Counting Crows: Soundtrack of my Youth

Adam Duritz composed the soundtrack of my youth, my memories, of a time carefree and wondrous. The Crows take me back to the California years, to post-London ennui and shock, to the Sonoma coastline and all those years out west before my grandparents died and everyone scattered.

Image courtesy of BMG

This band was a part of all my Bay Area chapters. It’s also inextricably linked to memories of springtime at Mizzou, a season in New York, and my high-desert move into middle age. (“Washington Square” anyone?)

Admittedly, I’m prone to the occasional “art attack” (I’m told the name for this is hyperkulturemia), but whatever. I’m hearing Bowie in here and The Who and Springsteen and Mott the Hoople and — best of all — a dear old friend in “August” and “Satellites” and everything great that came after.

I’ve never grown tired of this band; the music is too good, too important. I was a late bloomer. Very late. The music of the ‘70s and ‘80s often takes me to a place too dark, too anxiety-ridden, too embarrassing. I don’t care for that soundtrack. “Purple Rain” and ‘80s R&B — as good as that music is — remind me of a person I don’t much like. Cringe.

It’s awe and sadness for me the first time through with a new pair of AirPods and a room to myself.

The 1990s is when I finally gained enough confidence to think for myself, to be myself, to be humble, to listen. I learned to speak up and shut up. This coming of age coincided with grunge, the death of spandex rock, and Counting Crows. So after seven years, to finally get a new studio album? It’s awe and sadness for me the first time through with a new pair of AirPods and a room to myself. For better or worse, it’s 18:56 of nostalgia. 

I can feel the California sun on a summer morning in Santa Rosa. I can smell the eucalyptus one block up from the bay and Sausalito’s old Valhalla restaurant. I can smell the cannabis on the air in Berkeley during a “Satellites” show at the Greek with Hale-Bopp literally hovering overhead. (Ben Folds opened!) There was another concert in St. Louis two years later. Adam hung around outside and chatted with his people.

I apologize for the geekery and shameless self-indulgence. I was a musician once, sort of, but now I’m just a fan. Maybe you don’t care for the Crows or maybe you’re simply unmoved — I get that — but maybe you’re like me and find this music somehow borders on the sublime.

The obvious first love here is “Elevator Boots,” but like all CC’s music it’s the “B-sides” and the ones you never hear on the radio that eventually spin you around.

Give Butter Miracle (Suite One) a listen and tell me what you think. ♬