Prisoner is, perversely, about freedom. Whereas the concept of imprisonment is the antithesis of that very idea, Ryan Adams bears his soul with possibly the most open and vulnerable set of songs that he’s released in his stellar career.

The heartbreak album has been around as long as vinyl has been pressed. It’s not easy to get right – but it is easy to come across as too pretentious, too self-indulgent, too self-pitying; the places where a writer might trip up are numerous, and few have successfully navigated that treacherous path to deliver a heartbreak record that effectively conveys the emotional turmoil that comes with it.

Adams has certainly produced many a broken-hearted song over his 17-year recording career to great effect, but Prisoner (his 16^th studio album) is all out heartbreak, heartache, soul-bearing and soul-searching. There are no production tricks, no characters to hide behind; it’s a metaphor-lite collection of songs that Ryan Adams has penned about his breakup and subsequent divorce from singer, songwriter and actress, Mandy Moore. It is warts and all; no filters, no off button in sight.

Those expecting something drastically different from Adams’ previous output will be disappointed… for about one – two minutes. He hasn’t reinvented himself, he’s done something much braver: he’s stayed true to instrumentation and arrangements that have worked for him over countless records; only he’s kept it to a bare minimum. There isn’t a wasted note, beat or bar to get in the way of his truth and the feelings he wants to express, and it’s all the more beautiful for it.

That’s not to say that it’s not a creative record. ‘Do You Still Love Me?’ kicks things off with a bizarre mix of Survivor’s ‘Eye of the Tiger’ and Rainbow’s ‘Since You’ve Been Gone’ over a mournful church organ, and somehow it works. It verges on Dad Rock territory, yet the open, honest, unbelievably simple, “Do you still love me, babe?” chorus still has the ability to move the listener. There’s a bravery throughout, whether it’s the pockets of silence as the band falls away at various points, the nakedness and vulnerability of the lyric, or the lonely guitar solo spilling out over the vast gaps. It leaves me wondering how a song, with so many elements that could easily go wrong, makes such a powerful, cohesive impression.

Adams has described drawing influence from AC/DC, ELO and Bruce Springsteen when writing and recording this album. Well, the first influence I can hear is The Smiths, coming through loud and clear on ‘Anything I Say To You Now’; a vital cut underpinned with urgency from the rhythm section and riding along on chiming guitars. As is the modus operandi throughout, the cutting chorus lyric “Anything I say to you now is just a lie”, is delivered with utmost conviction. Similarly, ‘Breakdown’ carries on nicely from ‘Anything…’ both in terms of production and vibe. Metaphor is cast aside – and it feels like Adams is speaking directly to the listener without poetry to cloud or cloak the message: “Feels like I’m headed for a breakdown” is about as matter of fact as it gets – mirrored in the straightforward backing and mix. No gloss, just the gritty truth.

I can certainly hear Springsteen’s influence, too. It makes sense that Adams would draw from a writer who deals in integrity and sincerity. No-one would begrudge what Adams borrows from the Boss – the low key saxophone and piano that appear at the end of ‘Tightrope’ make hairs stand on end and bring to mind Born To Run’s ‘Meeting Across The River’. ‘Outbound Train’ feels like Adams is almost channelling Springsteen – you can almost feel the energy and intent crackle down the microphone and into the speakers to provide one of the most sublime songs on the record.

There are cuts that could slot seamlessly onto Adams’ previous great works. ‘Doomsday’ sounds like Love is Hell-era Adams – it is short, sharp and marks the album’s most commercial moment. ‘To Be Without You’ would happily sit on Easy Tiger with its smooth, comfy Americana. ‘Broken Anyway’ provides a cutting analysis of a broken relationship, juxtaposed with a one of more uplifting arrangements. There’s a Cardinals-like performance/synergy to the band that echo’s Cold Roses. There are some killer couplets in that song, too:

“The problem is what we want to say / What we want to say will just blow us both away
It's ice cold and it just rained / Everything we were is going down in an endless drain”

Just in case anyone needed it, Prisoner is a reminder of Adams’ supreme talent. The title track sums up everything I love about him. When he gets it right, as he consistently does on this record, he articulates so much emotion, feeling, and expression via such simple mediums. Prisoner’s lyric is uncomplicated, its arrangement uncluttered, and it barely even has a chorus – more of a lyrical payoff:

“I know our love is wrong / I am a criminal
Mmm, I am a prisoner / For your love”

It’s great songwriting built around the crushing story of being trapped by love, capped off with wailing harmonica in the outro for good measure. Good? This is as good as it gets.
Adam Atkins
 

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