The Village Voice: Here Comes a Regular (Oct 2001)
The people want to hear “Come Pick Me Up,” but Ryan Adams is no one-minute man. He’s a-make you love him, make you want him; he wants you to come prepared. At his marathon Irving Plaza show a few weeks back, demands for the ballad start up minutes after he straps on a guitar, but Adams holds fast—he bulldozes through the rest of his solo material with Springsteenian stamina, nearly empties a bottle of wine, cracks endless stoner jokes, apologizes to an unnamed New York Post reporter for missing his morning interview (“I was so fucking hung-over”), hits on a woman toward the front (“I like your glasses”), solicits reassurance and advice about the mop of hair he’s constantly finger-styling (tonight the coif resembles Tommy Stinson’s on the cover of Let It Be and therefore must answer to nobody), introduces spiritual guide Elton John out of the blue for a surreal but pandemonium-inducing rendition of “Rocket Man” (after which young Ryan is knighted with an embrace, like Axl and Eminem before him), and delivers a brief, sheepish encomium of his past and present hometown, New York City (he moved back just before 911). The natives, though charmed and appreciative, remain restless. “Come pick me up!” squeal two ladies in unison. (Related nonsong requests include “Take off your clothes!” and “Give me your body!”) Sometime before the house lights go up and the band skips back onstage unfazed for another encore, a clothed and chaste Adams finally delivers the song, and the sing-along crowd joins him in a collective barroom spirit of cheerful self-flagellation: “Come pick me up/Take me out/Fuck me up/Steal my records/ Screw all my friends/They’re all full of shit/ With a smile on your face/And then do it again/I wish you would.”
those were the days……..
