Bryan Adams always had that “turn it up and stop overthinking” kind of voice. Canadian singer, songwriter, guitarist—sure—but what I actually remember is how his songs sat in the air like warm engine heat. You’d hear the opening of "Summer of '69" and suddenly everyone in the room had a past they wanted to brag about, even if they were too young to have one.
In the 1980s he didn’t “rise to fame” so much as he barged in and stayed there. "Cuts Like a Knife" and "Run to You" weren’t subtle; they hit like a door being kicked open. The guy went on to sell over 100 million records, and yeah, the industry handed him a stack of Grammy nominations—because of course they did. He made stadium-sized songs that still work in a kitchen. Annoyingly effective.
The band setup has always felt like a machine built for momentum. Keith Scott—longtime collaborator, lead guitarist—doesn’t just “play guitar,” he slices and shoves the songs forward. Over the years you’ve seen names like Gary Breit on keyboards, Norm Fisher on bass, and Mickey Curry on drums. It’s not a rotating cast for trivia nerds; it’s the kind of lineup that keeps the wheels on when the chorus arrives at full speed.
Live, Adams leans into the job. He keeps touring, keeps walking out there like he’s got something to prove to the back row. And outside the stage lights he’s been loud about activism and philanthropy—climate change, human rights, the whole deal. Part of me rolls my eyes at celebrity “causes” on autopilot… but he’s been at it long enough that it doesn’t feel like a weekend hobby. Either way, the songs still show up first. The rest follows behind, trying to keep up.
