice in the gloaming.
Adams is an expressive, wonderful singer, and a very capable guitarist. With this artist though, the music is not the only show in town. As he matures (50 next year, God willing), he remains a performer you need to watch, never sure how he’ll react or respond.
He can win any shootout with a heckler, but this spikiness is leavened by his quick sense of humour. His (presumably) impromptu songs about the Spin Doctors and a significant part of Lenny Kravitz were hilarious.
Adams is obviously watching the audience closely too, ruefully noting an attractive blue dress heading for the exit. Most of his songs pick up on that theme in some shape or form, and in that sense he is a natural heir to the cry-in-your-beer honky-tonk greats such as Lefty Frizzell and Hank Williams.
Carolina Rain (the highlight from 2005’s 29 album) is a southern gothic short story in song form and Adams inhabited every word before the long guitar outro. It felt more vital, in fact, than his take on Williams’s I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry that came immediately before.
“This music is not healthy for anyone,” he said early in the second set, and while in large doses that may be true, there were many vital, gorgeous moments. His take on Bob Dylan’s Love Sick ached with lyricism, and his Bobnesss’ influence was also writ large on To Be Young – one of the tunes that lit up the second half of the second half.
Adams’s act is a bizarre mix of assertive confrontation and exaggerated solicitousness that sees him stop songs to say “Bless you” to a sneeze.
“Like trying to ride a really elegant bull” was Adams’s typically leftfield way of describing playing in our city. While that line (rightly) fell flat, he does have an unusual view of the world – and it was clear he was among friends.
That said, his diatribes about his divorce and his strident dismissal of the ‘lech’ tag made for more uncomfortable listening. It will probably always be too soon to joke about.
The second set dragged along rather, the chair for John Steinbeck’s ghost remained resolutely empty behind him, and not quite everyone made it to the final curtain. Come Pick Us Up, his final number, he may not have, but as the ovation faded, we left the richer for watching a unique talent share his very soul with us.
Review by Paul Rhodes