The word prolific can only begin to describe Ryan Adams. For some people, writing is a chore, and writing songs can hardly be described as an easy task for anyone. For Ryan Adams, though, writing music is like breathing, an extension of himself. The creator of the brilliant Heartbreaker and the equally impressive Gold, Ryan Adams seems to take every moment of his life and make it into a song.

As the frontman of alt-country giant Whiskeytown, Adams made a name for himself with confessional and heartbroken songs streaked with melodies combining every worthwhile influence of the past fifty years. Country, blues, rock, folk- the Rolling Stones, Johnny Cash, Hank Williams, Bob Dylan and the Replacements all get equal billing on an album by Ryan Adams. He is reportedly holding enough material for three more albums amidst working on a play and recording a side project with another rock band, the Pinkhearts. His most recent release, "Demolition," is a compilation of outtakes and rarities from his recent sessions.

With such constant writing, one would expect a considerable lag and overall inconsistency on each album, and this does happen occasionally in Adams' work.

Gold was a weighty compilation with some weak moments, but Adams' ability to create a holistic vision of tortured artistry trumps any drawbacks created, including some extras.

Ryan Adams has received numerous compliments regarding his work ethic however. In the days of over-involved record companies and marketing packaged as artistic achievement, Adams remains a true voice of creation. Some may question his originality in songwriting and call him a simple culmination of the history of rock and roll. It is true that he wears his influences on his sleeve. However, he is less a culmination of such forces than he is a realization of them, a product not only of popular music but a singer-songwriter with a unique voice embedded in old tactics. Ryan Adams may not have invented the wheel, but he is certainly taking it to interesting places.

Demolition opens at a rocking pace with "Nuclear", an outtake from the Gold sessions and a well-fashioned country rock song. Although Adams has his lonesome cowboy image, the electric guitar forms an integral part of his work. His pleas of "gimme an answer" are passionate and earnest, the sound of a singer not only taking himself seriously but believing, rightfully, in the power of his music.

"Hallelujah" and "You Will Always Be the Same" show some shades of Whiskeytown work and the former has additional influences of gospel, not a surprising direction considering the relatively close marriage of country and gospel music. "Desire" tackles a simple enough subject, and although not an entirely interesting song, it fits well into the album's overall tone.

The strongest song on the album is easily "Cry on Demand," a heart rending plea from a broken Adams. Most of his songs are admittedly written in the throes of personal heartbreak and relationship problems and it would be amazing if Adams' songs did not become his own break-up anthems with their intensity and agility. Adams could make Queen's "We Are the Champions" sound like anguished begging for a lover to stay, and his trembling tenor sounds on the verge of giving out. "Cry on Demand" is such a strong song that it is incredible it was not included on any previously released work.

Adams is not without a sense of humor though, evidenced on the gently groaning "Tennessee Sucks." For someone who spends half his life recording in Nashville studios, his belief that "Tennessee sucks in the summer" is fairly convincing. Adams has a tendency to use places as personifications of emotions, such as Gold's "La Cienga Just Smiled", a use of La Cienga Boulevard in Los Angeles, and of course the single "New York, New York". Demolition's "Dear Chicago" is essentially a sequel to that single, as he says "New York City you're almost gone/ I think I've fallen out of love with you". Even cities are not safe from his pain.

The album never gets dragged down into melancholy sludge, however. Around each corner of tears there is a rock song to get your feet and heart moving. "Gimme a Sign" is pure rock fun, a driving testament to insecurity with women. "Chin Up, Cheer Up" showcases Adams' remaining adeptness at country and bluegrass numbers and lets some sunshine into a rather dark musical picture, showing admiration that nothing "can bring you down." Perhaps there is some sarcasm here, a sort of wry acknowledgment of the overall emotional heaviness of the preceding tacks, but it certainly provides some needed contrast.

Ryan Adams has an affinity for ending his albums with music influenced more by Pink Floyd than Willie Nelson, especially noticeable on Heartbreaker's "Sweet Lil Gal". Here, it is "Jesus (Don't Touch My Baby)," an interesting religious turn for someone who's music rarely has direct religious references.

The song is in essence a prayer for the safety of his lover. Themes of loss are not far even when Adams has found someone, wary of the sharp turns his life seems to take in his songs. Even when he has inspiration from security and happiness, the echoing guitar and wash of strings form the picture of Adams writing songs by himself in a room, feeling safe only in the words that he writes.

Only one track is problematic, the overly intense "Starting to Hurt," a rather tired piece of music that recalls less inspired pop artists. The listener already knows that Adams has more pathos in a single day than most emo artists and quite a few Greek tragedies; his angry assertions that "this is starting to hurt" come across with less punch than his other references to personal sadness. This is the only Adams song where you want to medicate him rather than watch him perform.

Most collections of unreleased recordings are unfocused and patchy, with some gems but mostly just residue left from too many nights in the studio. At moments such albums can sound burnt out, the last gasp of a day's inspiration or just an attempt to fulfill a label's release requirements. Not so with Demolition, however. Adams remains true to himself and his work, and instead of releasing a loose collection of songs, he chose thirteen tracks to form a singular whole, and succeeds in making an album of songs originally not meant to go together. Overall, the album is a strong testament to his ability to present a full picture to his audience, a commitment to not selling either himself or the listener short.

In spite of the depression dripping from these songs, it is impossible to listen to Adams and not become excited. He is a genuine in every sense of artistic expression, and one can only wonder how he keeps up such intensity and quality of songwriting. When placed next to Heartbreaker and Gold, Demolition is another strong statement to Adams as a solo artist as he joins the ranks of other distinguished alumni of the alt-country scene such as Wilco. It is exciting to think about where his overflowing mind will take him and he fact that America can still produce the best singer-songwriters in the world. Now let's just hope he never does another Gap ad.

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