The sky could not decide.
Intermittent spritzes of rain fell during the Counting Crows’ concert at Al Lang Stadium Tuesday night, threatening to intensify and then simmering down, dappling the crowd but not drenching us. Ultimately, the sky showed mercy. Lightning, which could have shut the whole thing down, stayed away.
“Is it raining out there?, ”asked frontman Adam Duritz from the covered stage late in a set that lasted an hour and 45 minutes.
“Yesss!” crowd responded, but not as a complaint.
On the eve of his 54th birthday, Duritz cut a bear-like figure with his ample girth and a face-shrouding mane of dark, dreadlocked hair and goatee. Where he once seethed with urgent, nearly manic, energy, Duritz now evinces a relaxed, unhurried stage presence, sauntering the bandstand but mostly keeping his body straight and stolid. Looking skyward and raising his arms is his current version of The Big Gesture.
The seven Crows (with three guitarists among them) kicked off with the breezy “Mrs. Potter’s Lullaby.” Their performance failed to deliver the tune’s characteristic exuberance, which caused concern: Were they going to phone it in on a steamy, sticky night? As it turned out, the lead song was a mere throat-clearer. The band soon found its stride.
“Welcome to this 25th anniversary crap,” Duritz said to the crowd by way of salutation. (Counting Crows made its Bay area debut at a packed Jannus Landing on May 8, postponed from May 6, 1994.) His moment of irreverence quickly gave way to sincere introspection. Duritz is a gifted storyteller, both as a lyricist and monologist. He told of his life as a military brat, moving from city to city, and the wonder he found in crossing America as a kid. The speech set up a moving rendition of “Omaha,” and the show took a turn toward the intimate. Although I didn’t keep track, I’d reckon that easily more than half of the set comprised down-tempo material.
One reason this band has lasted a quarter century, long after the hits dried up, is that you experience a Counting Crows show on the band's terms — which helps keeps its members engaged. They do not pander. This is best evidenced in the way they wantonly rework songs with new rhythms and harmonies. It took a couple of choruses for me to recognize the melodically reinvented “Anna Begins.” “Round Here” was slowed to a crawl, in keeping with the concert’s coffeehouse feel.
Counting Crows have not only put songs in the pop lexicon, but lyric lines as well. “Round here we stay up very, very, very, VERY late” earned a robust sing-along. Even a seemingly inconsequential phrase like “I am not overly concerned” from “Anna Begins” takes on outsized importance, mostly because Duritz is so deft at delivering it. His singing has lost some of its yearning upper register, but he still possesses a powerful and expressive vocal instrument.
Because you take in a Crows show on the band's terms, you are not guaranteed your favorites. Tuesday night’s set left out “Mr. Jones” and “If I Could Give All My Love – or – Richard Manuel is Dead” (my hopeful), even though the band performed both in Atlanta two nights earlier. At Al Lang, it included an ample helping of comparatively obscure material: “Colorblind,” “Black and Blue,” “God of Ocean Tides,” the show-closer “Holiday in Spain.” What do these songs have in common? Ballads all. That’s right — Counting Crows ended their concert with a brooding slow song.
But the Crows aren’t assholes. The band clearly reveres its fans and knows enough to deliver some tried-and-true, uptempo crowd-pleasers. Near set’s end, after raising the temperature with the anthemic ballad “Long December” (“the smell of hospitals in winter / and feeling that it’s all a lot of oyster and no pearls”), they launched the feel-good, loping funk of “Hanginaround.” The group spiked the energy even further by performing “Rain King” as part of the encore.
In all, this is a far different Counting Crows that emerged as an outlier in the alt-rock early ‘90s. Durtiz & Co. became and have remained a reliable touring staple, worth seeing time and again, largely based on chemistry developed through maintaining a stable lineup and the band's knack for creating spontaneous authenticity on stage. And maybe it’s just me — but there’s something about a Counting Crows show that makes you feel that everything is gonna be all right.
Permit me a few paragraphs of nostalgia. Join me if you like.
When August and Everything After was released in 1993, I was instantly won over — and so was my 9-year-old daughter Karin, who became a big fan (and remains so).
I did an advance phone interview with guitarist David Bryson and wrote a piece on the Crows in the St. Petersburg Times, as the local daily was known then. On the Friday afternoon of the show, word came out that Duritz was ill and the show would be shifted to Sunday night (if I’m wrong on the exact days, please don’t hammer me; it’s been a minute). I visited Bryson at what was then a Holiday Inn, now the Hotel Indigo. He had a night off and was good to hang out.
It happened to be a big concert evening in Tampa Bay. “David,” I said. “I have plus-ones at a cool festival show in Ybor City called the Tropical Heatwave, and also for Pink Floyd at Tampa Stadium … or we could go back to my house, get a pizza and watch the NBA playoffs.”
David chose the latter — an evening of quiet domesticity was just the thing he needed. Even though Bryson was as regular-guy as they come, Karin was still awed by having a rock star in our house. The guest of honor easily became a part of the family for a night. He answered all of Karin’s questions — of course she wanted to know about Adam.
David set me and Karin up with full VIP/laminate access. People were hanging from the Jannus rafters, so we watched the show from side stage. David looked over and smiled at Karin a few times.
After the set, we hopped aboard the band’s tour bus. Having a 9-going-on-10-year-old girl on the bus altered the dynamic a little, but the Crows did their best to behave accordingly. Karin was understandably fascinated by Duritz, who took some time to chat with her, asked her how she liked the show. The normally outgoing girl gave him short, hesitant answers. At one point, Adam grabbed a big party cup, filled it to the brim with orange juice and handed it to her. Karin stared at it, politely took a few sips and held it in two hands until I relieved her of the burden.
We didn’t stay long. It was time to let touring rock stars be touring rock stars.
“We’re at Counting Crows,” my wife Bonnie texted Karin from the venue Tuesday night. “I’m jealous,” she texted back from her townhome in Atlanta. Karin had somehow missed that the band played her city two nights earlier. Not that jealous, obviously.
