Stranger's Almanac

Ah yes, the deluxe cd reissue. Whiskeytown has joined in on the efforts to get people to buy an album twice. Actually, Gefffen records played more of a part in this happening. Either way, I'm willing to buy and happy to listen.

Stranger's Almanac holds a deep rooted place in my heart for many reasons. Most importantly, is the music. The album wears many of its influences quite blatantly, but the synthesis of those influences and the earnest and open delivery of each track make it a masterpiece. Sure they borrowed from the Replacements, Alejandro Escovado, REM, and even Uncle Tupelo. The result is quaint and most importantly, sincere. The deluxe version has some great extra goodies that I addressed in my Deluxe Redux post.

This was my first exposure to Ryan Adams. In a lot of ways this album captured his greatest strengths and weaknesses. Here is guy that is a little over a year older than me and at 22 he was writing songs that so convincingly portray the confessions of an weathered soul and delivering each lyric so authentically that my heart breaks with his every time I listen. On the other hand, his lyrics, often seem underdeveloped and simple. This is a trait that would stick with him and occasionally work against him in his solo career. But on this piece, it adds to the realness of it. People aren't perfect, and the words they form to accompany their emotions are not always what they mean. His vocals sell more of the story to each song then his words do. It makes me happy and sad at the same time. Every time I listen, I emerge from the experience in love with every bit of it.

I picked up Stranger's Almanac around this time of year in 1999. It was just before spring break of my final year of grad school. College was coming to an end, the soul crushing experience of interviewing for teaching positions was just beginning, and I was at the apex of the most destructive relationship I had ever been in. It was a relationship where I wound up being the other guy and it was the point of realization that this was the case and it wasn't going to change. Yet, I was madly in love and that makes you stupid and idealistic so you fight against inevitability. Anyway, it set the perfect stage to discover this wonderful sonic companion for heartbreak. That week of vacation was spent working at The Disc on an abandoned UConn campus while that love interest was off on vacation with man number one. Again, love can make you stupid. So, while not working in a record shop I filled my time by perusing other record shops. In my browsing I came across Stranger's Almanac. I had never heard Whiskeytown before and knew nothing of what to expect. What I did know is that I had seen it in the collection of a friend months before. They approved and I trusted their taste. I connected to the cover art and really connected to the truck drifting down the endless stretch of highway on the back cover. So I bought it. For that week, Whiskeytown became my best friend as NIN did in high school. Everything I was feeling was right there and I didn't have to experience it alone now. As I said before, the charm lies more in the delivery than in the total of the lyrics. Singing, "Excuse me while I break my own heart tonight/ after all it's mine," was quite empowering in a self-destructive way. I was totally living the frustration in Ryan Adam's voice as he sneered, "Don't you ask me how I'm doin', when everything I do says I miss you." I played it nonstop over that week. It went to the Disc with me. It kept me company back in the apartment at night. It stayed close by me through the inevitable collapse of that relation and the long and weathering job hunt process.
I've connected to other music during tough times and wound up leaving it behind with that era. Stranger's Almanac was the soundtrack to my misery for a good chunk of time. I didn't leave it behind though. It wasn't just a mirror that reflected what I was dealing with. In a way, it as a friend that supported me. The songs stayed with me beyond the reflection of that period instead of bringing me back.

Nine months later I found myself in a red Ford Explorer, heading into the northwest corner of New York state with a beautiful young woman I barely knew. A six hour ride to the middle of nowhere to ring in the change of the millennium with some dear friends of ours. Stranger's Almanac was a given for the ride. It was the ideal soundtrack to a long stretch of road through sparse and rural areas punctuated by factory towns. At the time I didn't realize that it was also the soundtrack to the start of the courting process of the the love of my life. Carley fell in love with the album as quickly as I had, it would take her some time to feel the same way about me, however. Our trip to Rossi, NY was perfect and the album that fit so well into the times when I was low, fit even better into the time when everything was right.