Ryan Adams and the Cardinals (The Kool Haus, May 3)

The early signs on Tuesday night were unencouraging. Lending support to Rachel Yamagata's opening set, a dishevelled Ryan Adams looked like he'd never seen a drum kit before. Watching alt-rock's favourite wild child guzzling wine and chain-smoking as he tentatively poked away at his equipment, it seems inevitable we were getting the bad Adams - the one who performs in fits and starts and can't focus long enough even to complete his songs.

And yet, advance warnings be damned, Adams re-emerged the picture of professionalism, at least by his standards. Perhaps motivated by its release the same day, he came out serving up faithful renditions of songs off his new double-disc, Cold Roses - a return to the country-folk form that once won him raves for his debut solo effort, Heartbreaker.

But on this night, the problem wasn't with Adams - it was with where he was and to whom he was playing. With robust ticket sales prompting a move from the Phoenix, where it was originally scheduled, the show may have been doomed from the start. Ideally, Adams' brand of music should be heard in a smoky bar or a proper concert theatre - not an oversized, open-spaced hall best suited to all-ages pop-punk shows.

But even by Kool Haus standards, this was a horrible crowd - and likely a deep-pocketed one, since many evidently shelled out $35 per ticket without any idea what they were paying for.

Presumably having heard the buzz without actually listening to the music, or assuming all his songs sound like 2001's radio-friendly New York, New York, the heavy contingent of frat boys and trend-seekers would've done best to beat a hasty retreat once they realized this wasn't for them.

Instead, most opted to ignore both the onstage proceedings and the angry stares from the contingent of hard-core faithful in favour of loudly chatting among themselves.

Through the first hour, Adams gamely pressed on - even when delicate offerings like Meadowlake Street were virtually drowned out by the chatter. But by the brief intermission, he'd grown sufficiently frustrated that a turn at the piano - minus his four bandmates - was cut short.

Seemingly recognizing what he was up against, Adams began the second set in rousing fashion -- first with Cold Roses' lively Easy Plateau, then with Heartbreaker's Shakedown on 9th Street. But a stripped-down encore notwithstanding, he seemed to slide further into himself as the night wore on, taking to lengthy sessions of guitar noodling as his band struggled to stay with him.

Perhaps a sizable ego and copious amount of alcohol made that transition inevitable. But it was hard not to get the feeling that Adams would rather have showcased his material the way he did earlier in the night - if only anyone was interested.

"He's lucky he has so many fans," one customer groused as he exited, miffed Adams skipped over his few minor hits, "so he can get away with this stuff."

Actually, Adams would be a lot luckier if he had fewer of them. That way, he'd be playing in a venue where his music was meant to be heard, to people actually keen to hear it.