Counting Crows comes 'Across'

HOLLYWOOD, Calif. - With only two albums under its belt, Counting Crows is bending to public demand with Across a Wire, Live in New York, a double live set (at a single-disc price) due Tuesday July 14.

Since the Crows first arrived with debut August and Everything After in 1993, fans have pressed for a live release, though there's no shortage of amateur recordings. Billed as an "official bootleg," Across a Wire follows 200-plus unauthorized releases preserved by fans and distributed on the Internet, radio and fringe retail outlets.

The Wire set, assembled from the Bay Area rock band's 1997 performances on MTV's Live at the 10 Spot and VH1's Storytellers, is more an homage to record pirates than an effort to deter them.

"I'd be a hypocrite to trash bootlegs - I own enough of them," says Crows singer Adam Duritz , lounging poolside behind the Hollywood Hills house his band leased to record its third studio album.

"I think bootlegs are cool," he says. "There aren't enough live albums out there. I don't buy the jive that bootlegs hurt record sales or steal from artists. Anyone who buys bootlegs already owns everything the artist put out."

Wire contains the career-launching Mr. Jones, recent hit A Long December and dual versions of Angels of the Silences, Rain King, Round Here and Have You Seen Me Lately?

The compilation "is a nice gift between records, not that we're martyrs doing this generous act," Duritz says. "It's selfish, too. We want people to hear something we're proud of."

Technically superior to low-fi tapes peddled underground, Wire finds the band in peak form. Duritz never discourages fans from taping performances, "but I wouldn't want studio tapes bootlegged. And there are demos out there from before we were a band that just make me cringe. I'm not angry about it, just embarrassed."

Duritz isn't concerned that fans may not relish Wire's radically altered versions of favorite tunes.

"You have to do what feels good to you on a given night," he says, comparing his mutations to the improvisational approach of Van Morrison, Bruce Springsteen and Elvis Costello. "I'll trust that more than I'll trust applause."

No stranger to popularity, Counting Crows displayed promise from the start. The newly signed act first grabbed industry attention with a performance at the 1993 Rock and Roll Hall of Fame induction gala. Funk god George Clinton asked for Duritz's autograph. (He shyly refused until Clinton gave him one first.)

Despite having no singles and only two videos, the barely promoted August sold 7 million copies, largely on the strength of megahit Mr. Jones; 1996 follow-up Recovering the Satellites entered Billboard at No. 1 and sold 2 million copies. The dip didn't dismay Duritz.

"I try not to get too depressed about selling 2 million albums," he jokes. "If we never sell more than 2 million copies of any album the rest of our career, that's fine."

The band flowered despite bucking industry norms. Duritz's philosophy: "Trust your instincts. If something seems like a bad idea, it will suck the soul out of you. You don't preserve your longevity by doing stuff for the quick kill."

Besides, he discovered that instant success leads to a backlash. His candor in songs carried over into interviews, and he found himself a constant subject of often nasty gossip.

"I'm a nice guy, and I don't like getting trashed for my personal life," he says. "Some of the best work I ever did went unappreciated because the press obsessed over people I dated. I'm like anybody else: I'm just trying to find somebody I like, somebody that likes me. The songs do spout that out pretty honestly."

"I'm proud of our band," he adds. "We make records that are very honest and heartfelt, and the songs are played with great sensitivity and passion. What else do you want out of music? Some people would rather have the right clothes or the right attitude."

Though his confessional songwriting invites scrutiny, he refuses to censor himself or disguise his emotions.

"I expose myself to the fullest of my ability in songs," he says. "I don't see any other point to writing. Songs are exercises in self-exposure. The more bare, the better "

Four songs have been recorded for the next album, and Duritz is in the process of penning others that he predicts will ooze "real nasty bitterness, anger and frustration."

Would that suggest the single rock star is still in the searching mode, romantically speaking?

"I'm in the ash heap mode," he corrects with a grin. "I'm the shovelee, not the shoveler."

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