Counting Crows have never been the hippest band in the world. When their debut August And Everything After was released in the early nineties, everyone was still listening to Nirvana or enveloped in Britpop. Listening to a sensitive US indie rock band, back when it simply wasn’t cool, was never a popular choice. But back before emo took over punk and bands got younger, Adam Duritz was churning out the type of emotional Americana most of us can only dream about. Mix in some great songs, delicious piano and excellent crafting and it is a winning formula. Or it was. Since the wonderful debut, Counting Crows have only come close a few times: most of Recovering The Satellites, some of Hard Candy and This Desert Life. In between, a few live albums remind us of how great an event a Crows gig can be, but the single version of Big Yellow Taxi does little to win many new fans. Then bring out a ‘Best Of’ and re-release the debut - not a smart move as this often signals not only a lack of new ideas but the end of the road. So, fifteen or so years later, Counting Crows return with a new album curiously titled Saturday Nights And Sunday Mornings.The album opens with 1492, and one of the least Crows sounding songs. Duritz immediately starts a garbled rant before setting the tone of the album against a Columbus metaphor. It is fairly unstructured stuff but messy and in-your-face rock, something the band do not usually do well. When Duritz comes in with his ‘history’ lesson, there are echoes of Nick Cave, reeling off modern day anecdotes within a fable-like context, his voice less controlled and more frantic, vibrant and alive. He is genuinely venomous when talking about ‘these people who impersonate our friends’.
Hanging Tree is also a little rough around the edges but a glorious no-nonsense pop song. A great guitar lick sets things up for the rest of the band, underpinned by piano. Duritz declares ‘I am a child of fire, I am a lion, I have desires and I was born inside the Sun this morning…’, before probably the best chorus on the album. Despite the ever present desperation in the vocals, it sounds like a band having fun. Similarly Los Angeles is the same, this time a mid-tempo bluesy rock piece full of an orchestra of guitars and piano. ’So if you see that movie star and me. If you should see my picture in a magazine…’ sings Duritz, a man born of frustration, searching for a soul in the city. Again his vocals are magnificently wayward. The final minute settles down like a drunken night out before he finally concludes that LA is a great place for a taco. Sublime…
Sundays is a great song suffering from two things: hopelessly simple lyrics and a noticeable contrast between the verses, which are fantastic, and choruses that are flat - the harmonies are good though. Again it’s a melting pot of instrumentation with plenty of time for guitar break. ’Give me a reason or I might stop breathing. Give me a reason why I’m soaking wet. Gonna stop breathing coz the sky is falling. I might go out and watch the moon explode. Give me direction to the highway crossing; I’ll go lie down in the middle of the road’ is a rare moment of Mark Everett genius, all bittersweet delivery. As Duritz declares triumphantly ’I don’t believe in anything’, he has never sounded so good.
Insignificant is just that (without wanting to be herded together with all those who have made the same clichéd comparison), mainly because it sounds like it’s too easy. It owes much of the great guitar melody to Far by Longpigs, probably the only standout ingredient in the characterless soup. Cowboys on the other hand is a perfect example of why Counting Crows are where they are. Despite the slightly unimaginative chorus, the song is a standout showcase of pure musical talent with more ideas in one song than in most new albums these days. Duritz is controlled and measured, back to his energetic and spine tingling best. The last minute goes completely off the rails which is more a surprise than a disappointment as the climactic ending leaves you wanting more.
The big ballad of the album is Washington Square and marks the point where the album changes slightly. The arrangement appears simple but a complex network of guitars creates the foundations for more subtle piano, over which Duritz delivers another great vocal and Springsteen-esque harmonica break. From here, On Almost Any Sunday Morning sounds like an off-cut from the previous track, like the band indulged in a jam session afterwards. Duritz attempts to make his voice do something different - sustained notes are never his strong point - which is admirable but misjudged. The song serves as breathing space and nothing more.
When I Dream Of Michelangelo continues the delicate approach. Duritz is typically inwardly reflective: ‘I can’t see why you want to talk to me, when your vision of America is crystalline and clean’. It is safe, inoffensive and utterly brilliant.
Anyone But You is another unfortunate lull and a song which in its five minute odyssey never really gets going. Again Duritz’s attempts at harmonic melody almost works but feels uncomfortable and awkward particularly at the end when it all goes a bit Beach Boys with horrible effect. One that maybe should have hit the editing room floor, given the quantity and quality of what else is on offer. It’s all as frustrating as Mr. Duritz sounds when You Can’t Count On Me brings the album back in style - a near perfectly crafted mid-temp rock anthem with a great lyrical construct. And then comes the really big surprise. Instead of more of the same, and a set of predictable formulaic Counting Crows ‘play it safe’ moments, Ballet d‘Or happens. For five minutes, the band are possessed by the spirit of Led Zeppelin in their more controlled psychedelic phases. For a band who are all too often criticised for being too safe, this is an experiment that works. The song is a dark brooding, yet un threatening, fragment of building vocals. Extended to seven minutes with an added guitar break ending, it would make a great album closer.
On a Tuesday In Amsterdam Long Ago has Duritz returning to more reflective mood. Not that the band is easy to read but this is the big piano number and with the vocals the two create a brilliant song unfettered by constraining structure or direction. In complete contrast Come Around is polished rock formula akin to You Can’t Count On Me and previously Murder Of One. Returning to a point of safety is probably a wise move. In the mid section the backing vocals are outstanding. At the end, they form a second vocal - another album highlight.
The album closes with the mammoth Sunday Morning L.A. which has Duritz pushing his vocals again. This creates a strange beguiling effect as the band return to psychedelic rock blues for a rousing conclusion. As the vocals build, Duritz sings ‘I have just realised that it’s all fun. Get off on life, endure this sun’, continuing the theme of west coast American life. ‘We never get away…these stupid sinners; the angels all have guns…‘. It doesn’t all work but it shows an interesting direction. The last minute and a half gets southern rock - Duritz hollering like Jimmy Page over squealing guitars. Almost the closer Ballet d‘Or could have been.
Saturday Nights And Sunday Mornings constantly reminds you how great Counting Crows are. It does, however, fall too easily onto the safe ground with songs that are barely there, existing only as Duritz’s vocals without flow or melody. All too often in the past, Duritz is doing his own thing, drowning out the other six members of the band. Thankfully this is less evident here with plenty of ideas, lots of instrumentation and some great up-tempo songs sounding live and earthy rather than sculpted and edited. And the slower songs typically sound as good as ever. At an hour, the album is overlong with a few lulls along the way but you can’t criticise too much material - there is a great 50 minute, 12 song album in their somewhere. Counting Crows may not be the coolest band, or the most direct, but the music is still relevant and Adam Duritz still has plenty to be angst-ridden and frustrated about. Long may he and his band continue to share it with us.
-- CS
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