To Encore or Not To Encore…

Ryan Adams & the Cardinals played their hearts out at the gorgeously decorated Fox theatre in Atlanta for just shy of two hours tonight, if you count off for the 15-minute intermission. The song selection was incredibly balanced, with the band whipping out interesting and varied arrangements of tunes from seven of the nine official Adams releases (Rock N Roll and 29 being the only two not represented): earlier tunes like “Bartering Lines,” a thunderous “Shakedown on 9th Street,” “The Rescue Blues,” and an electric full-band rendition of “Dear Chicago” mixed with extended versions of Cold Roses and Jacksonville City Nights live chestnuts like “Easy Plateau,” “Peaceful Valley” and even a slightly slowed-down “The Hardest Part,” plus plenty of material from new album Easy Tiger. All night long, the band was, without a doubt firing on all cylinders, its tight harmonies, rewarding sonic explorations and impressive musical communication enhanced by the venue’s crystal-clear acoustics, the entertainingly bizarro banter and the fact that it was bassist Chris Feinstein’s birthday.

But when Adams and the Cardinals left the stage to roaring applause, the house lights went on almost immediately. Still, fans were hopeful and kept cheering intensely. Even though, basically, the same thing happened the last time I saw the band in Memphis (where they did not encore), I thought for a moment that maybe they’d come back for one more song—after all, the show was incredibly on-the-money, and the crowd was very supportive and tuned-in all night. (I mean, I only heard one person scream for “Come Pick Me Up,” which is good, considering there are usually at least four or five at every show.) Still, no such luck—after a minute, the lights go up even more, and the house music comes on as roadies begin packing up amps.

I’ve never seen a crowd turn so fast from impassioned cheering to pissed-off boos. One poor drunk bastard was practically dragged out the side door by his friends and girlfriend as he screamed at the empty stage as if Adams could hear him… “What the fuck was that, Ryan?!?! Only 12 songs?!” all the while throwing up his arms and sticking out his chest as if Adams was in front of him and they were about to throw down. I guess no one told him that the band was probably already on the bus on the way back to the hotel by the time he was saying this.

Now, don’t get me wrong—I would’ve enjoyed another song or two, and I do think the crowd “earned” an encore as much as any group of fans could—but this whole thing has got me thinking about the strange pageantry of rock ’n’ roll, and how people expect or even demand certain things without even considering why. I’m not sure of the reason Adams and the Cardinals chose not to return to the stage: perhaps they were worn-out, or had plans to meet some friends—or maybe they felt they’d already said all they had to say, musically, for the evening.

The automatic encore is a strange animal when you think about it.

Suppose Adams had only played for 75 minutes, then left the stage and returned for an encore… would that be preferred to him playing 2 hours with no encore? What does it matter if the band walks off and comes back? Personally, I’d rather see more music than witness some mindless rock-show ritual. But I guess even that misses the point… as if a musical experience’s value can be judged by length or whether there’s an encore. (Just like a baseball game can’t inherently be deemed “better” because it stretches to extra innings; does anyone really prefer an eight-hour 3-3 stalemate to a dramatic 9th-inning comeback?)

If Adams had played a mediocre set all night, and then one glorious, hair-raising final song and disappeared—or even if he walked onstage, played the most moving rendition of “Good Night Rose” (which he opened with at The Fox) he’d ever played, and then immediately walked off—I suppose I might feel taken at first, maybe even angry. But should I? If I reach a transcendent emotional peak, even once, during a show, should I really ask for anything more? The showboating and pageantry might be fun, and it might be what we’ve come to expect, but it’s really not what matters. It never has been. So next time an artist chooses not to encore, try holding back that knee-jerk, trained-seal reaction, and instead consider the show on the merit of the music you’ve already seen that night, rather than the five minutes you thought you were owed but didn’t get.