I first heard Peter Salett, the N.Y.C. abounding rock/country fusionist (without any of the fusionist ballyhoo), upon a recommendation from my friend Ed Norton. And when I say �friend� I mean the actor recommended it on his iTunes Celebrity Playlist, which basically, in this technological age of random MySpace friending and global Last.FM �neighbors� encourages a friendship of some ilk. Naturally, I took his bait, as he candidly spoke of an anxiety in following pop music curve propinquitous to my own experiences, as he dropped his daunting, actorly cadence and assumed a more older-brother-that-I-never-had voice. And aside all this, I was satisfied with his recommendation.

�Satisfied� could be misleading, though. Like a brief elevator conversation with a pretty girl, I liked Salett. But I didn�t love him and I distrusted the legitimacy of my affinity. Did I like Salett because of his warm, New Mexico meets New York City croons and tunes? Or did I like him because my favorite actor basically told me to like him? After all, I had seen Norton�s Keeping the Faith, in which Salett�s �Heart of Mine� was supposedly featured, and I, well, didn�t really remember the song at all. When months passed without giving Salett much notice, I figured this was the case.

The foliage fell, the children cried, the sun rose tirelessly, and about a year later, I happened upon Salett in my labyrinthine playlist. To my surprise, any Norton connection was quickly trumped by how much I actually enjoyed Salett. There�s something innately welcoming and genuine about Salett�s lyrics, how they�ll never be confused with a David Foster Wallace story yet how they loll and lumber about like a bunch of drunken happy couples on a cruise ship dance floor. On his first true single, �Heart of Mine,� Salett opens asking, �Do you want to know / If everything glittering / Will turn into the gold?� Salett continues this unsexy, everyman pursuit of love over a polite potpourri of acoustic guitar, piano, and lazy-river drums. What�s conceived is not something unique or jolting, but rather something relatable and pleasant.

In �Hey Susan,� Salett warmly greets us before moseying into some polite pleading, not just for a girl but a time and a place lost in the distant peals of yesterday, acutely set up by the juxtaposition of the present in New York City and the past in Los Angeles, two urban opposites. However, the real essence of the song, and in fact most of Salett�s words, is his controlled passion, often evoking an everyman realism to the story. �Am I Still in Love You,� a kind of last song at a southwestern high school dance, evidences this sort of everyman realism when Salett croons, �I don�t cry myself to sleep but I still lie in these empty sheets,� and later, submitting to the inexorable bemusement of love with two simple lines: �I don�t know / I wish I knew.�

There�s a lesson here. Quoting Ben Carruthers in John Cassavetes Shadows, �You think it�s corny, okay it�s corny.� We�d all like to be at that show with that band that we�ll fall in love with, simply, plainly, forever making sure that everyone knows that we were the first. Or we�d like to pick that one opulent album from the weekly horde that we attribute to our ineffable perspicacity rather than any sort of cosmic luck. But sometimes, we just need to acknowledge the hand-me-down procurement of our music, then move on and enjoy the music. Without any pretensions.

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