Hearts Afire

I was pleased to see a cover story on Ryan Adams, one of my favorite artists (“All Heart and Guitar,” by Robert Hilburn, Feb. 3). Adams is an encouraging reminder of why I love pop music: sheer sonic exuberance. I, for one, will be lining up for the four albums Adams is reportedly juggling.

I liked the piece so much I won’t mention that the terrific second album from Whiskeytown is actually called “Strangers Almanac,” not “Perfect Strangers” or that the title of the opener from “Heartbreaker” is “To Be Young (Is to Be Sad, Is to Be High).” It would just be nit-picking.

RAUL BORJA

Los Angeles

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I happened to see Ryan Adams a few months ago at a small theater here in Denver, the night after he appeared on “Saturday Night Live.”

Adams put on an incredible show--at one point, he even made up a song on the spot, about his beloved guitar that had been smashed by the airline en route to Denver. The comparisons to Bob Dylan, I think, are appropriate; certainly Dylan was just as prolific back in his glory--in the mid- to late 1960s, when albums came out every six months instead of every two years.

DAVID HILL

Denver

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Hilburn’s adulation notwithstanding, there are attributes other than prolificacy, derivativeness and self-referential rock star posturing that can--and should be--considered when one heaps praise on a singer-songwriter.

Emotional depth, lyric inventiveness and innovative song structure would be a few traits that Adams would seem to lack--unless he’s busy telling you otherwise--by virtually any standard other than the “at least he’s not Smashmouth” variety.

There are literally hundreds of singer-songwriters across this country whose work transcends anything Adams has accomplished with Whiskeytown or on his own, yet virtually every single article I read that heaps praise on Adams always focuses on his prolific output and his “throwback” songwriting style.

Adams also enjoys reminding everyone how “punk” he once was. I’ve lived in North Carolina since 1994, seen Whiskeytown on several occasions, and never saw anything remotely “punk” in their shows, unless you consider forgetting the words and song key “punk.” His vaunted temper tantrums always rang false and came across as the whinings of a spoiled brat rather than the artistic pangs of the truly creative.

JOHN SCHACHT

Charlotte, N.C.