• Track: New York, New York
• Artist: Ryan Adams
• Album: Gold
• Year: 2001

Lyrics:

Well, I shuffled through the city on the 4th of July
I had a firecracker waiting to blow
Breakin’ like a rocket who’s makin’ its way
To the cities of Mexico
Lived in an apartment out on Avenue A
I had a tar-hut on the corner of 10th
Had myself a lover who was finer than gold
But I’ve broken up and busted up since

Had myself a lover who was finer than gold
But I’ve broken up and busted up since

And love don’t play any games with me
Anymore like she did before
The world won’t wait, so I better shake
That thing right out there through the door
Hell, I still love you, New York

Found myself a picture that would fit in the folds
Of my wallet and it stayed pretty good
Still amazed I didn’t lose it on the roof of the place
When I was drunk and I was thinking of you
Every day the children they were singing their tune
Out on the streets and you could hear from inside
Used to take the subway up to Houston and 3rd
I would wait for you and I’d try to hide

And love won’t play any games with me
Anymore if you don’t want it to
The world won’t wait and I watched you shake
But honey, I don’t blame you
Hell, I still love you, New York
Hell, I still love you, New York
New York

I remember Christmas in the blistering cold
In a church on the upper west side
Babe, I stood there singing, I was holding your arm
You were holding my trust like a child
Found a lot of trouble out on Avenue B
But I tried to keep the overhead low
Farewell to the city and the love of my life
At least we left before we had to go

And love won’t play any games with you
Anymore if you want ’em to
So we better shake this old thing out the door
I’ll always be thinkin’ of you
I’ll always love you though New York
I’ll always love you though New York, New York, New York

Every so often, an album comes along that serves as a musical turnstile for me—an album that challenges my music tastes and opens my musical palate to something new altogether. In 2001, I was a brand-spanking new—and single—dad who had just watched in horror, along with the rest of the world, the heartless terrorist attacks on the morning of September 11, 2001. I was scared out of my wits in my domestic life, and I had been awakened to a new reality of war on American soil.

Like the rest of the country, I was in a funk. I was angry. I was frightened. And mostly, I was just horrified by the images of passenger planes slamming into the iconic twin World Trade Center Towers, the Pentagon, and in a lonely field near Shanksville, Pennsylvania. In early October 2001, I was shopping for groceries for my baby daughter and me, and like often was the case, I ended up in the music aisle at the megamart, looking for new music. Back in those days, some stores had listening stations set up where you could listen to new CDs on headphones in the music aisle (headphones I am sure were teeming with all sorts of brutal bacteria that were just waiting to jump on your head). The upside down flag—a symbol of a nation in distress—on the cover of this album caught my attention, so I gave it a listen.

Adams eludes “genrefication” because his music borrows from alt-country, rock, blues, and folk, which means he usually gets pitched into the broad (and dreaded) singer/songwriter category. (And yes, I just made up the word, “genrefication.” We writer folk get to do that. It’s one of the only perks.) However, when the opening notes to New York, New York began, thoughts of genres and styles faded away. Thoughts of being scared half senseless at the prospect of being someone’s daddy faded away. And thoughts the horrific imagery of the twin towers falling in a plume of smoke and pitch melted away. All that was left was a perfect collection of songs that hit me in all the right spots, at just the right time.

And so there I was, standing in the music aisle in Meijer, leaning on my grocery cart full of diapers and baby food, with a pair of bacteria-laden public headphone strapped over my dome, and swaying to New York, New York as I dropped a copy of Gold into my cart next to the Huggies. Of course, if you listen to the song’s lyrics, Ryan isn’t singing about New York’s mettle or about the terrorist attacks (the song was written, recorded, and already pressed to thousands of CDs when the attacks occurred). Instead, he appears to be singing about being carefree in the Big Apple, and as he so pointedly pointed out in an interview with Spin, it’s a song about “being an idiot.”

Prior to becoming a solo artist, Adams was the vocalist for Whiskeytown (see our piece on Houses on the Hill), an alt-country band hailing from Raleigh, North Carolina. Whiskeytown released three fantastic albums (Faithless Street, Stranger’s Almanac, and Pneumonia) before disbanding in 2000. In 2000, Adams released his critically acclaimed Heartbreaker album, though at the time, I wasn’t familiar with it, Whiskeytown, or Ryan Adams.

Every track on Gold is a masterpiece. It’s upbeat. It’s sad. It’s quiet. It’s perfection.

As a soloist, Adams has been very prolific. In 17 years on his own, Adams has released 16 studio albums, 11 EPs, 1 live album, and 17 singles. While Adams’s work has charted in the top 10 on the rock charts several times, he’s still not the household name he should be. If you’re not familiar with his music, you can’t go wrong with Gold, Easy Tiger, or 2017’s Prisoner.

And while Adams will never know it, Gold helped get me through some tough times, opened an entirely new style of music to me, and it remains a desert island record for me. Give it a spin. Its restorative abilities are Dances with Bass–endorsed

Video:

As the opening screen of this video indicates, it was shot September 7, 2001—four days before the 9/11 attacks in New York, Washington, and Pennsylvania. In the background, the twin World Trade Center towers are clearly visible.

Also, you should check out Adams’s video for Do You Still Love Me?, which appears on his 2017 album, Prisoner.

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