This Halloween, The Cardinals (as he and his band are now collectively known) took the stage at Harlem’s famed Apollo, an intimate seated venue, to celebrate the release of Cardinology. In stark contrast to the past few years, what followed was an impressive show that presented Adams as an artist focused and at ease, establishing an infallible integrity that has hitherto been missing from him in action and reputation.

It was four days before Adams’ 34^th birthday, a relatively short life span in which to have released an impressive ten full-length studio albums either solo or with The Cardinals (counting Love & Hell as one release), not to mention three albums with Whiskeytown. I own every one of these albums on CD, and a few on vinyl as well. I have maintained that he is my favorite contemporary artist ever since discovering Gold in 2001 during my first radio gig, and have every intention of keeping him atop my musical pedestal.

But until the Apollo show, I’d never seen him give a really great live performance. The first time I saw him was an opening slot for Alanis Morissette (yes, really) in Kansas City in the summer of 2002. It was Adams solo, playing songs from Gold and Heartbreaker that would be swallowed up in the large, open-air amphitheater, amongst the excited chatter of college girls waiting for a different brand of angst. Even then there were whispers that this was an artist who could be really great if he survived the excesses of his existence.

Three albums later, in 2004, I tried to see him again at the Blue Note in Columbia, Missouri. But, he broke his wrist falling off stage in Liverpool, resulting in a cancelled tour and much speculation as to the reason for his fall. By the time he made up the date, I’d moved to Vermont, and when I saw him there in 2005 on the Cold Roses tour, it was the experience of watching a musical genius fight his demons that stuck in my mind more than the music. Between his visible intoxication and the antagonism of the crowd, it was a night of rapid fire verbal insults between musician and audience punctuated by shouts for more vodka and red wine to be brought to the stage. I remember his refusal to play “Chicago” despite the incessant urgings, but I don’t remember a single song he actually played.

For me, the first glimmer of hope that he might be on the road to delivering live performances as great as his recordings came last year in Louisville, shortly before the release of Easy Tiger. I won’t deny that the show was unusual; Adams requested the lights be dimmed almost completely, and those who were able to see him in the obscurity reported he was wearing a shower cap on stage, but I think we were mostly in agreement that he sounded better than he had in a long time, boasting a voice that shone with the clarity of a year of sobriety.

On Halloween night, I finally saw the show I’ve been waiting to see for eight years. Set against the backdrop of one enormous blue cardinal that’s featured on the cover of Cardinology, the Cardinals seamlessly set upon a large portion Adams’ catalog of rock and roll, alt-country and haunting blues, balancing the disparity of his material with highly accomplished musicianship. Instead of commandeering center stage, Adams took a spot slightly to the left of center, alternating between his guitar and keyboards, even turning the spotlight on guitarist Neal Casal who sang lead on his own original composition “Freeway to the Canyon.”

Where Adams historically and at times aggressively has refused to perform songs from any album prior to the one he’s currently promoting, this night he compromised with complete reworkings of older songs like “Rescue Blues.” He dressed smartly and ignored the occasional obnoxious cat call from a frat boy urging him to drink. Instead of turning the lights out to mask his stage fright, he interacted very little with the crowd, but let us know he hasn’t changed beyond recognition with the occasional dry allusion to his trodden-upon heart (“This next song is another song in the long line of songs about how I’m so fucking happy in my romantic life. I’m so happy I’m dancing for fucking joy. I’m gonna die under a stack of comic books alone”).

In short, the show lacked in nothing but melodrama and distraction. Adams’ greatest career accomplishment may well be finding the balance between knowing he’s a great musician and proving it.

–Julia Clarke