Over the years, I’ve found that rock ’n’ rollers play their most inspired shows when riding high on the momentum of a fresh album that stands among their best work. In 2024, Pearl Jam proved the veracity of that statement with their energetic concerts promoting Dark Matter. On August 12, 2025, at YouTube Theater in LA, Counting Crows again validated that perspective with an impassioned performance centered around their new release, Butter Miracle.
YouTube Theater, to my surprise, felt smaller than its 5,000-seat capacity. The distance from the back row on the sole balcony to the floor didn’t seem far. While its plain, gray-walled interior will never get it confused with the Pantages and its ornate Art Deco intricacies or the Shrine Auditorium’s Moorish Revival carvings, the YouTube comes off pristine but not sterile. Of course, it’s better to sit up front. Sidenote on concerts in newer venues: in the second row on the floor, where we sat, we were still twelve feet or more from the stage. A barricade shields a camera well, where bored security guards wait, which precludes the thrill you used to feel when vibrations shot up your elbows as you rested them on the stage base. Yes, technology helps—who doesn’t love upgraded sound systems and large, clear video screens?—but the creaky theaters from yesteryear still exhibit an endangered warmth, charm, and intimacy.
The first tune Counting Crows cranked out, the hard-charging “Spaceman in Tulsa,” should be the biggest smash of 2025. For me, it’s the song of summer. If radio stations ruled the airwaves like they did back in what we older folks call “the day,” with huge impressionable audiences that wielded enormous influence, this single would sell a zillion copies. It’s infectious, with an irresistible melody, and supported by edgy guitar and honeyed harmonies. Butter Miracle is a masterwork, full of catchy tunes lifted by lyrical poetry. It’s the band’s most accessible string of songs since 1996’s Recovering the Satellites.
Singer/songwriter Adam Duritz painted musical images like a performance artist, rather than a raw rock vocalist. He planted himself front and center like a dramatic actor channeling intense emotions from the essence of the deep. He poured his soul into every syllable and failed to strike a false note in the two hours he owned the stage. His spellbinding presence wasn’t due to showmanship, since he didn’t move much, but came from his profound sense of gravity. Much credit goes to the consummate professionals surrounding him for decades: to his left, guitarists David Immerglück and David Bryson, and to his right guitar man Dan Vickrey. In the rear, Jim Bogios pounded the drums, keyboardist Charlie Gillingham tinkled the ivories, and Millard Powers held the bottom down on bass. Most of them are multi-instrumentalists and they all sing. They’re tight, extremely well-rehearsed, and didn’t miss a beat. None of the guitar players will make you forget Jimi Hendrix or Jimmy Page. But they know just where to place their tasty sharp leads and how to stoke the steam engine for Duritz to drive their bluesy folk-ballad train. It’s a superior demonstration of talent, dedication, and synergy.
“Spaceman” was followed by the title cut of their fourth album, Hard Candy, and a bouncy “Mr. Jones.” Not one to sing a line he can’t believe, Duritz altered his famous sentiment to “I don’t want to be Bob Dylan.” They smoothly balanced five new songs with older faves, like “Omaha,” and an epic thirteen-minute “Rain King,” which rose, fell, and rose again, evolving into a powerful spiritual anthem. Near the end of the evening, Duritz took a seat behind the keys to wail his way through a passionate rendering of “A Long December.”
Overall, a memorable dive into the depths of the Duritz wellspring. I highly recommend any chance to see this band now at its peak. But whether you make it or not, I implore you to get a copy of Butter Miracle. Like comfort food from a bakery, it’ll fill your heart with sweetness and stimulate fond memories. As the opening cut says, “With Love, From A-Z.”