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Narrow Hours

by The Fatal Flaw

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Hey, you know I think we learned a lot today. And, hey, there is a lesson we can take away: we know our plans will all implode, we know we won't get what we're owed; no very special episode. And the more you know, the less you like this show. Yet the show still goes on, and that's one to grow on. Hey. There is no moral to the story. Except, hey, we know it always ends so poorly. We know that after our last scene there'll be no message on the screen to teach us what it all might mean. And the more you know, the more you hate this show. But sometimes shit just goes wrong, and that's one to grow on.
California is where she went when she was seventeen. She turned her back on Baton Rouge and swore she'd be evergreen. She found a sad little Echo Park pad she could not afford. Some would deem hers a frivolous dream, but she would not be ignored. Because the rest just didn't matter anymore. California is what she thought her dreams had granted her, but almost ten years waiting tables had disenchanted her. The hidden cost of each callback she lost served to underscore another year there in her bedroom mirror, another head shot in her drawer. And now the rest just doesn't matter anymore. Turn around, turn around, Baby Evergreen. Find the ground, find the ground, and then find yourself another kind of dream. What she learned when she finally returned was she'd lost the war, but at least she had finally made peace with the girl she'd been before. California, it doesn't matter anymore. California, it doesn't matter much.
Narrow Hours 04:00
I'm standing frozen at your door, afraid of what's inside. I greet the nurse who knows me all too well. I ask if you have left your bed; she just sighs and shakes her head and says you're having one of those days. These days are my little hell. It means they came and they erased you; took you away and then replaced you with someone using your name, who looks exactly the same, but now the real you is gone, is gone, is gone. Life's short, the briefest dream, but in the narrow hours in-between may you find love and may then you always hold on, and on, and on. I watch your eyes that won't see mine, I reflect back to a time those eyes burned bright, not long ago. How I miss that light, that life; how I need my friend, my wife. But now what reflects in your eyes is a man you don't know. Find love and, find love and hold on tight. Grant me a, grant me another night far from this terrible place and the stranger who wears your face. Before sundown, before it all went so wrong.
Where did you go? We haven't seen you in a while and life has a certain ebb and flow; who knew your lowest ebb would be this low? You are a pager, the world's a cell. You are the dial-up that connects to AOL. You once were vital, now who could tell? Although you're not quite yet a dinosaur, there's one foot out the door. It's wearing British Knights now. You're like a pay phone or a video store: we don't see you no more. You are the last cassingle. Where have you gone? One day you're everywhere we look and then the next you've been withdrawn. What used to thrill us now earns a yawn. You're Crystal Pepsi, you're Lemon Brisk. You are the hottest new release on laser disc. You're an investment no one would risk. You are the laugh track on Empty Nest, you are the lone remaining Myspace friend request. You seemed so timeless; who would have guessed? You are the last one-hour photo mart, you're Patrick Nagel art. All dressed in, all dressed in Hypercolors. Some call it progress but it's still so weird: you've all but disappeared. You are the last cassingle.
Leviticus 03:51
You've got a lot of nerve to say you speak for god. To call love an abomination, that it's a sin or it's odd. Tell me, where's it written that men who are smitten with other men go to hell? Don't bother answering. I know the answer all too well: Leviticus. You've got to justify why you believe that's true. You claim that you're not a hypocrite, so I've got a question for you: if we stock plantations from neighboring nations, does that make slavery right? Well, here's where it says it does ... I guess you made an oversight: Leviticus. Ridiculous. You pull out that and then I'll pull out this and you'll give it a kiss. Don't try and tell me that you follow every chapter and verse. You know you pick and choose, and if you worry for your moral health why don't you tithe your wealth? Or try to love your neighbor as yourself?
Think Fast 03:44
(T-H, I-N-K, F-A-S-T, that's the way! A clock is just a bomb, you see, T-I-C-K-I-N-G! T-H, I-N-K, F-A-S-T, don't delay! T-I-M-E, running out for you and me!) Time is not some fixed unbroken line. We stumble forward but we can't rewind. No, that frame is gone and time just surges on. Time is unkind, but we waste what we have looking back. Think fast, more of your life just flew past. Time will ensure that what still remains can never last. Think fast, death is a sea that's so vast. Time is a ship that sails on with us tied to the mast. Time is like a bridge that burns behind and every step you take leaves you confined to the spot you stand, but that's what time demands. Time is designed to keep you in your place on the rack. Time is immense, time can dispense with us without any pretense. Time gave offense, we're in suspense. The past: imperfect; present: tense. Think fast, there is no past and the future's a die yet to be cast.
You have them all fooled, but you still know the truth: you can't forget and still regret that one choice in your youth. You don't feel a connection to anyone, anywhere. All life has sent is punishment they love to see you bear. You're so sick of everybody telling you, "You've made it, yeah, you've made it." You don't know what "it" is, you only know you hate it. Yeah, you hate it. Mistakes that still haunt you; mistakes that you can't kill. That's all you've made, and you're afraid that's all you ever will. And you feel degraded when they say it. You know you hate it when they say it. You're so sick of everybody.
Poor Terry. He's had to carry that awful memory year after year after year. Glass shattered, the pieces scattered, one moment led to tear after tear after tear. But still a part of him will always just be proud of crowded basement shows in their sweaty clothes and their amps up way too loud. And they live on in every song that raw and true, and in the homes they never made it to. And there's a part of them forever in-between, and there's a part of him still buried in Eugene. "Kid Killer," so heavy hitting, but always quitting over and over again. And Adam would always have them play every number over and over my friend. They were such kids back then. He'll never feel young again. And he tries to soldier on but he misses all of them. All of them gone. And though it's strange he misses van rides until dawn, where they would blast Nick Lowe on the stereo and they all would sing along. Some part forever in Eugene. Some part still with them there, still buried in Eugene.
You wonder why we curse the darkness? Because it's there. The thing about the darkness, the darkness doesn't care. You say we shouldn't curse the darkness that makes us blind. I wouldn't worry for the darkness, the darkness doesn't mind, no it don't mind. He who says to light a candle must be selling the spark. You can keep your feeble candle, we'll keep cursing the dark. You say we're skeptics and we're cynics? We'll play along. It's true we may be cynics, but we're not wrong, no we're not wrong. Why light a single candle? What could it show? At least we know when things can't get much worse, and we don't need light to see the things we're cursing now. He who says to light a candle must be selling the spark. You can keep your feeble candles, we'll keep cursing the darkness. We'll keep cursing the dark.
Say something, say something good. Don't you think that by now I really would if I could? And though you've seen better days, I wouldn't spare you the truth and I won't damn you with praise. Uh oh. I'm singing for you now, my fading coastal town. Though all I've ever seen is all you'll never be, still you once were home to me. Some spurn you, some always cling, but you sheltered us all and never asked for a thing. We all reach some certain age, and then what once was a crib can only feel like a cage. Your squalid flats and browning hillsides; the aching workers in your fields. Each empty house and shuttered storefront, each one a wound that's never healed.


released May 24, 2011

Narrow Hours

Al Bigelow - drums
Glen Fant - guitar + vocals
Matthew Goldman - guitar + vocals
Joel Reader - vocals + bass

Featuring -
male chorus: Pete McCarthy, Mike Soltoff, Aaron Spransy, Steve Trombley, Graeme Hall
female chorus: Keira Flynn-Carson, Valerie Forgione, Ashley Reader, Erin Rote, Jennifer Stuck, Anne-Marie Wayne

Produced by Taylor Barefoot @ Barefoot Studios, Allston, MA

All words by J. Reader, all music by J. Reader/The Fatal Flaw except track 8 music by J.Reader/Ryan Mercedes/The Fatal Flaw

All songs published by Equals Two Music (BMI)
Copyright, 2011

Art by Brad Kayal

Special thanks - Jason Seaver and Zack Wells




The Fatal Flaw Boston, Massachusetts

Years in the making, OLDER NOW -- the new full-length album by Boston power-pop quartet The Fatal Flaw -- is all loud guitars, ferocious drumming, and killer harmonies.

The 10 tracks are linked by common themes familiar to anyone who's experienced the bittersweet undertaking of growing up: gaining new perspectives, losing old friends, and facing head-on the prospect of aging gracefully (or not).
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