censored, we're talking last 20 years. GUN CLUB, CRAMPS, FRANKY GOES,GOLDEN PALOMINOS....your going back practically 30 years.

Pitchfork: So have you ever met Bryan Adams?

Adams: Yeah, once.

Pitchfork: Was it weird?

Adams: It was pretty weird. He was at this hotel in Germany. And I was upstairs, and I had really bad, bad fucking bronchitis, and I had to fly, you know? I think it was Munich. And I had flown over to do a week of press. I was so ill, like before the plane even landed, I was dying. So we tried to get the in-house doctor to come see me because I definitely needed something to break up some of mucous. And I got all these drugs, and then I got extra drugs, just because I was there, whatever else I was into at the time. I mean, it's no mystery what I was into at the time. I basically got fixed up, he helped me to sleep. And it got charged to Bryan Adams' room.

Pitchfork: Did he call you?

Adams: Yeah! So it was this big thing, and I get this call. And he's like well, I think they've been charged to the wrong room. He's got an English accent, I think his mom might be English or something. And he really wanted to come down and meet me. But I said no, I was too sick. I thought it would be greatest thing, I was just super-contagious. So we talked for awhile, and he was like "I definitely want to have a truce." And I was like, I'm not mad at you! He was being really emotional about it. And I was like, I don't talk shit about you. I think everyone else has been making really weird comparisons or getting caught up in the name. And I was like, it's a fucking Catholic name! Whatever. So then the medication I was taking made me kind of high, and I ended up calling him back later and asking him to be the tin man in that video I did with Elton John. Which he of course declined.

Pitchfork: That's a great story.

Adams: I know, but I really shouldn't have called him back. "By the way, man, do you want to play the tin man?"

Pitchfork: I don't think you should regret that.

Adams: (In British accent): "I think I am going to be busy for the next thousand years."

Pitchfork: Do you ever wonder if people go to Bryan Adams shows and yell out the names of your songs?

Adams: I don't know! I think the only reason that they do that-- I mean, they don't really do it much anymore, I hear it once in a very long while-- is because they think that it actually makes me mad. They think that the song name is what makes me mad, which is absurd. I don't care what they were yelling. The problem is that the guy who was yelling that song title out, the time I got really mad, was yelling it over and over again. And Gillian Welch and David Rawlings were on stage with me, and we were singing a three-part harmony to "Bartering Lines", with no musical accompaniment, except a banjo and his Archtop guitar.

So when the breakdown happens, it's just three voices, and the guy yells it out. And I'm so honored to be onstage with those guys, you know? And this guy screaming over them? "Summer of '69"? It's like, you know what, it wasn't fucking funny the first time you did it, which is why nobody laughed. But after eight or nine times? At the Ryman? I was just like, this sucks. These are my friends. Just stop. So when I kicked that guy out, everybody thought it was because he was confusing me with Bryan Adams. But it was more a matter of respect. I mean, come on, there are these bluegrass musicians up here, the best out there that I know of...

Adams: ...We were at the Henry Fonda theater in LA, and I had 45 Grave Robbers open-- they're one of my favorite punk rock bands of all time. And they're kinda goth. And the audience was like, literally, after the third song, going what the fuck is this? So I went out there, and stood in the front row of the audience and rocked out to the whole set. Not that that made them like it, but I thought well, fuck it, if they're not going to enjoy it, I am. And they were amazing. But just because I play sad songs, doesn't mean someone can't open and tear the house down. It would probably freak out some frat guys. Which is good. I watched them every night, and they would turn on 60% of the audience, and run off the 40% of those fuckheads that I can't stand anyway. The ones that go "Hey Ryan, play Wonder Wheel! Play Wonder Wheel!" And I'm like, what?

Pitchfork: Are you serious?

Adams: Yeah, people actually call that song out. "Hey man, Wonder Wheel!" Oh my God.

Pitchfork: You have a contentious relationship with your fans. They yell a lot of shit at you.

Adams: Fuck yeah, man! I think some people pay just to yell.

Pitchfork: That's pretty great, if you can get people to come to your shows just to yell at you.

Adams: Well, you know, if I break the fourth wall-- Parker's always talking about plays, and saying that you never acknowledge the audience, you don't break the fourth wall. And I go, God, I crawl all over the fourth wall. I open myself up to it, but I don't know any differently. I figure it'll make everybody more comfortable. So that's the difference. If it were a play, and you fuck up, you shouldn't go oops, I fucked that up. The suspension of disbelief would be gone. But I think with those guys, it's like, I know I'm just playing a rock show, I know it's no big fucking deal. But as soon as that happens, you gotta let them yell some shit, too.

I look at it from this standpoint sometimes: How good was Terrence Trent D'Arby? And where is he? At least I get to go out. Even if they yell at me, at least I'm out there. How bad can it really be?

Pitchfork: I like that Terrence Trent D'Arby is somehow the new barometer of awful things that happen to careers.

Adams: Fuck, he was on top of the world! Or Moon Unit Zappa? How cute was she? Where did she go?

Pitchfork: Totally cute.

Adams: There was a video. I remember having a big crush, you know. Where are they now?