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 May
11th, 2009
Manchester Evening News Arena
That the M.E.N Arena is only half full at best tonight could be a hint
that, despite a career spanning over 15 years and a succession of
irresistible albums behind them, Counting Crows have never quite
enjoyed the same levels of popularity here as they have Stateside. Then
again, it could easily be down to this being a miserable, cold Monday
night in cash-strapped England.
Either way, it’s disappointing, if not for the band themselves then for
fans eager to see their favourite melody makers packing venues and
reaping the rewards of their hard work and talent.
However, opening act Blind Pilot, this is probably a blessing in
disguise.
As darkness descends over the venue and eager ‘Crows fans begin to
trickle inside, the Portland outfit seem somewhat ill at ease with their
surroundings.
Not that they’re really to blame. Their music is at once fluid and
solid, with the usual comparisons to acts like The Shins all too
apparent, though they’re certainly at their most entertaining when
cranking it up a notch and delivering some rollicking folk pop that
packs bounce by the bucket load.
Yet where Blind Pilot falter is in their struggle to project themselves
into the gaping chasm of an atmosphere-deprived arena. As the gaping
jaws of the monstrous M.E.N seem poised to swallow them whole, the group
have a hard time in really coming across as a confident act.
Though for main support act, The Hold Steady, lack of confidence
isn’t an issue.
As with the ‘Pilots, the Brooklyn quintet’s music is nothing to be
ashamed of; upbeat rock ‘n’ roll infected with punk sensibilities and
frontman Craig Finn’s guttural storytelling.
It’s all fairly pleasing stuff without being anything particularly
special. That is, until you see Finn cavorting about the
stage in such a comically over-exaggerated fashion that it
almost becomes too awkward to watch.
You’ve probably never had to suffer the indignity of watching your high
school geography teacher getting drunk and performing ‘Buzzcocks songs
on karaoke. Never have we, but we imagine such a spectacle would be
scarily similar to whatever it is Finn is doing on stage.
So it comes as welcome relief when he and his motley crew disperse, warm
lights fall softly over an array of guitars, pianos and percussion set
ups and Adam Duritz, who for all the world looks like he just
woke up, strolls casually onto the stage with David Immerglück.
“We’re going to do something special tonight,” announces the Counting
Crows singer. “We’re going to play an acoustic show.”
It’s not quite what we’re expecting, and is actually initially a little
underwhelming given that we were rather looking forward to the kind of
full-on intensity we’ve seen from the band in the past, but any sense of
disappointment is washed quickly away.
Picking up an acoustic guitar, Immerglück provides a subtle backdrop to
his companion’s spirited vocals, vocals which soar from the stage and
reverberate around the arena, reciting Bob Dylan’s Girl from the
North Country with both force and frailty.
When they’re done, the duo are gradually joined by the rest of the
‘crows for a unique run-through of Anna Begins that is barely
recognisable to the casual fan beyond the familiarity of its outstanding
lyrics.
It’s from this point on where the show really gets underway.
Though the acoustic set up presents Duritz with less opportunities to
throw himself, literally and figuratively, into every number with
inspired abandon, the frontman nonetheless gives it his all; gripped by
his own lyrics and swept along by sentiments as though recounting in
every minute, heart-breaking detail the events and emotions behind every
his every word.
Nowhere is this any more evident than in a chilling performance of
Colour Blind. The singer must have surely done this one countless
times, yet he never seems to feel any less impassioned as he quivers
with breath-taking vulnerability.
Surrounding him, Adam’s band mates turn familiar melodies on their
heads, twisting and turning their euphonious back catalogue with joyful
aplomb and unleashing it in all its harmonic splendour.
The result is that the likes of their ’93 breakthrough hit Mr. Jones
and the glorious Miami are given an entirely fresh twist as they
wrap the audience in a warm and intimate atmosphere usually lacking
inside the grand M.E.N.
But for all the re-working of old favourites, there are some tunes
delivered exactly the way you remember them. Take the ever-gratifying
Omaha, which here stays fairly close to the original and inspires a
terrific chorus from a delighted crowd.
A similarly enthused sing-a-long accompanies a thrilling version of
Perfect Blue Buildings which brings tonight’s main set to a close on
a high point.
After a brief respite, the band return for a much-appreciated encore,
running through Washington Square from last year’s ‘Saturday
Nights & Sunday Mornings' and Recovering the Satellite’s Long
December.
Then, to add a certain element of closure, the band round things off
with a bombastic cover of Dylan’s You Ain’t Goin’ Nowhere that
serves to bring proceedings to a triumphant finale.
Even more stunning live than they are on record, Counting Crows are a
remarkable band. And who cares if the M.E.N is only half full? The five
thousand or so of us here tonight know something the rest of the country
obviously doesn’t; they’ve just missed out on something utterly
fantastic.
By Chris Skoyles
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