Marah + Sam Champion

I was surfing the Internet at my dead-end computer job (this seems to be a pattern as of late) when I happened to catch a headline in the Arts section of my alma mater’s newspaper: “Philly band plays ‘Folk-punk'”. Not the most informative thing ever written, but I learned long ago to not let my expectations for The Daily Collegian fly too close to the sun. A quick scan of the article revealed what I needed, the band was Marah and they were coming to town soon. I’d been looking for an excuse to revisit Dear Old State since the leaves began to turn. Fall was my absolute favorite time of year at State College, and I have to admit I missed the place. Marah’s Dave Bielanko has said that he considers Happy Valley a home away from home. It seemed we had something in common. The only problem was that the show was booked at the Crowbar, my least favorite live music venue in town. Granted, the drink specials aren’t half bad, but it was the concept of space that concerned me. Both times I’d seen Marah had been down the road, at Zeno’s, a low-ceilinged underground spot with a couple hundred different kinds of beer. With this band it’s become almost cliché to say that their albums are warm-ups for the live show, but still, a tiny place is exactly where you want to see them, pressed so close to the stage that you get sprayed with the sweat soaking through Bielanko’s military jacket. By comparison, Crowbar is like a castle. The pit separates the stage from the bar like a moat, and you’re not allowed to bring drinks down there, which even a few of the musicians found out the hard way. Adding to the sense of emptiness was the noticeable absence of a crowd, which I discovered was due to Matt Pond PA playing across town at the Tall Shiva hookah lounge. A certain Roustabout! organizer and Bullet Parade frontman called to share this information after openers Sam Champion (not a person) had finished ripping off Pavement riffs. ”Where are you?!” he demanded. “The show’s sold out but I can get you in!” ”I’m at Crowbar, for Marah.” ”You’ve got to be kidding. Get over here!” ”I don’t like Matt Pond PA, Marah is better.” Pause. ”We’ll talk later.” Click. I didn’t know what to say: one put out a great album this year and the other did not. As for Sam Champion, they weren’t all that bad, really. Their best songs did sound similar to Malkmus’s fractured, spiraling guitar-playing, only they stood there cranking the riffs out like golems with stone instruments. The first and last songs — the ones most reminiscent of Pavement incidentally — were all that got my attention, while the rest were just underwhelming. When Marah came out I was ready to go. By now the room had filled up somewhat, thanks partly to a few people wandering over after the end of the Matt Pond show. Everyone went nuts when Marah opened with “It’s Only Money, Tyrone”. Even sitting at the bar with that gulf between us, it wasn’t hard to get caught up — the Philly rockers sounded incredibly seasoned. Songs from their new record, If You Didn’t Laugh You’d Cry, stood out especially, from the stomping “The Closer” and “Sooner or Later” to the beautiful barstool ballads “City of Dreams” and “So What if We’re Outta Tune”. The highlight came during a “Barstool Boys” interlude, when Serge Bielanko stepped forward and regaled his mother with a deadpan confessional: apparently he, Dave, and their roadie used to go threes on bags of weed and have transcendental experiences watching bass fishing on TV. Despite the venue, Marah is easily one of the best, most entertaining live bands around, and you’d be a fool to skip them for any band with more so-called indie cred. After the show Dave invited everyone to head on over to – surprise – Zeno’s for some whiskey. Once there I tried to trade him a shot of Jameson for a Marah t-shirt, but unfortunately they’d already been packed away. We did the shot anyway.