Friday, December 10, 2004
Nick Hornby & Marah, Philly. Dec. 8, 2004
The North Star Bar in Philly is located just a few blocks north of the Art Museum in a residential area that's a mish-mosh of townhouses in the throes of renovation and of homes where bedsheets will do for curtains. The building, parked on the corner of Poplar & 27th Streets,is comprised of two 1910's adjoining townhouses with additions abutted to their backsides. The main bar and a backroom pool table room take up one of the townhouses, while the music stage takes up the other half. Both parts of North Star are about 25 ft by 150 ft. A long & narrow chute for the music to stream down and bounce back from. The smooth skinned waitstaff and bartenders are nicely decorated with artistic tattoos which are displayed proudly, thanks to minimal coverage. The anger of some of the body painting stood in contrast to the laidback manner of the staff. Sounds of conversation, noise from the tv in the background, and music form the back-of-the-bar CD player reverberate within the confines of the rooms, creating a comfortable hum. Tonight’s crowd is a mix of college kids, townies, suits, and the occasional senior citizen. The joint appearance of Nick Hornby and Marah made for a mélange of a mob. The performance was sold out. Standing room; no chairs (well...except for the chair provided for Marah’s Bielanko brother’s mom, front stage right).
"What exactly were Marah's Bielanko brothers and Nick Hornby going to do together?
Guitarist Serge Bielanko told the back story. Hornby became a Marah fan in 1998 after - full disclosure here – I went to a reading and gave him a copy of the band's wide-eyed and freewheeling debut, Let's Cut the Crap and Hook Up Later on Tonight”. Since then, the scrappy rockers and the author of High Fidelity have become friends." (from Dan Deluca’s review in the Philly Inq).
Two sets were played. The first set had Mr. Hornby reading one of five autobiographical essays. Some of the essays were from his book, Songbook . Others were more current remembrances. After each essay, Marah would play the song(s) he'd mentioned...or not. It was a semi-structured evening. Mr. Hornby's first essay was inspired by a 1972 Rory Gallagher (Irish blues & rock 'n roll guitar player) concert, his first exposure to LOUD concert hall music. He talked about "life-changing" events and how it's so much harder to find one as the years go on. At 15, though, he was a "blank sheet of paper" and the excitement of seeing a band that "made me realize that I knew nothing about anything, and all the things that I was going to know about were going to be great." Marah, fronted by Dave Bielanko, then played Gallagher's version of Freddy King's "Tore Down". They closed the first essay performance with their own song, "East," from this year's cd release,"20,000 Streets Under the Sky".
Why was this music so important to Hornby? "Youth is a quality not unlike health: it's found in greater abundance among the young, but we all need access to it. (And not all young people are lucky enough to be young. Think of those people at your college who wanted to be politicians or corporate lawyers, for example.) I'm not talking about the accouterments of youth: the unlined faces, the washboard stomachs, the hair. The young are welcome to all that ? what would we do with it anyway? I'm talking about the energy, the wistful yearning, the inexplicable exhilaration, the sporadic sense of invincibility, the hope that stings like chlorine. When I was younger, rock music articulated these feelings, and now that I'm older it stimulates them, but either way, rock 'n' roll was and remains necessary because: who doesn't need exhilaration and a sense of invincibility, even if it's only now and again?" The other 4 reflections followed, all accompanied by pure raw renditions by the band. Riffs on the group, "Faces" and drinking, heroin, self-doubt, sadness & loneliness, the grossly over-serious period of rock and roll highlighted by the interminable Led Zeppelin drum solos (which he compared to staying at home and watching the washing machine), when punk (specifically "The Clash") came to the rescue, and the duty of any R & R group to take you "from the place where you are to a better place. If the music doesn't do that, it ain't worth shit."
He read from a crumpled collection of papers, took in what the crowd sometimes said in reaction to his comments, and then noted it on his papers as he kept on speaking. It was an interactive reading and you could tell he enjoyed this part of his craft as much as the enthusiastic, but relatively quiet, audience did. I wish I could rememeber the full detail of his essays; his phrasing's so unforced and connective. "That's exactly what I was thinking!", you'd say to yourself, knowing you'd never express it so dead-on. He shared your thoughts with yourself. You heard quite a few mumblings from the audience.
"Damn, how does he do that."
"Wait, that's what I've been meaning to say."
"Unbelievable! How does he...?"
I'd come much earlier than the scheduled 8:00 pm performance. I meandered around the bar and then the stage area, eyeing the usual merchandise that bands sell to stay liquid. A box of books was off to the side of the t-shirt table, Hornby's own collection of essays from The Believer magazine, Polysylabbic Spree. I reached over, plucked a copy, and proceeded to read, shaking my head at the way he crafted his commentary together. An intense-eyed fellow ah-hummed, to the right of me.
"How'd you like it?"
"Well, it's just his usual funny insightful stuff. I mean, how perspicacious can one person be, for God's Sake? I'm a blind man. He gives me light."
"That's very generous of you. Hornby, Nick Hornby."
We shake hands. I offer to buy him a pint...or two. I lean on the bar, trying to find that mental button I've been having difficulty finding. Record! Record! Damn, it's still stuck. He regales me with his tour stories with Marah. Family life. New Yorker back room gossip. I forget all the details, just remember the intricacy of the tapestry.
Then, I hear a low hum..."Mate. Mate? How'd you want me to sign this book?" I mumble something closely resembling English, walk away, and recall l'esprit de l'escalier. He walks away, nodding hopefully that I would put a sentence together. I'd spaced. He was the Pope and I'd forgotten the "Our Father". But I was in a better place and it was Nick Hornby's words that got me there.
The North Star Bar in Philly is located just a few blocks north of the Art Museum in a residential area that's a mish-mosh of townhouses in the throes of renovation and of homes where bedsheets will do for curtains. The building, parked on the corner of Poplar & 27th Streets,is comprised of two 1910's adjoining townhouses with additions abutted to their backsides. The main bar and a backroom pool table room take up one of the townhouses, while the music stage takes up the other half. Both parts of North Star are about 25 ft by 150 ft. A long & narrow chute for the music to stream down and bounce back from. The smooth skinned waitstaff and bartenders are nicely decorated with artistic tattoos which are displayed proudly, thanks to minimal coverage. The anger of some of the body painting stood in contrast to the laidback manner of the staff. Sounds of conversation, noise from the tv in the background, and music form the back-of-the-bar CD player reverberate within the confines of the rooms, creating a comfortable hum. Tonight’s crowd is a mix of college kids, townies, suits, and the occasional senior citizen. The joint appearance of Nick Hornby and Marah made for a mélange of a mob. The performance was sold out. Standing room; no chairs (well...except for the chair provided for Marah’s Bielanko brother’s mom, front stage right).
"What exactly were Marah's Bielanko brothers and Nick Hornby going to do together?
Guitarist Serge Bielanko told the back story. Hornby became a Marah fan in 1998 after - full disclosure here – I went to a reading and gave him a copy of the band's wide-eyed and freewheeling debut, Let's Cut the Crap and Hook Up Later on Tonight”. Since then, the scrappy rockers and the author of High Fidelity have become friends." (from Dan Deluca’s review in the Philly Inq).
Two sets were played. The first set had Mr. Hornby reading one of five autobiographical essays. Some of the essays were from his book, Songbook . Others were more current remembrances. After each essay, Marah would play the song(s) he'd mentioned...or not. It was a semi-structured evening. Mr. Hornby's first essay was inspired by a 1972 Rory Gallagher (Irish blues & rock 'n roll guitar player) concert, his first exposure to LOUD concert hall music. He talked about "life-changing" events and how it's so much harder to find one as the years go on. At 15, though, he was a "blank sheet of paper" and the excitement of seeing a band that "made me realize that I knew nothing about anything, and all the things that I was going to know about were going to be great." Marah, fronted by Dave Bielanko, then played Gallagher's version of Freddy King's "Tore Down". They closed the first essay performance with their own song, "East," from this year's cd release,"20,000 Streets Under the Sky".
Why was this music so important to Hornby? "Youth is a quality not unlike health: it's found in greater abundance among the young, but we all need access to it. (And not all young people are lucky enough to be young. Think of those people at your college who wanted to be politicians or corporate lawyers, for example.) I'm not talking about the accouterments of youth: the unlined faces, the washboard stomachs, the hair. The young are welcome to all that ? what would we do with it anyway? I'm talking about the energy, the wistful yearning, the inexplicable exhilaration, the sporadic sense of invincibility, the hope that stings like chlorine. When I was younger, rock music articulated these feelings, and now that I'm older it stimulates them, but either way, rock 'n' roll was and remains necessary because: who doesn't need exhilaration and a sense of invincibility, even if it's only now and again?" The other 4 reflections followed, all accompanied by pure raw renditions by the band. Riffs on the group, "Faces" and drinking, heroin, self-doubt, sadness & loneliness, the grossly over-serious period of rock and roll highlighted by the interminable Led Zeppelin drum solos (which he compared to staying at home and watching the washing machine), when punk (specifically "The Clash") came to the rescue, and the duty of any R & R group to take you "from the place where you are to a better place. If the music doesn't do that, it ain't worth shit."He read from a crumpled collection of papers, took in what the crowd sometimes said in reaction to his comments, and then noted it on his papers as he kept on speaking. It was an interactive reading and you could tell he enjoyed this part of his craft as much as the enthusiastic, but relatively quiet, audience did. I wish I could rememeber the full detail of his essays; his phrasing's so unforced and connective. "That's exactly what I was thinking!", you'd say to yourself, knowing you'd never express it so dead-on. He shared your thoughts with yourself. You heard quite a few mumblings from the audience.
"Damn, how does he do that."
"Wait, that's what I've been meaning to say."
"Unbelievable! How does he...?"
I'd come much earlier than the scheduled 8:00 pm performance. I meandered around the bar and then the stage area, eyeing the usual merchandise that bands sell to stay liquid. A box of books was off to the side of the t-shirt table, Hornby's own collection of essays from The Believer magazine, Polysylabbic Spree. I reached over, plucked a copy, and proceeded to read, shaking my head at the way he crafted his commentary together. An intense-eyed fellow ah-hummed, to the right of me.
"How'd you like it?"
"Well, it's just his usual funny insightful stuff. I mean, how perspicacious can one person be, for God's Sake? I'm a blind man. He gives me light."
"That's very generous of you. Hornby, Nick Hornby."
We shake hands. I offer to buy him a pint...or two. I lean on the bar, trying to find that mental button I've been having difficulty finding. Record! Record! Damn, it's still stuck. He regales me with his tour stories with Marah. Family life. New Yorker back room gossip. I forget all the details, just remember the intricacy of the tapestry.
Then, I hear a low hum..."Mate. Mate? How'd you want me to sign this book?" I mumble something closely resembling English, walk away, and recall l'esprit de l'escalier. He walks away, nodding hopefully that I would put a sentence together. I'd spaced. He was the Pope and I'd forgotten the "Our Father". But I was in a better place and it was Nick Hornby's words that got me there.
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