Marah Memories

I spent countless hours with Dave & Serge back in Brooklyn & I don't think I ever heard the story about them putting their rehearsal space phone # on their first album so people could call & leave a message; years of being with people trying to do cool shit while also trying to do cool shit myself every once in a while have taught me that just because you've heard of someone doesn't necessarily mean they're rich or even cool, odds are they're just like anybody else:

But even if we were there rehearsing or recording, the phone would ring and we would stop whatever we were doing to just stand still and quiet/ amps buzzing in the background/ people’s muffled voices talking down in the street/ and we would listen as our long message ended and the beep sounded off. There was this moment of glorious open-ended hope then, at least for me. I would get so giddy, so fucking thrilled at the prospect of someone somewhere taking the time to call us so they could tell us that they liked us… or even loved us and the music we were making. Sometimes the moment would explode in our faces even as we held our collective breath. There’d be the beep, then maybe what sounded like a single breath on the other end of the line, and then the dial tone. The person had likely chickened out, never imagining for even an instant I’m sure, that the entire band was standing in a tiny room in South Philly, all of them hanging on this hope that some stranger has called to tell us we were the shit.