Pale Mara was founded on a cool, autumnal breeze that gently shook the boughs of cherubs and the hearts of willows as it exhaled the first beautiful licks of its life-song. Flowers sprung up in its wake, each born with the memory of a melody spinning in its roots. It courses from the past toward the present, bringing along with it all good things into now, where in an old apartment in the city, all tattered walls and half-light, Allison Robinson strums a G-major chord on an old, wood-worn-down acoustic as Lee Bones purrs some notes of harmony, both of them becoming embraced by the spirit of it - sweet as tender, loose as a barrel of old-timey candy. They give their hearts into it and are taken over by it, and it by them. They become indistinguishable, inextinguishable things. Pale Mara brought into the world. Reveling in the new, sitting comfortably in the armchairs of the old. Throw on a dusty record (something by Emmylou or The Band?), or bring out the fresh ink and watch some honestly bona fide lyrics spill out onto the page. Both and all. The song sings a few footsteps going forward. Calm nights passing, hot days blaring on. Pale Mara weaving its fingers into the earth. The sound calls to be rounded out, wishing for a new fullness. And that's where we find David Kammerer, Thea Garlid, David Christian, Dave Ulrich, and Josh Hahn. Coming in and out. Drumming away, filling it out. A new percussive sense and a wholeness of flesh. It's all up there on stage right now - beneath the lights as on the wind, reawakening a spirit long into its slumber. Shaking in its teeth. It takes hold of softly solid ground and reshapes it anew and in its own image, and that’s where we’re at – it’s magical.