It was the summer of ’87, when The Simpsons had just debuted as a series of shorts on The Tracey Ullman Show, Margaret Thatcher had been re-elected for a third term, Teddy Seymour had officially been designated the first black man to sail around the world, and a young Canadian upstart called Bryan Adams performed at the Madison Square Garden in New York. Anyone who witnessed these events would probably have bet on Adams’ performance to be the one to sink into the quicksand of history without leaving a trace. The music critics certainly thought so.
“But if a wholesome image and shrewd craftsmanship have made Adams a popular commodity, his music also seems diluted and second-hand,” stated Stephen Holden of The New York Times. “The hits that Adams and his band performed Thursday all sounded as if they had come from the same three cookie cutters. And the cliches of their titles—’Heat of the Night’, ‘Run to You’, ‘Somebody,’ ‘Heaven’, ‘One-Night Love Affair’, ‘Straight from the Heart’—were compounded by verses that strung together hackneyed lyrical phrases and made each song the equivalent of a trite rock-and-roll greeting card.”
Of course, those who predicted doom-and-gloom for Adams could not have been more wrong. The Simpsons turned cult, Thatcher left a chequered legacy and Seymour became a footnote in history. Adams, however, sold over 75 million albums, became the Canadian Poet Laureate, was nominated for three Oscars, won a Grammy, and became the messiah of hope and heartbreak to millions. When he pleaded with them to please forgive him, or asked them whether they had ever really loved a woman, or suggested that they make a night to remember, his gravelly voice serenaded them like an intimate lover. He made the personal universal and the universal, personal. He made you believe that everything he did, he really did it for you.
And now, he’s coming to India for the sixth time from December 10-16 as part of his ‘So Happy It Hurts’ world tour. “My concerts in India stand out because of the incredible connection with the audience—they sing along with every word, creating a magical atmosphere you don’t experience anywhere else,” he tells THE WEEK.
Many of his hits have been power ballads, right from Reckless, arguably his most popular album which celebrates its 40th anniversary this year. “The songs from Reckless are deeply nostalgic for me, and they represent a pivotal time in my career,” he says. “Tracks like ‘Summer of ’69’ and ‘Heaven’ have resonated with fans across generations, which is humbling. Occasionally, revisiting them brings back incredible memories of the creative process and the energy of that era.”
He says that for him songwriting is a deeply intuitive process. “When a song feels right, I know it,” he says. “The process is often about capturing a moment, an emotion, or an idea and refining it until it resonates.” What comes as a disappointment, however, is that Adams does not believe in the larger-than-life kind of love that shatters your world and turns your heart into a quivering mess. “Love means connection, understanding, and shared experiences—those things never change,” he says. “It’s about showing up for each other—that’s where the magic lies. The most romantic gestures are often the simplest: a kind word, a thoughtful action, or just being there for someone.” What? Is this the same guy who sang that love is worth dying for and that ‘there is no love, like your love. And no other, could give me more love. There’s nowhere, unless you’re there. All the time, all the way’?
This is what ’90s kids like me grew up on. This is what we listened to blaring from stereos while rifling through teen magazines at roadside book-stores. Or while headbanging to look cool at high-school parties. Or while day-dreaming during long car-rides to boarding school. Adams made us all PhD holders in day-dreaming. He owned romance. And now, he says he does not believe in love of the bombastic type?
Not that Adams cannot do raunch. How many of us have felt our faces burn when Adams’ ‘(I Wanna Be) Your Underwear’ played without warning in the car, with your parents sitting next to you, everyone making stilted conversation to drown out the lyrics. He has written about infidelity in ‘Run to You’, about desire in ‘Diana’, and about sex in songs like ‘Let’s Make It A Night to Remember’ and ‘Tonight We Have the Stars’. Even a classic like ‘Summer of ’69’, he later revealed, was more about making love than about nostalgia.
In his latest album, So Happy It Hurts, however, one sees a more sedate Adams. There is no more talk of wanting to be a woman’s T-shirt when she’s wet or the shower when she sweats. There is joy, but it is not an unalloyed joy. Love, too, has blunted into ‘trust’, ‘friendship’, and ‘dependence’. Adams described the album as a “return to life” after the pandemic. It really brought home to him the truth that spontaneity can be taken away. “Suddenly all touring stopped, no one could jump in the car and go,” he said. “The title song ‘So Happy It Hurts’ is about freedom, spontaneity, and the thrill of the open road. The album of the same name touches on many of the ephemeral things in life that are really the secret to happiness and, most important, human connection.” He tells THE WEEK that happiness has taken on a deeper meaning over the years. It is no longer just about achieving big milestones, but about appreciating the little things—like “moments with family, the connection that music brings and the freedom to experience life fully”.
And then, just as you think that it is an older and wiser Adams that you encounter in this album, he changes gears and you are hurled back in a sudden musical lurch. In tracks like ‘I Ain’t Worth Shit Without You’ and ‘Let’s Do This’, the crooning Casanova is back. ‘I dare to dream, dare to believe,’ he sings. ‘The sweetest sound is the voice of the woman I love…. Without love, we can’t survive. Just like the flower the sun keeps alive.’ And you can’t help but heave a sigh of relief.