Somebody should listen to this kid, or get this kid to shut up.

The kid in question — and actually he's a 27-year-old man — is troubadour Ryan Adams, who offered ego, melody, mockery and soul during his bizarre, mostly acoustic Monday night show at the Ryman Auditorium.

Opening with two stellar ballads (including the indescribably gorgeous Oh My Sweet Carolina) that featured Gillian Welch and David Rawlings on harmony vocals, Adams' lilting, North Carolina-bred voice immediately drew attention, hushing a boozy crowd.

For a moment, he seemed triumphant, reining in the nervousness that must come with a first solo show in the storied Ryman hall and answering any doubters with sheer talent and musicality.

Then things got really weird.

Among the lowlights:

• An odd, elongated book reading.

• Two full-length, half-hearted Karaoke turns (one on Madonna's Like A Virgin, the other on a song from punkish, hardcore band Minor Threat) where Adams sporadically sang along with an amplified record player

• Numerous between-song ramblings that were sometimes amusing (the Cookie Monster sings Oh My Sweet Carolina bit) but more often awkward.

• An incident in which Adams turned a joking audience members' request for a Bryan Adams song (Get it? Bryan Adams?) into an altogether ugly situation (see Brad About You on page A3 for details).

• A radically altered, dirge-like, piano/vocal take on the Rolling Stones' Brown Sugar, which initially garnered ''Wow, listen to what he's done with Brown Sugar'' reactions but eventually landed in ''I wish he would quit doing that to Brown Sugar right NOW!'' terrain.

Occasionally, Adams would emerge from all the foolishness with a well-written, well-performed composition like When The Stars Go Blue or Bartering Lines. More often, he mired himself in the gummy muck of self-indulgence.

The wine kept flowing, the cigarettes kept spewing smoke (Adams was exempted from the Ryman's normally strict no-smoking policy), the reins got looser and the artist failed to deliver. Elliptical became obtuse, loose became frayed, and refreshingly in-the-moment became unprofessional and even contemptuous.

Though perhaps 20 percent of the audience left the building during the show, the majority of fans stayed ever-true, shouting encouragement and waiting for the derailed train to right itself.

''Everybody wants to see you suffer,'' Adams sang in Rescue Blues. Really? At the Ryman, most everyone merely wanted to hear him make music. We got some of that, but more of the puerile hoo-ha. Is Ryan Adams genuinely tortured or merely infantile? Either way, he blew it Monday night.