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Gather round now, ladies, and listen carefully: Ryan Adams, the sad-sack y’allternative It Boy with the floppy black mop, soulful brown peepers, and fluttery, chain-smoked voice, wants you to break his heart. C’mon now, don’t be shy: Smash the shit out of it. Because this 27-year-old singer-songwriter is equipped with the Terminator of tickers, and before it regenerates whole for another walloping, Adams will write a weepy song for every pulpy little piece. Impressive, huh? Not so fast. This guy’s not only a world-class mope with a keen ear for tumbleweed hooks and clown-painting lyrics, he’s also laughably prolific. His newest disc, the 13-track Demolition, which follows last year’s critically fondled Gold, is a collection of not-quite-good-enough roots-pop weepers culled from not one but four (four!) in-the-works albums. These tunes were no doubt scribbled in the time that it takes most us to slap together a salami sandwich—which, come to think of it, will probably stay with you longer than most of Adams’ latest bunch of downers. The scant good stuff is sprinkled here and there: “Nuclear” is a U2-esque slow burn that eventually erupts with Adams’ raspy plea to “Give me an answer” to the world’s current woes. The harmonica-tizzied two-step “Hallelujah” sounds like Steve Earle in a rare happy mood. And “Gimme a Sign” is the kind of straight-up, mad-as-hell rocker that this wuss-boy should do more of. Otherwise, Adams’ quick-strike style and sentimental mood are starting to wear thin—and those life-is-good Gap ads with Willie Nelson aren’t helping. If Demolition is an album of also-rans, well then, it pretty much sounds like it. Spineless crying jags “You Will Always Be the Same,” “Desire,” and “She Wants to Play Hearts” (puke lyric: “I’m the rag-doll boy with broken eyes”) dominate the album and will leave you searching for the genius you’ve heard so much about. It’s sad to say, but Adams is more and more reminding me of Lionel Richie, who, during a mid-’80s interview, crafted a fairly catchy love song in a matter of seconds for a teary-eyed…Barbara Walters. —Sean Daly