Six years removed from the release of Hard Candy, Counting Crows (a.k.a. an Adam Duritz-fronted, revolving-door lineup which just happens to perform under the same moniker) have finally pulled through with album number five. And yes, Saturday Nights and Sunday Mornings, as a whole, is stronger than its predecessor. But not by much.The long interim between albums could be explained by the departures of drummer Ben Mize and bassist Matt Malley. Both of these members had been in Counting Crows for several years and were critical fibers of the fabric that held the group together.
Not ready to hang up the proverbial hat, the group chose to find replacements and soldier forward, and it shows. With few exceptions, the final product is a sprawling, lyric-recycling showcase coupled with watered-down, uninspiring arrangements that support speculation that the group has simply run out of gas.
This is discouraging considering that the members were wise enough to bring back producer Gil Norton, who previously lent his talents to the group’s sophomore smash Recovering the Satellites, to produce the mostly aggressive “Saturday Nights” portion of the album. For the more subdued “Sunday Mornings” half, the group tabbed Brian Deck, whose previous production credits include Modest Mouse’s The Moon and Antarctica. While the record looks good on paper based on the people behind its creation, it ultimately fails to adequately deliver in all areas.
Musically, the album opening “1492” (a song the group has thrown around in live shows for several years) immediately hearkens to Satellites with its thundering drums and driving, distorted guitars. Norton helps give the Crows’ sound an edge it hadn’t had in more than a decade, but Duritz’s lyrics are bottom drawer drivel. “In 1492, Columbus sailed the ocean blue/ In 1493, he came across the deep blue sea/ In 1494, he did it with the girl next door/ In 1495, he barely made it out alive,” Duritz sings before dramatically declaring that he is the king of everything and the king of nothing.
Duritz excretes more phoned-in metaphors in “Hanging Tree,” claiming that: “I am a child of fire/ I am a lion/ I have desires/ And I was born inside the sun this morning.” The laid-back feel and catchy melodies manage to save the song.
“Los Angeles” starts off well enough to be taken seriously, but drags on and on before Duritz goes on a repetitive impromptu rant about getting drunk and streetwalking. The song finally trails off as Duritz says, “Hey, man, it’s a really good place to find yourself a taco.” Swing and a miss.
Fortunately, “Sundays” provides a breath of fresh air, but only because of how similar it sounds to the band’s third album This Desert Life. Lyrically, the band’s biggest hit “Mr. Jones” comes to mind because Duritz pulls a line directly from the song (“I don’t believe in anything”) and runs it into the ground.
“Insignificant” is the first consistent track on the album. Coincidentally (or perhaps not), it’s also a borderline rip-off of “Have You Seen Me Lately?” from Recovering the Satellites. But in the spirit of looking for positive things to say, it is arranged well.
The “Saturday Nights” side closes with “Cowboys,” which resumes the driving tempo established in the opening moments of the album. Duritz proves he still has some of the gravitas he used to establish himself as a wordsmith on the group’s first three albums: “Come on all you cowboys/ All you blue-eyed baby boys/ Oh, come on all you dashing gentlemen of summer/ I’ll wait for you where Saturday is a memory/ And Sunday comes to gather me/ Into the arms of God who would welcome me.” Despite more over-the-top Duritz vocal delivery, side one lands on its feet and manages to be above average thanks to Norton’s prowess behind the controls. The rest of the band, namely founding member/pianist Charles Gillingham and guitarist David Immerglück, also deserve credit for creating enough energy in the instrumentation to make up for Duritz’s occasional shortcomings.
Side two’s more reflective tone can be loosely explained as an attempted representation of the aftereffects of the night before and the desire to atone for the debauchery and sin normally associated with a wild Saturday night on the town. Again, the results are hit or miss, with “Washington Square,” “When I Dream of Michelangelo” and “Le Ballet D’or” being forgettable and unconvincing. “When I Dream of Michelangelo,” by the way, is another phrase directly taken from a previous Counting Crows song. Imagine that.
The all-too-brief “On Almost Any Sunday Morning” is ironically the one of the album’s strongest and most unique moments, accented by a harmonica, an instrument sparsely found in the band’s repertoire. Duritz also deserves praise for a strong performance on the groovy yet mellow “Anyone But You.”
The remainder of the album, including its first single “You Can’t Count on Me” is very lukewarm and safe, while the last moments of “On A Tuesday in Amsterdam a Long Time Ago” showcase Duritz’s ability to desperately yelp the phrase “Come back to me” ad nauseum. The closing “Come Around” epitomizes the group’s apparent satisfaction with generic melodies and lyrics.
The underlying issue with Saturday Nights and Sunday Mornings isn’t necessarily the average quality of the album itself, but what factors led to its mediocrity. Was it damage suffered as a result of losing two key members? Was it pure laziness? Was “Accidentally in Love” so terrible the group needed to spend another three years in purgatory to wash its hands clean and re-learn what it means to make music with substance?
Truthfully, a better effort can’t be expected from a patched-up band with a songwriter/vocalist specializing in self-pity and blatantly re-using verses from older songs.
But for a six-year wait, Saturday Nights and Sunday Mornings doesn’t seem to justify its delay. And at this rate, fans will have to wait until 2014 to give the Crows another chance to “come around.” Even as a die-hard fan of the group’s first three albums, I’m not sure I have the patience.