Pitchfork

One of the most geographically defined bands around, Philadelphia's Marah look to Bruce Springsteen the same way the Drive-By Truckers view Lynyrd Skynyrd: as a specifically regional influence. For brothers and band mainstays Dave and Serge Bielanko, The Boss-- with his word-dense songs, layered sound, and romantic conviction in rock 'n' roll's redemptive powers-- is just as much a Mid-Atlantic birthright as the Van Zant brothers are to Southerners like Patterson Hood and Mike Cooley.

While the Truckers, however, have received mostly praise for their double album about Skynyrd's career, Marah have received mostly jibes and pans for their E Street obsession. For one thing, Springsteen is still alive and touring, thus defying easy mythologizing, and he is generally thought of less as a Mid-Atlantic artist and more as simply an American one. Furthermore, having no Faulkner nor Delta blues, the Mid-Atlantic region-- the eastern Pennsylvania wasteland, most of New Jersey, all of clotted Delaware, parts of Maryland, and, some claim, a few acres in West Virginia-- is neither as defined in the public conscience nor as storied as the South, despite its very particular history and culture.

Under the crushing weight of critical and commercial apathy (their first two albums should have been classics), Marah left the Mid-Atlantic altogether and recorded their ill-fated third album, Float Away with the Friday Night Gods, with Oasis producer Owen Morris, who turned their timeless urban rock into the kind of anthemic electro-sludge that was already out of date by 1995. Still, it was never as bad as its detractors (most of whom were former fans) claimed, with Dave's songwriting-- especially on "Crying on an Airplane"-- softening the winces. Plus, there's always the possibility of a future live album to salvage those tracks.

If Float Away proved anything, it was what the Bielanko brothers set out expressly to disprove: You can take the kids out of Philly, but you can't take Philly out of the kids. For their fourth album, 20,000 Streets Under the Sky, Marah return to their southside garage studio, not just as a recording site but as a setting for their gritty urban narratives. They're scarred but smarter (to quote another Skynyrd-inspired southern rock band, Drivin' N' Cryin'), knowing what works and still trying not to be tied to it. One song, "Goin' Through the Motions", even hints at what Float Away could have been had they produced Float Away on this side of the Atlantic.

The lead-off track, "East", therefore, could be a kiss-off to fickle fans who cried sell-out when the band caught that transatlantic flight: "East is all I need to finally start to feel defined." Even as it yearns for points beyond the Delaware Bay (New Jersey? Ireland?), the song is anchored specifically in Philadelphia, as Dave describes the rumble of cars on I-95 and the jumble of people on South Street. Likewise, the entire album absorbs Philadelphiana like a sponge: car alarms and cat calls sound between songs, an errant trumpet introducing one track. The monumental "Freedom Park" even sets its tale of big-city bleakness against local girls chanting jump-rope jingles, transforming their sing-song rhythms into a lively gospel chorus.

Marah's sound is fondly local, incorporating doo-wop, Philly soul, funk, and ambitious Springsteenisms (all those bells and saxes) in a restless depiction of the city as a place where neighborhoods are still defined and demarcated ethnically, and Dave writes songs to match. "Feather Boa" is a standout, a tale of a hard-luck transvestite who fears violence and death around every corner. It's a frank depiction of trying to pass, with some of Dave's best street poetry: "Scratch card rub off silver/ Is the jewel beneath his nails/ His skin is bar room shark fin/ His lashes are sardine tails." On the chorus he sings, "This dick between my legs just makes me cry," giving the words the gutpunch impact of the last line of "Round Eye Blues".

And if the second half of 20,000 Streets emphasizes Dave's threadbare vocals in overreaching anthems like "Soda", Marah at least bolster them with imaginative accompaniment. Granted, "Pizzeria" would probably sound better with Dave singing instead of Serge, but then again, his clearly affectionate vocals, while a bit thin in his overenunciation, at least preserve the album's casual vibe, as if performing these songs in some dingy Philly club for a few friends and family. 20,000 Streets isn't a comeback-- it's a homecoming.