(The following was originally written on 6/16/06 after having seen Marah two days earlier. In spite of my recent illness, I am seriously considering going to Nashvegas this evening to see Marah again. Reading over this reminded me just how much I love this band...and how much you are missing each time you opt to stay home instead of going with me. Now all I need to do is make my decision as to whether I should go this evening or not...hmm....)

I have tried several times to sit down to accomplish a write-up for the Marah show Wednesday night in Atlanta, but it is not coming to me as easily as I had hoped. I mean, this is a band that I love, a band that I have seen several times before, a band that I think is monstrously talented from the songwriting all the way through to the live performance, and a band that, strangely enough, is not wildly famous and I just don't understand why. I don't know what else to say about them--I have been trying to drag people on board for this band for years and years and what else can I say that I haven't already said? I mean, I can't replicate their energy or their enthusiasm or their sheer genius. And I don't keep setlists any longer--honestly, that's a habit I stopped after seeing Ozzy when I was a teenager, a story about which earned me an infinite number of cool-Mom points with my son, points that were immediately and somewhat mysteriously erased when I told him my KC and the Sunshine Band story--who knew boys were so fickle?

But back to Marah.

My buddy Steve ("Sparky") and I drove to Nashville to see Marah last year. It was a weeknight in a town with some of the worst music fans known to musicdom and Marah was the last band to go on after several local bands did everything they could do to destroy my beloved art form. In fact, the band that went on immediately before Marah had a nice-sized following of giddy yet well-coiffed, appropriately dressed young men who were saddled with dour young girls with bad skin. The band seemed to share one inside joke after another with these fans so I assumed the obvious--this is some kind of gay band or something. Steve and I looked at each other repeatedly, tilting our heads in total confusion as to what it was we were being forced to endure and then this look of understanding consumed Steve's face as he mouthed to me "They're a Christian band." What? Oh. No wonder I didn't get it. I mean....gay band, Christian band--you can see my confusion, right? Finally, with their tanks full of Jesus, they packed up and left, taking their fans with them....leaving only about 25 of us for Marah. That's Nashville for you....but you know what? Marah did what they always do--they put on a friggin' show. The fans may suck...the town may suck...but the band sure didn't. And the next day at work, after getting just under two hours of sleep, it never crossed my mind that I had been foolish to make that trip.

And back in the fall, Steve and I drove over to Oxford, Mississippi to see Marah. The place was full of drunk frat boys who were all wrapped up in the Florida/Vanderbilt football game that was being broadcast on televisions littered throughout the place, a game that kept Marah from taking the stage until late. Really late.  I thought the crowd would thin out after the game, but it turns out that there IS a use for drunk frat boys! They were a GREAT crowd for Marah. And, Marah did what they always do--they put on a friggin' show.

So going to Atlanta this week, I knew that I'd seen Marah in front of the worst crowd and the best crowd and that, no matter what, they'd leave it all on all the stage, giving a lively performance no matter who was there to soak it up. But I had more purpose than just hearing some good music. You see, about two months ago, I stumbled upon the blog of Serge Bielanko's wife 

(The Girl Who). And while it would be easy to dismiss my fascination with the writings of the wife of one of the two brothers who are the pulse of Marah, the truth is that Monica Bielanko is a wildly talented writer. I mean--the chick is pure genius. If you are a woman, are in a relationship with a woman, know a woman, or simply want to become a woman, Monica is writing for you. (I did let a few of you know about her last week...and my dear friend Christine wrote back with: "Okay, now I am going to come to your house and kick your ass. I love this website. She is awesome." Now I ask you...is there a higher form of praise than threatening your friends? I think not.)   

Wednesday night, after Marah had put on yet another spectacular performance and had wowed a crowd of moderate size and somewhat greater enthusiasm, Steve wandered off with one of his buddies and I stuck around to talk to Serge. He was sitting on a barstool, soaking up the deserved adoration of some Atlanta fans who'd never before seen the band. I waited....then stepped up--I told him I'd e-mailed his wife the week before and that I had become a huge fan of her writing--and he interrupted me. Now as most of you know, I was once married to a hugely talented writer and have friends who are now in that position...so I am familiar with the fragile ego of those with the potentially psychotic combination of having both a penis and an artistic talent. But Serge's eyes told me immediately that his ego was fine, just fine, with discussing, not his performance that had left him sitting in a pool of his own sweat, but instead, some woman who was a thousand miles away. I was speaking with Monica's #1 fan.

I hadn't gotten the chance to say much when he interrupted me--and as I listened to him, I wondered when it was that he had been able to draw in enough breath to talk at such length and with such enthusiasm. And when he was winding down about her writing, he leaned closer and said, "And you know what? I love her for so much more." This time, he drew in an obvious deep breath and explained to me that they'd met, fallen in love, and that she'd "left her life behind to move across the country" to be with him. "She rolls with the punches....I couldn't have it better than that." I then said exactly what I had written to Monica in that e-mail: "You guys were lucky to find one another." He shook his head and said, "No--I was lucky to find her. I am lucky to have her. She's the best."

That said, I have tried for years to get you to listen to Marah. But now, I am asking you to do more: listen to Marah AND check out Monica's website (do yourself a favor--read it). Moreover, look for the black and white picture that appears with her 6/16/06 post. If I didn't know who those people were, I'd still want that picture hanging on my bedroom wall--of Monica, in Serge's arms, with her legs wrapped around his back. You see, for some of you, love is the man in Europe shouting his wife's name in a crowd in front of a fountain....or maybe it is that slow stroll, under an umbrella, around the lake while the swan glides effortlessly across the surface of the water. But for me, that picture of Serge and Monica is love.  It is the desperation, the hunger, the need, the passion...and the pain. We've all loved, lost, and longed for our Bobby McGee....perhaps what we should do is go find our Serge or our Monica.