"Sullivan Street" by The Counting Crows

by Jodi Hildebrand

Yesterday, while bumming around in our den/office/guest room/music room, my boyfriend picked a song from MY iTunes. As the nice acoustic strums started, I said out loud, “Ooh, I like this, what is it?” Seconds later, the whine of Adam Duritz kicked in, and a surprising shame washed over me.

In efforts to purge our house of unwanted crap, we’ve been getting rid of old CD’s, Books and DVD’s, and before purging, I’ve tossed a few old favorites on the computer, just to have in case. (In case of a 90’s party? Who knows?) One such CD was the Counting Crows live album “LIVE ACROSS A WIRE” including a set from the VH1 show The Ten Spot and one from MTV’s Unplugged ( Do they even DO Unplugged anymore?)

I will admit…I loved the Counting Crows. Folky Guitar Rock, “cool” look, and, what I’ve realized is KEY to any music I love, TOTAL SING-A-LONG-ABILITY. Tell me you can listen to one minute and NOT be screetching “Rouuuuuuunnnnnnnnnd Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaeeeere, we all look the same.” “Mr. Jones” will make you dance. “Long December” will make you cry. “Rain King”? Come on!

Sooo, as my man and I serenaded each other with “Sullivan Street”, amazed that we both knew all the words after all these years, I realized that, today, to me, Adam Duritz’s voice might be one of the most annoying in history. But to my 13-year old self, he was a poet. His voice filled with all the sorrow, angst and all around whininess that 13 year old girls have. He sounds like an insecure girl who was growing out her short hair-cut. He sounds like a busload of chlorinated swim team kids.

I went to a Counting Crows concert after the release of their second album with a couple of the above-mentioned chlorinated kids. (LIVE opened for them. I hope someone writes a post about LIVE someday.) We’d just gotten our licenses (In fact, I don’t think I even had mine yet) and drove OURSELVES to the show. Whoa. Duritz was so drunk (or whatever) he was falling all over the stage. Trying to stand on speakers, but unable to keep his balance. But it didn’t really matter. We didn’t need him anyway. We were annoying enough. An entire ampitheater of teenagers and moms, squealing his lyrics back to him (and now in retrospect, sounding better?). Dancing to Mr. Jones, nodding our heads dramatically to Long December. We didn’t even notice when he forgot the words, because we knew them well enough. This was really good sing-a-long music.

Yesterday, in my grown-up den/office/guest room/music room, it was still good sing-a-long music. It was a much more sarcastic, sing-a-long, but for a few minutes we took the way home that leads to Sullivan Street. (Oh, and then listened to the rest of the album too…)