On a cold, sober night, Ryan Adams comes through with ‘Dear Chicago’

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Ryan Adams

Updated: January 15, 2012 8:12AM

My pal Ryan Adams came to town for a visit Sunday night.

He played guitar and sang, did a little stand-up comedy, got mesmerized by an eBay-bidding “sorcerer” with an iPhone and then, just before he hit the road, ordered a deep dish.

We had a great time, and I wasn’t even hung over on Monday morning.

That’s because Ryan, who sipped tea with honey, ordered the beer taps shut down for the night. Apparently, he decided that everyone who came to see him play at the Cadillac Palace Theatre — including Mayor Rahm Emanuel, who playfully punched a buddy in the chest on his way inside — should give sobriety a chance, at least for a night. Ryan’s a thoughtful pal, that way.

All right, maybe I stretched the truth a bit.

Ryan and I are not really friends. We’re not even Facebook friends. I follow him on Twitter, but he doesn’t follow me. He’s a rock star. I’m a pesky reporter. The stars just are not aligned for a bromance.

Still, I’ll defend Ryan against his critics because the guy writes good songs. Plus, we had a pleasant chat during his show in San Diego in October.

It went something like this:

Me (loudly from my seat): Play “Dear Chicago!”

Ryan (from the stage): That’s a good one. But I can’t do it. I suck at playing the tricky guitar part live. Sorry.

Me: I still think you’re all right.

Ryan: I think you’re all right, too.

Why that wasn’t the start of friendship? I have no idea. Ryan?

Anyway, I longed to hear Ryan play “Dear Chicago,” because it’s an exceptional, underrated song that captures the essence of a Chicagoan’s plight this time of year, when disorders becomes seasonally affected.

“Nothing breathes here in the cold. Nothing moves or even smiles,” the song goes. “I’ve been thinking some of suicide, but there’s bars out here for miles.”

See what I mean? Winter.

Unsatisfied with Ryan’s excuse for not playing it in San Diego, I took it upon myself to encourage him in the newspaper — the way real friends do — to practice “Dear Chicago” and treat us to a rendition when he came to town. I even sent him note to his Twitter handle, @TheRyanAdams. Some of Ryan’s fans kept me updated via e-mail.

“Ryan has been working hard at perfecting ‘Dear Chicago’ almost every night so that he may be ready for you this weekend,” wrote Patrick Melvin, who saw Ryan play Carnegie Hall last week.

A little more than an hour into our Sunday night get-together on Randolph Street, Ryan played the song I had been waiting for. His head was clear. His voice was strong.

He wasn’t the same self-destructive guy who has been booed and heckled for his drunken theatrics on Chicago stages. Ryan’s music, finally, was the most important thing in that magnificent room on one sober night in a freezing town where there are bars out there for miles.

Ryan even nailed the tricky guitar licks — beautiful yet woefully sad, like Chicago in the cold.

Way to go, buddy.