As billions across the globe fester in their disappointment and challenges, it would appear Bryan Adams is just too happy. So happy, in fact, that it hurts. His latest album So Happy It Hurts, provides more of the usual dad rock genre aesthetics under the guise of an image that most middle-aged performers have taken to. Black attire, straightened hair and a clear-cut attitude will appeal to the fans that grew up with such music. There is no appeal to the new generation and there is little to hold the confidence or attention of those that remember Summer of ‘69 from “back in the day”. It may be a cheesy party pop track now, but it would appear Adams is hoping to strip himself of that label.
Rightly so. Nobody defined as a one-hit wonder will ever be too pleased with being grouped with Black Lace and CeeLo Green, but it happens from time to time. It is a shame Adams has to contend with that because So Happy It Hurts is an admirably solid track. Absolutely, monumentally alright. A complete washout of other fine tracks is the disaster the album must contend with. Unmoving fluttering that charges up the usual and often overstated lines Adams has sung of for decades. There is consistency, and there is fear. That consistency soon turns sour, especially after the album opener and title track So Happy It Hurts has run its brief and inarticulate course. Kick Ass is as embarrassing as expected of a track that cries out for “rock music” to save the world. John Cleese’s narration can’t save that self-congratulatory opening spiel.
Decades after his debut and Adams still finds some new angles for singing about cranking up the radio and driving with the roof of his car down. Such simplicity from a songwriter of years and years of experience is not a commitment of faith in simplicity but an embarrassing marker for how simple his music is. Vague snippets of 1980s nostalgia are not from a love for Adams, but because his material hasn’t expanded from those primitive designs of days gone by. So Happy It Hurts is a bulky piece of work that has not one moment of lyrical charm or excitement. Its title track is as good as it gets, and that is from the jolly novelty of this album. A flaccid bassline for Never Gonna Rain is absolutely stock standard, as is much of the music listed on So Happy It Hurts. Adams’ efforts here embody the car without wheels. An engine is still there, it just has nowhere to go.
With a penchant for hits and not a clue on how to continue making them, Adams comes up short once again with an attempt to expel the one-hit wonder charms that plague Summer of ‘69. When did the leather jacket and black jeans attire stop representing cool, and instead represent cold, twilight years? Whenever that change occurred is probably around the last time Adams’ music was fun or interesting. So Happy It Hurts hurts most of all when listened to. Surprise gospel track You Lift Me Up is as embarrassingly bland as the tracks that follow. Generic pop rock filters through with an agonising set of tracks that feel as briefly optimistic as they do completely irrelevant. Meaning and power are eradicated in the face of capturing a past charm that waned almost immediately after that one hit from this vague wonder. Shallow and empty tracks leave no room for growth as Adams cartwheels his way to a 15th studio album.
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