In May of 2008, I went to Tijuana -first time- as part of an installation job at a couple of data centre hubs. We made base there, and then had to go to a few places, like Ensenada and Rosarito, and install a few routers, E1 splitters, do massive cabling, and generally working too many hours for too little dosh. At least food was good, cheap, and easy to find.

At the end of the work week, I called my boss and negotiated the return ticket. Moved it from Friday eve to Sunday evening. Result! So I rented a car out of my own pocket and drove from Tijuana to Palomar Inn, somewhere in Chula Vista, had a gas station dinner (root beer, sandwich, cool ranch doritos, water), then the next morning off to Los Angeles. As I mentioned before, I wanted a road trip in California and since my options were running out, this was my opportunity. It wasn’t my first time in the US that May, as a few days before, my workmate and I took a wrong turn and ended up accidentally crossing the border. Border patrol were kind to us -we always carried our passports- and helped us get the car around.

Woke up a little later than I wanted and flew like the wind from Chula Vista to Los Angeles. I met Linda, who was a friend of a cousin, at Amoeba Records. I was a little late (thanks, 405) and apologised. Linda gave me the Amoeba Records tour and I absolutely loved it. I spent what little money I had, grabbed a copy of their zine, and while waiting on line, my eyes darted towards Counting Crows’ Saturday Nights, Sunday Mornings.

As much as they defined an era for when I was 17, it had been a long while since I actually enjoyed an album of theirs. Don’t get me wrong, I kept buying their CDs, but I didn’t get the same endorphin hit that I did with August and Everything After or Recovering the Satellites. The cover of the new album was a rainy street view looking up to Empire State Building, and it beckoned for my wallet. “In for a pound…” I thought and grabbed it. Linda went for her car and told me to follow her. We dropped my car at the parking lot at Guitar Center, I purchased a MicroKorg, and then Linda drove me around, mixing both tourist traps with the overlooked places. We had a tasty burger at In n Out, then drove some more, to Cahuenga Pass, then Mulholland, then Bob Seger’s fave place, Hollywood Hills, then downhill to Runyon Canyon for a quick walk towards the Hollywood Sign. It was a good workout, then we met her mom at Ovation Hollywood, where they invited me a way too sweet -and delicious- shaved ice. Tamarind, of course. We spent some time there, went for my car and then met again at the Knitting Factory for a great show. Dead Sara, Endless Hallways, IO Echo (SUPERB) and Sonny. Sonny had the audience eating from his hand. They loved every song, hugged him, held hands. He dominated the stage.

Sonny caught my ear. Linda and I got backstage passes thanks to Anisha, a friend of hers. We were hanging backstage and this dude, Sonny, a tiny fella with tremendous charisma, was talking to a local reporter. While he was talking, he was making beats on GarageBand without a hitch. Groovy stuff from his laptop. Would you believe I would recognise him again, years later, as Skrillex?

True story.

The gig was over, I thanked Anisha again, finished a Newcastle brown ale and Linda told me to meet up for breakfast at the IHOP on Sunset. She apologised for not having a place at her gaff for me. I said no problem, I’ll find a place.

Did I mention it was late May? When high schools have their massive parties? No single fucking room in the area. I somehow lucked with a Quality Inn on North LaBrea. Close to IHOP, near a few convenience stores, near a dispensary (I chickened out), and near a coin-op launderette. Perfect! I walked near midnight, sink in the atmosphere, remove the stress. Party goers drinking on the street and puffing marijuana, loud music everywhere, and fine looking people everywhere. I ended up dining a Caesar salad at IHOP, because, why not? I was the only one there not on fancy dress, near 2 am, an inverse function of Paul Giamatti’s scene in Sideways.

All these cowboys and cowgirls, having the time of their lives, wide open future for them. The recession later in the year would be cold stark reminder of the randomness of life.

I slept like a fucking baby. Went for the laundry and did my smelly clothes in after a week of hard work in Tijuana. Linda was a little late and we had breakfast with her mom. They went to a nail shop and almost convinced me to get a manicure. Then we went to this luggage shop they knew and helped me get a supercool bag for less than $20. I thanked them both and drove like a madman back to Mexico. Got some fuel at Arco near San Juan de Capistrano, had an emotional breakdown looking the entry point to a gated community near a gas station (!!!!!!), took photos of lovely squirrels at Vista Point and somehow had enough time for two slices of pizza at Costco in Tijuana. I made it to airport in the nick of time and flew back to Mexico.Have I turned into Victor from Rules of Attraction?

And then I wonder, not back, mind, but right now…HOW THE FUCK DID I END UP WRITING ABOUT A TRIP TO CALIFORNIA INSTEAD OF WRITING ABOUT COUNTING CROWS?

Fuck’s sakes.

So….the album was fantastic. Listened to it twice on the flight back to Mexico. It made me rekindle my love with Counting Crows, from the frantic, superb 1492 to the more intimate Washington square, Saturday nights, Sunday Mornings offers both sides of Counting crows: hard rockers with expansive soundscapes and tender folk introspection, all covered with Adam Duritz dulcimer-like vocals.

In 2009, 25 years after first listening to them, I finally saw them live, at the O2 academy in Sheffield. It was one of the best nights of my life and at the end of Cowboys, Adam Duritz was so emotionally drained he sat the, legs fully extended, like a rabbit on the headlights. He breathed in, smiled as wide as he could muster, and got a second wind. Counting Crows messes up with the pacing and lyrics of their songs live, and I know some people hate it. Not me, that unpredictability sometimes makes a good thing even better.

That last line, yeah, I’m trying to compare my off kilter writing to Counting Crows. Wow, what an ego!

-Sam J. Valdés López