I’m not the first person to compare Ryan Adams to Neil Young (hi, Stephen King!), and I certainly won’t be the last. It’s not that their voices or personalities are all that similar — where Adams has an eccentric silliness to him, Young is just plain eccentric — or that they even appreciate the same music — Young has a genuine love for country; Adams hates the stuff, despite having recorded an endless amount of it. But their careers are astoundingly twin-like. Both found success in roots music and recorded some of their best work with a reliable, shaggy-dog backing band, only to alienate some of their stuffier fan base with a string of genre experiments. Critics have since warmed up to Young’s forays into jazz and rockabilly, but many still wince at Adams’ stab at metal, including us.

So, let’s do this. Give our rankings of all his proper studio full-lengths a read, and then come back to it in 10 years to see what’s changed. Young has decades over Adams, enough time for the public to view his time in the ditch and beyond as the mark of an artist who follows nothing except his heart. And I think everyone will eventually view Adams the same way. In fact, maybe we’ve already started to. (Just look at the grades we gave 2015’s batch of Taylor Swift covers and his latest release, Prisoner.) One thing’s for certain, though: Regardless of how you feel (or will feel) about his career as a whole, you can’t deny that it’s been interesting, which makes his albums irresistible to rank. So, here they are: Ryan Adams’ studio albums, from worst to best.



–Dan Caffrey

Senior Staff Writer

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16. Orion (2010)

Just like 1984 isn’t quite hardcore, Orion isn’t quite metal. No matter the genre, Adams’ hooks will always be sugary, a trait that suits a 13-minute sorta punk record better than a 30-minute concept album that tries to emulate the thrash of Vovoid. Adams never commits to his sci-fi theme — nor his heavier arrangements — in the way that a band like, say, Mastodon, does, making the whole thing more of an interesting experiment than a substantial work of music. –Dan Caffrey

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15. Cardinology (2008)

If only Cardinology had been an EP. Adams, his voice clearer than ever after over a year of sobriety, laid down some of his best and most succinct work on the last album (chronologically speaking) with his backing band, from the urban contemplation of “Crossed Out Name” to the nonsensical junk pop of “Magick”. Sadly, much of the rest is pure filler — not bad, but paling in comparison to even some of his roughest bootlegs. Cut out the yawningly acoustic back half of “Natural Ghost”, “Sink Ships”, “Evergreen”, and “Like Yesterday” (which would take you right from “Crossed Out Name” to redemptive closer “Stop”), and you not only lessen some of Cardinology’s piecemeal nature, but you get one of Adams’ finer records. –Dan Caffrey

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14. 29 (2005)

Maybe releasing three albums in one year, with one of those being a sprawling double album, was just too much for Ryan Adams’ fans and critics to process, but even with nine years to fully take it in, 29 is unequivocally the weakest of his 2005 trilogy. After the success of the Grateful Dead-inspired sprawler Cold Roses and the classic country twang of Jacksonville City Nights, 29 is messy and scatterbrained, but not in the charmingly ramshackle ways that made his other albums great. Both opener “29”, with its well-trodden bluesy thump, and “Strawberry Wine”, which is elongated to a herculean eight minutes, drag on for a couple minutes too long. That’s not to say 29 doesn’t have its moments; like any offering out of Adams’ massive catalog, there’s a lot to love here. His southern howl on “Carolina Rain” is particularly strong while the punch-drunk pianos of “Night Birds” makes for a lovely atmosphere. Unfortunately, this feeds fire to the longstanding criticisms that Adams needs an editor —Josh Terry

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13. Demolition (2002)

Ryan Adams dismissed Demolition, his third studio album made up of demos from three of his “lost albums,” The Suicide Handbook, The Pinkheart Session, and 48 Hours, when he said, “I don’t much care for this record. The rock songs are plodding, and the quiet songs belonged to better records.” He’s not wrong to think that as MOR thumpers like “Gimme a Sign” are awkwardly sandwiched between tranquil and excellent acoustic numbers “Dear Chicago” and “Tomorrow”. However, there are lot of great songs on this record. Lead track “Nuclear” soars on shimmering slide guitars and a characteristically punchy chorus from Adams, while other songs like “Tennessee Sucks” are carried by Adams’ wit and ear for compelling full-band arrangements. It’s much easier to think of this release as a collection of singles rather than a cohesive unit. Still, it’s worth more than a few listens for even the casual Adams fan. –Josh Terry

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12. Ashes & Fire (2011)

It had been four years since the last “Ryan Adams album” proper by the time Ashes & Fire came out, but Adams had released several (less-than-lauded) albums in between them, including multiple Cardinals efforts and his metal exhibition Orion. Ashes is a pleasant, occasionally very good return to his singer-songwriter game (centerpiece “Do I Wait?”, especially), but a reasonably self-conscious one. “Kindness don’t ask for much but an open mind/ Kindness can cure a broken heart/ Honey, are you feeling kind?” he sings on “Kindness”, and it’s tough not to hear him angling just a little bit for listeners to go nice on him. His imagery was all danger, but Adams plays it safe here — which is not always a bad thing. –Steven Arroyo

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11. Rock n Roll (2003)

Middle fingers are supposed to be crude, flippant, knee-jerk gestures – not albums we still return to a decade later. At odds with his label over his vision for Love Is Hell, Adams took two weeks to crank out this more, say it Michael Douglas, “economically viable” record. Rock N Roll – even the title feels like an F-U to label suits – largely bears the stamp of its expedited origins: impromptu, scatterbrained, and excessive as all hell. Still, if we’re honest with ourselves, we can admit that these straight-out-of-the-garage songs, for all their shortcomings, are the most fun batch Adams has ever put out. Sometimes a middle finger has some staying power. –Matt Melis

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10. III/IV (2010)

III/IV is Cold Roses’ more reckless twin brother. Both double albums with The Cardinals, the latter is almost exclusively concerned with deep relationships and the majesty of the south, while the former keeps its oddball roots in other dimensions and New York City, where Adams wistfully reflects on pizza, his addictions, sewer wishing wells, and searching for his Wookie in Chinatown (spoiler alert: he runs into ninjas). But what makes III/IV so enjoyable isn’t just the strange subject matter (which, to be honest, can get a little disposable at times) — it’s the musicianship. The Cardinals have never sounded tighter, with the playing on standout tracks like “Ultraviolet Light”, “Users”, and “Kill the Lights” creating the juxtaposition of a well-groomed weirdo. Think The Great Gonzo in a tuxedo or, better yet, one of his plum-colored suits. –Dan Caffrey

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09. 1989 (2015)

The oft-made argument that Ryan Adams’ 1989is an improvement over Taylor Swift’s original simply because it relies on guitars and not synths is nonsense. If anything, his reinterpretation only proves how great Swift’s album is to begin with, enforcing that all 13 of its tracks transcend genre. Whether “Shake It Off” bursts through speakers as a pep-rally anthem or a haunted Springsteen meditation doesn’t really matter. At the end of the day, it’s an unbeatable fucking song about working your way through negativity. The optimism may be more explicit in Swift’s version, but Adams’ whispered, more-tempered approach is also valid. It reminds us that music affects us all in different ways, even if we’re all dealing with a universal struggle such as ex-lovers (“All You Had to Do Was Stay”), ex-friends (“Bad Blood”), or ex-lifestyles (“I Know Places”). That makes Adams’ 1989 folk music, folks. And like it or not, Swift’s 1989 makes it good folk music. —Dan Caffrey

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08. Jacksonville City Nights (2005)

Adams’ second album with The Cardinals and second out of three he would release in a seven-month span in 2005, Jacksonville City Nights is the closest the prolific singer songwriter ever got to a full-on country record. Where Adams has always fallen under the alt-country designation, despite experimenting with Strokes-like swagger rock on Rock N Roll and moody Smiths-inspired alt-rock on Love Is Hell, this album is pure, rustic twang. Despite the pretty much seamless transition to golden roots music with pedal-steels on every track, sometimes the songs can register as failed experiments, like “Dear John”, the ill-advised duet with Norah Jones, which finds both vocalists at their worst. Even with the occasional misstep, Adams deftly channels the ‘70s Nashville sound and updates it with his strong songwriting. Woozy barroom-based heartbreak anthems like “My Love Is Gone”, “A Kiss Before I Go”, and “The Hardest Part” further prove that Adams can wear as many musical hats as he damn well pleases. –Josh Terry

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07. Ryan Adams (2014)

Even some of Ryan Adams’ most dedicated fans have dismissed his self-titled album as too simple, too direct, too brooding. But that’s exactly what makes it such a distinct minor masterpiece in his catalog. Unlike 29, Cardinology, and other scattershot works, Ryan Adams adheres to discernible minimalism, almost stubbornly. More or less free of crescendos and abrupt shifts in tone, each song locks into a mood and sticks with it. “Shadows” gets by with little more than guitar and hesitant drum palpitations while more rollicking tunes like “Gimme Something Good” and “Feels Like Fire” surf on Benmont Tench’s adrenalized organ textures. Ryan Adams is like Tom Petty in that way here, his power-pop simplicity blown open by a group of ace musicians and an unwavering commitment to atmosphere over experimentation. Couple that with the fact that he may have been writing about his marriage ending (his ex-wife Mandy Moore even lends backing vocals to two tracks), and Ryan Adams might be more complex than it initially seemed. —Dan Caffrey

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06. Gold (2001)

Gold, as it turns out, ended up going gold and acted like a musical olive branch to the masses, who, sadly, probably wouldn’t last through a more subdued, ruminating album like Heartbreaker. From those opening strums of “New York, New York” (which, entirely unplanned of course, became a love song to the city in the wake of 9/11), Adams made it clear that you’d be able to “shake that thing” some while listening to this record. It’s a tightrope walk to be sure, but he finds a neat balance between jubilant, country-flavored rock (“Firecracker”), sing-along-worthy ballads (“When the Stars Go Blue”), and quieter pondering (“La Cienega Just Smiled”). There’s more album here than there needs to be – and Adams had intended on even more but ran into label squabbles – but that can be said about most Ryan Adams records. Adams, in his own words, set out to “invent a modern classic.” He may have fallen a bit short of that aspiration, but there’s certainly something here for everybody. –Matt Melis

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05. Easy Tiger (2007)

After his 2005 trilogy ended on a relative whimper with 29, it was back to the drawing board for Ryan Adams. Easy Tiger, feeling like a spiritual successor to his 2005 lengthy masterpiece, Cold Roses, cuts back on some of its sprawl and ramps up the accessibility to near universal records. Sure, the unabashed butt-rock of “Halloweenhead” is going to remain a controversial entry in Adams’ catalog, but Easy Tiger contains some of his most instantly palatable and, yes, best songs. The plaintive, moody acoustic numbers “Everybody Knows” and “Oh My God, Whatever, Etc.” are both stunning and simple, while even “Two”, a duet with Sheryl Crow, works exponentially better than it has any right to. Here, with Adams at 32 and finally sober, his choruses are grander and his songwriting tighter, but it’s very rarely safe. For the uninitiated, this may be the best album to start with. –Josh Terry

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04. Love Is Hell (2004)

I wonder if Lost Highway ever just flat-out greenlit an album Adams brought to them. Nearly every release through the label seemed to come with an Adams preamble akin to “Here’s my new album, which, thanks to my label, is nothing like I intended it to be, and anyway, there were a half-dozen other albums that I cared about putting out more than this one, but my label rejected all of them point-blank, so I hope you enjoy this, but if not, well, now you know why it stinks.” Talk about building up expectations!

Initially, Adams had intended Love Is Hell to be a double album, but Lost Highway balked and sliced it into two Eps. They eventually caved and put out the full-length version after sterling EP sales, but it’s still troubling to think about who decides what we get to listen to – and Love Is Hell deserved better. Adams aptly described the album to The Guardian as “severe. It’s complex and it’s damaged.” For my money (which I laid out for both Eps and the album – hmmm … maybe Lost Highway was on to something), Adams doesn’t get much better than the first half’s stretch of “Anybody Wanna Take Me Home”, “Love Is Hell”, and his cover of Oasis’ “Wonderwall”. On the first two, Adams, among glistening guitars, his voice husky, conjures up the youthful desperation, exasperation, and exhaustion of a man run down by living through the experience of the album’s title. And when hearing Adams deliver the line “Maybe, you’re gonna be the one that saves me” – quiet, haunting, and vulnerable – you soon understand that he’s tapped into something unique and powerful in that song that the brothers Gallagher probably never intended. –Matt Melis

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03. Prisoner (2017)

When singing about heartbreak — perhaps the most common running theme in rock music — how does a musician make it relevant and new? One only has to mean it. And after a highly publicized divorce from Mandy Moore, Ryan Adams means it. The words he musters on Prisoner aren’t necessarily novel, but will be all too familiar to anyone who’s ever dealt with the fallout of a failed romance. Such ubiquity (not to mention the tangible theme) make Prisoner the most coherent and direct album of his since 2005’s Cold Roses, further unified by mid-’80s flourishes and the wailing tone pushed forth by the guitar pedal of the title. The throwbacks to mid-career Springsteen (if his cover of Taylor Swift’s “Shake It Off” wasn’t his “I’m on Fire”, then “Shiver and Shake” surely is; “Tightrope” could be a b-side off Tunnel of Love) could easily be a gimmick, but once again, it’s the sincerity that makes it work. This isn’t Adams having retro fun — it’s him finding solace in musical references of the past. It’s him using nostalgia as a filter for his own music, because it’s one of the only things that makes him feel good right now. It’s him writing backward-thinking divorce songs because he has to. —Dan Caffrey

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02. Cold Roses (2005)

Ryan Adams has long specialized in making instantly grabbing and accessible music. Cold Roses stayed the course but almost overloaded listeners with material. Released as an 18-song double album, it sounded alarm bells among critics who were worried Adams needed an editor, that he was unable to sustain his songwriting over that length. Despite lingering complaints that Cold Roses is overstuffed and laboring (it’s not), the LP is among Adams’ most confident, rewarding, and essential releases. His first album with The Cardinals, Cold Roses takes direct cues from the Grateful Dead with sprawling, occasionally soloing guitars and earthy Americana arrangements. The impeccably sequenced “Magnolia Mountain” and “Easy Plateau”, with their lovingly scorched guitars and pedal steels, combine for fitting openers, while other offerings like “Let It Ride” and “Dance All Night” trot on the strength of their smoky twang. When Cold Roses slows down, it’s equally stunning, with understated songs capturing heartbreak and melancholy, like the opium-assisted “How Do You Keep Love Alive” and the swooning lament “Now That You’re Gone”. These songs ultimately deserve the attention a double-disc package begs for. It’s Adams at his mature best, effortlessly creating one of alt-country’s masterpieces. –Josh Terry

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01. Heartbreaker (2000)

Adams’ confidence was scarily high (and young, and sad) heading into his first post-Whiskeytown solo outing. A perfect three-to-four-minute piece of Americana was a slam dunk by this point for the 25-year-old, who was riding a tidal wave of validation from his already-successful career and heading into an even bigger one of substance abuse and punch lines in the coming years. Forget the level of narcissism it takes to slap that title or cover art onto your biggest name-branding work: In sheer terms of stubborn melodrama, that’s nothing compared to longing for love just to feel the impact of when it all implodes horribly as he does on “Come Pick Me Up”, an alt-country song of the decade contender. Heartbreaker is a powerhouse of American swagger and naivety so rare and pure that you can’t help but play it repeatedly just to enter Adams’ spectacular fantasy-youth for a few moments. –Steven Arroyo