Wholehearted recommendations are a funny thing. Yesterday I wrote about the anonymous man who steered me toward track three of a Tom Petty album. Today I’ll talk about a recommendation by a person I’ve never met but whose opinion I value greatly.
Nick Hornby, author of the best book about music and fandom I’ve ever read (High Fidelity) and one of my very favorite writers of any sort, released a few years ago a collection of columns he’d written for literary magazine The Believer. The column is about books (each month he lists the books he bought and the books he read the previous month, with the lists seldom overlapping) but, as he is Nick Hornby, he writes a lot about music as well.
In one column, Hornby went on and on about a Philadelphia-based band called Marah. He made comparisons to Bruce Springsteen, Bob Dylan and everybody in between, crowning these guys the best band nobody’s heard of.
So I picked up their 2000 album Kids in Philly. I don’t remember why I went with that one (they have six studio releases) — maybe Hornby had specifically praised it.
I didn’t quite love it right off the bat, but I could tell it was something I could grow to love. Have you ever had that experience with an album or a movie? It doesn’t quite click but it has enough depth and nuance that you kind of feel like it’s not clicking because of you, not it. That’s how I felt about Kids in Philly.
But I shelved the album before giving it enough listens to win me over. Until a few weeks ago, that is, when I dusted it off again and gave it another shot. This time it did click and I felt excited about the band in a way that I’d hoped to when I first heard it.
I suspect this is the old curse of expectations rearing its head again… fresh off being placed on a pedestal by Honby, Marah couldn’t help but disappoint. But after sitting forgotten for a year after the initial so-so reception, they couldn’t help but deliver.
I don’t ever look behind me in the mirror
I don’t care to see a new horizon
Or to watch an old horizon disappear
I ain’t never tasted wine
Or seen the inside of a bar
And I been walkin’ out of line
But that ain’t mattered so far
‘Cause I don’t even hold the wheel when I’m drivin’
And I ain’t hit the breaks
Since I bought this car
It’s like I never been alone for
More than a minute
And I got nothin’ to cry about
When it’s one wrong step got you into all this
And it’s one false move and you’re out…
It’s a time clock
With a late block
Screamin’ walk that walk
Or else you’re all talk
And it’s eavesdrop
And it’s hard luck
Put ‘er in fast
And never don’t stop
Up in a weightless sky
(ooh baby) where no one flies….
Meet Me In Montauk 
I like their sound, sort of a mix of country and rock.
They have a nice sound. I could see getting into this band.
As for albums/movies that didn’t immediately click, I have found that to be the case with some Elvis Costello records. For example, an early album like Get Happy didn’t click on the first few listens, but I knew that further listening would be rewarding as Elvis puts so much nuance in his records, even when he is doing seemingly straightforward punk (or punk light). I still can’t say that Get Happy is amongst my favorites (though I know it is amongst yours and is critically well regarded), but I have come to appreciate much of what I discarded early on.
I’m loving this song, though it’s driving me crazy that I can’t pinpoint who or what it’s reminding me of…. hmm….
Yes, I, too, have had that experience, mostly with films or music or books for which I have unreasonably high expectations. The new Dave Matthews album, for instance. Or this last season of Friday Night Lights. Or Mercy, Toni Morrison’s last book. Usually, if I have ample faith in the artist, I’ll assume it’s my problem and wait patiently until my good taste kicks in. If I’m less convinced the error is mine than I might “shelve” the work, perhaps giving it another try later on, perhaps not.
This Marah I’m liking enough to go further explore. Thanks for passing on Hornby’s recommendation….