Ryan Adams’ Rock N Roll. If you are at all a fan of alt. country or indie music in general, you probably just had a fairly strong reaction to that fragmentary sentence.

Probably the most reviled album in a catalogue of conversely reviled and lauded albums, Rock N Roll is an album that many probably think doesn’t deserve a second chance, if it even deserved a first chance.

The story has been recounted too many times: Adams’ record company Lost Highway rejected his initial follow up to the moderately-successful classic-rock pastiche Gold; a mope-rock album titled Love Is Hell. Taking whatever anger and frustration he felt into the studio with Courtney Love producer/sometime boyfriend Jim Barber, Adams emerged with a much more upbeat, but possibly even less Gold-like album than his previous effort…yada, yada, yada. Long story short, this album was met with strong criticism pretty much across the board (Stylus Magazine’s Josh Love gave it an F, Pitchfork gave it a 2.9 out of 10) and Lost Highway were accused of idiocy for relegating the better received Love Is Hell to a double EP.

But here’s the thing: I kind of like Rock N Roll. Actually, I love at least five songs on the album and think they represent some of his best songwriting. It’s actually surprising to me that this album was seen as such a departure. Sonically, it is quite different than Gold or Heartbreaker and most of his Whiskeytown stuff; but if people had been paying closer attention, they might not have been taken off guard.

To most critics, it was obvious Adams was an avid record collector. But where most critics and fans went awry in their thinking is assuming that Adams’ record collection stopped about the same time Dylan converted to Christianity. Rock N Roll is proof that not only is that not true, but that for a time at least, his heart belonged to a land without lap steels or banjos: a place known as 80s post-punk.

To me, it seems that people were so shocked at his rapid turn around that they couldn’t take this album for what it was: a straight-up rock album. The critics who weren’t lamenting his turn from alt. country assumed he was trying to keep up with his friends The Strokes and The White Stripes, but nothing could be further from the truth. No one wanted to accept that this was basically the same album-sounding-like-radio concept as Gold, except instead of ‘70s A.M. radio mainstays, he was using The Smiths, The Replacements, and pretty much anyone else found on Rhino’s Left of the Dial box set.

Don’t get me wrong: there are some definite weaknesses here: “1974,” “Note to Self: Don’t Die,” and “Shallow” are all failures in whatever it is they’re trying to achieve. But there are some classic Adams tracks on here, as good as anything on Heartbreaker or Cold Roses, in my opinion.

Take “So Alive,” an apparent ode to Boy-era U2. This is one of the most emotional songs the man has ever released, with Adams pinching himself and hoping that his love won’t ever leave his side. It’s definitely a different Adams than the bitter lover found on “Come Pick Me Up,” but the fact that he’s saying it while showing off his vocal range or that he’s backed by effects-heavy guitars and synthesizers doesn’t make the sentiment any less valid.

“The Drug’s Not Working” may be the best song here, with some of the most cynical and hilarious lyrics this side of Paul Westerberg: “she was a hooker at the age of 16 / All she wanted was the money / She didn’t need an I.D. / She was a junkie and I know its cliché / But then so was her life / I mean, she lived in L.A.” The song is completely rocking until the ending verse, when it becomes completely hushed and melancholy, with delay heavy guitars and string-synths giving way to a piano: “riot in my skull, demons are coming / L.A. you’re dead, the drugs ain’t working / Painted it all black, the chains are jerking / L.A. is dead, the drugs ain’t working.” The last verse is the confirmation from the narrator: I may be joking around, but seriously, screw you L.A.

“Wish You Were Here” is a little less literal, but seems to be the stream-of-consciousness ramblings of a junky who needs his fix. The song builds on itself from the relatively down beat verses backed by a palm-muted electric guitar, giving way to the most gorgeous bridge of Adams career: “and if I could have my way / We’d take some drugs / And we’d smile”—the ironically happy music fits perfectly with the attitude of a hit making everything peachy keen—how appropriate.

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