According to popular music tastemakers, Counting Crows were has-beens. Their 1993 single "Mr. Jones" had enjoyed heavy rotation on radio and MTV and helped propel their debut album, August and Everything After, into the multi-platinum stratosphere. The San Francisco-based group appeared on the cover of Rolling Stone as "The Biggest New Band in America" and stood their own against the onslaught of grunge. But follow-up albums Recovering the Satellites and This Desert Life exhibited more musical evolution than the newly radio-reliant mainstream masses could easily digest, each selling less than a third of their predecessor's amount. Then the band shlepped some Coca-Cola, had a few songs appear in major motion pictures and covered "Big Yellow Taxi" with Vanessa Carlton. As a result, their fourth effort, last summer's Hard Candy, continues to ride high on music charts across the globe. The Crows are popular again, but now they're accused of selling out. And to top it all off, lead singer Adam Duritz is still criticized for being sort of...whiny.

But through it all, a steadfast following has remained consistently loyal and passionately vocal. And although the 4000-strong crowd at Lafayette College's Kirby Sports Center did have its share of rowdy troublemakers and clueless crowd-surfers, it was these tried-and-true fans who governed the floor and kept the show's energy palpable.

An emotional acoustic version of "Have You Seen Me Lately?" opened the last official performance before a well-deserved one-month break, which will be followed by a stint in Europe and a summer co-headlining tour with John Mayer. With bassist Matt Malley out on personal leave, guitarists Dan Vickrey, David Bryson and David Immergluck alternated on rhythm duty, as did opening band Sixpence None the Richeršs Justin Cary. The result was an explorative set that allowed for a more varied playlist than usual, including the overlooked "Good Time" and the rare yet popular B-side "Four White Stallions."

Standards from August and newer cuts from Candy received preferential treatment for the evening, and although "Big Yellow Taxi" illustrated the dominance of casual collegiate fans by receiving the loudest response, the die-hards made their presence known when Duritz extended the microphone their way to sing the rousing choruses of "Omaha," "Miami" and "American Girls."

Although strained vocal chords forced the band to postpone a few shows in late March, Duritz gave his soon-to-be-vacationing voicebox an unusually strenuous workout for the nearly two-hour performance. The rest of him performed some lively calisthenics as well, including bouncing around every inch of the stage, spinning in circles and leaping off monitors at every available opportunity.

The singer's intensity lingered even while pianist Charles Gillingham, new drummer Jim Bogios and the rest of the Crows took a backstage breather. More than a few front-row tears were shed during his intimate, piano-solo rendition of "Goodnight LA," a rumination on West Coast sleeplessness and longing that eventually blended into the full-band rumination on West Coast sleeplessness and longing known as "Long December." And when he lamented "I"m almost drowning in her sea / She's nearly crawling on her knees," as ocean-blue spotlights washed over the crowd during the poignant "Sullivan Street," the audience trembled like the flickering electric-candle flames and shimmering screen of stars serving as the band's backdrop.

Duritz is known for amplifying the meanings of live songs by inserting alternate lyrics, and he ran the genre gamut with snippets from the Cure's "Friday I'm in Love" in "Mr. Jones," George Harrison's "Photograph" in "Hard Candy" and Fountains of Wayne's "Radiation Vibe" in "Round Here." He even inserted additional presence to closer "Hanginaround" by coaxing some of the concert's student staffers onstage to acknowledge the efforts they put into the event.

Near the end of the show, guitarist David Immergluck, the only professional musician capable of looking every inch a Rock Star while strumming a mandolin, laid out an extended solo during the encore's acoustic rendition of "Rain King." An exhausted Duritz reclined on the stage and rested his dreaded head on an accommodating monitor. Facing away from the audience and lounging in a world of his own, his eyes closed and his fingers danced in time with the music. And just for a moment, the long-suffering songwriter's content smile reflected the exhilaration, gratitude and sense of connection his faithful flock has taken away from Counting Crows' soul-shattering performances for nearly ten years.