I’ve been thinking a lot about ageing and musical journeys lately. Maybe it’s the new Bon Jovi tour — they were the first band I ever truly loved. A few years years later, Counting Crows changed everything again. And now, standing in a packed Civic Hall in Wolverhampton, three decades on from “August and Everything After,” it feels like the circle closing in the best possible way.
For Adam Duritz, that kind of reflection runs deep. Introducing “With Love, From A-Z,” from their latest album Butter Miracle: Suite Two, he talks about how the song is a mirror of his life. He’s said before that the story began with “Round Here” all those years ago — the restless dreamer in all of us chasing meaning. And, of course, back on “Mr. Jones,” we all wanted “something beautiful.” The miracle, it seems, is that he’s still chasing it, and still taking us with him.
The set begins with “Spaceman in Tulsa,” a striking opener that immediately reminds you how good the new material is. “Hard Candy” follows, then the aforementioned “Mr. Jones,” the song that started it all for so many of us.
But this isn’t nostalgia — Counting Crows are a band forever in motion. Duritz never sings a song the same way twice, and tonight’s “Virginia Through the Rain” feels like a completely new piece of art, reshaped in the moment. Likewise “Omaha,” still a dusty gem after all these years, and “Mrs. Potter’s Lullaby,” one of their most sprawling, poetic pieces.
That last one hit especially hard — I bought This Desert Life on my first day in a new job, and hearing it tonight felt like the perfect reminder of how these songs grow up with you. They’re personal signposts as much as they are great rock tunes.
The middle of the show sees the seven-piece band showing just how effortlessly talented they are. Charlie Gillingham moves between keyboards and accordion, David Bryson and Dan Vickrey trade shimmering guitars, and David Immerglück fills every corner of the room with texture. There’s a beautiful acoustic section too — Jackson C. Frank’s “Blues Run the Game,” a shimmering “Start Again” (Teenage Fanclub), and a faithful, heartfelt take on Joni Mitchell’s “Big Yellow Taxi.”
When “Round Here” merges into “Raining in Baltimore,” it’s spellbinding — an improvisational moment that proves just how rare and alive this band still is. “Boxcars” from the latest record brings a raw, rock ’n’ roll edge, with Vickrey and Immerglück locking in like twin engines. Then comes one of the night’s surprises: a stripped-down, piano-led cover of Taylor Swift’s “the 1.” It’s unexpected, yet perfectly in tune with the band’s reflective tone.
“A Long December” is halted briefly due to an incident in the crowd, a reminder of how human and unpredictable live music can be. But “Rain King” turns everything around, swelling into a communal singalong.
They return for a shortened encore of “Under the Aurora” and the ever-lovely “Holiday in Spain.” Before the final notes fade, Duritz introduces each band member — “my friend, my pal” or something similar — and that warmth is unmistakable. This is a band that not only loves what they do, but loves doing it together.
There’s humour too: drummer Jim Bogios was late coming back to introduce support act James Maddock, so instead he introduced Counting Crows themselves. And when Duritz thanks the crowd, saying, “All I ever wanted was to be in a rock and roll band — and you let me do it for 35 years,” it’s impossible not to feel moved.
There are many bands that write good songs. A few that can still make you feel something real. But there’s only one Counting Crows — and tonight, they perhaps sounded more alive, more comfortable in their own skin, than ever.
