12/05
Being in a metal band, I'm not sure
if I'm allowed to call Ryan a guitar
god. But he is. I'm saying this out

of devotion, not idolatry. And Ryan
on his acoustic guitar is what
"acoustic" meant before the '60s
came along. He hears the music in the
people around him and he funnels it
into his guitar.

Ryan and his strummed chords. He
doesn't even pause for tuning, really.
Are his notes that good? They're the
same notes everyone uses. Is
his voice that good? Not as good as some,
certainly. But Ryan is like this
superhero team of talents: put
him out on a line, together, and
it's like the X-Men, each of their
quirks coming together in exactly
the right way to defeat Magneto and
make the planet safe for humanity.
Where Brittney Spears is selling
adolescent sex and Fugazi is selling
empowerment and a social agenda, Ryan
is selling himself.

He's like John Denver: he has this
prophecy look in his eyes. Nature,
simple lyrics and a melody that goes
around in your head for days. It
gives you this hot cocoa glow like
everyone says that Christmas should.

One day, back when Ryan lived here,
he was playing in front of his dorm
when a Cadillac pulled up and this
man in shades got out with his
dreadlocks pulled back in a mane and
offered him a recording contract.
Things came of it, but not what you'd
expect. Ryan got a backing band for a
while, and studio space, and what
happened is really his story -- not
mine -- but, you know, animals like
him can't be put down on DAT tapes.
I've never been to a campfire with
him, but I've got a tent and Nashville
isn't that far away.