Ryan Adams has had a pretty illustrious career so far: he won critical praise with his influential alt-country band Whiskeytown; while still with that band he released a solo album, Heartbreaker, which also won rave reviews; and after the demise of Whiskeytown, Adams released a solo album, Gold, which was not only popular with critics but also with fans, becoming his first commercially successful album. This time around, Adams’ ego matches his level of success. He has released two albums simultaneously; Rock n Roll and Love Is Hell Part Two, the former and more popular of which I will review here.

Rock n Roll is an exuberant, if somewhat lazy, album. It is what the title suggests, a mix of glam rock thrash and soulful new wave that introduces the listener to a new Ryan Adams, one more obnoxious and proud of being fucked-up than ever. Rock n Roll is lyrically pretty uninteresting and probably written under the influence of either narcotics or apathy, but this doesn’t matter. The music is that catchy, badass kind of rock that makes you want to be a rock star.

The album’s first single, “So Alive,” is a demonstration of this, and is the absolute best song on the album. From the opening strains, you can tell this is a song to be listened to over and over, either in angst or in pure joy. “So Alive” sounds like New Order with Robert Smith singing vocals, which is a vision of ecstasy as far as I’m concerned. It sounds like Adams is striving for the rock grandeur of bands like The Cure and U2, and mission accomplished. He sings shakily in the simple, sailing chorus, “I am on your side/and so alive/so alive it isn’t real.” Guitars chime and ring dramatically and in the end it is all brought down to gentle piano that sounds like the dying breath of Broadway musical hero. This song alone is reason enough to love Rock n Roll.

The album is pretty uniform until “So Alive,” the fifth track. The first three tracks, “This Is It,” “Shallow,” and “1974,” are all melodic, straight rock ’n roll with Adams sounding particularly hoarse. Many illusions are made to ’90s grunge, especially the Nirvana-esque sound of “Shallow” and the echo of the closing chords of Pearl Jam’s “Jeremy” echoed on “1974.” “Wish You Were Here” is the fourth song, and this is where Adams sounds more like the singer we used to know. The lyrics are pretty stupid, tough-guy stuff: “It’s all a bunch of shit/there’s nothing to do around here/I’m totally fucked up/I’m totally fucked up/Wish you were here.” But Adams lets up on the swagger and lets the listener feel some of the emotion that fueled Whiskeytown’s great songs.

After “So Alive,” the album comes down a little with the dull “Luminol,” which sounds regrettably like mediocre Foo Fighters. “Burning Photographs” is a lot better, and like “Wish You Were Here,” it sounds like the Ryan Adams we heard on Gold, save for some much-appreciated new wave guitar work. Former Hole member Melissa Auf Der Maur sings barely audible backing vocals here and elsewhere on the album. “Note To Self: Don’t Die” may have the best title on the album, but does not hold together well. The cool factor is high: Adams co-wrote the song with indie movie queen Parker Posey, who also sings backing vocals. Unfortunately, this cannot save it from big, dumb guitars that couldn’t care less about melody.

Fortunately, it is followed by “Rock n Roll,” a slow, short, piano ballad that brings the mood down. It is the closest the album comes to real introspection, with the lyrics, “Everybody’s cool playing rock n roll/I don’t feel cool at all.” In a Radiohead-like move, a voice drenched in feedback whispers “I miss my best friend” over and over at the end, making for a sad and beautiful moment. This is when the album gets good again. Speaking of Radiohead, “Anybody Wanna Take Me Home,” one of the best songs on the album, channels them surprisingly well. The song’s great strength lies in its epic, somber dramatics, similar to those heard on songs such as “Black Star” from The Bends. It is a song of longing and superiority, the song sung by the Morrissey figure at a party; the lonely, pretty thing in the corner.

“Do Miss America” and “Boys” follow and display the intensity of their new wave influences. “The Drugs Not Working” is the final song on Rock n Roll, a trippy guitar rave-up that includes great, albeit clichéd, lines being yelled over the catchy chorus: “Los Angeles is dead/The drugs ain’t working.” This song sums up the sentiment of the album, which is stay young, get fucked up, be cool and cry if you want to. “The Drugs Not Working” ends with beautiful, distorted keyboards and Adams sings the same final lines softly. Much like “Goodnight, Hollywood Boulevard,” the final song on Gold, this song uses the dangerous landscape of L.A. at night to express its mixed message (drugs are good, aren’t they? Or are they bad?). Regardless of lazy lyrics, “The Drugs Not Working” is the perfect graceful death for an album. For all of Adams’ swaggering cool, there is real substance here. The end of Rock n Roll is like the end of a long night and it leaves you feeling as if something important just happened. Let’s hope Ryan Adams doesn’t burn out too young the way he seems to be planning—rock and roll needs this distracted party boy more than anyone would have guessed.