by Time and Place

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    Immediate download of our first full-length album! This download includes the album art, album liner, and of course 12 tracks in your choice of 320k mp3, FLAC, or just about any other format you could possibly desire. Download them for free, or toss a couple bucks our way if you feel so inclined.

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We're excited to present our first full-length, mixed, mastered, not-recorded-in-our-living-room album! Special thanks to Jonny Swagger & Eric Hutchinson for their tireless work towards producing this album, Ian at Kill Your Own & Aaahh!!! Real Records for all the support, Evan & Niko at Folk Routes, and Charlie, Pete & the rest of the Sweet Baby Lou crew down at WMUA. We offer our endless gratitude and love to our families, Taryn, Kelley, Marco, Alice, Andrew, Marc, Desmond, Sasha, Alyssa, Annie, Ariel, Max, Sarah, James Meakin, James Hull, Josh Egan, Ryan Coomey, Macon Mutiny, Jessica Stein, Emma (for lending Brandon that guitar and never asking for it back), Hunter & Jim at MonStar Brewing, the Twenty-Two Collective, the Grantwood House, the crusties at Ball Lane, the cuties at Juggler's Meadow, everyone at 34 Coolidge for their continued support, effortless hospitality, and all the floors, beers & rips you've provided us over the last year, the bands we've played with and the bands we love (Midi & the Modern Dance, Fort! The Band, The Shape, The FutureNows, Sasqwash, Grex, The Frills, The Telephone Company, COD, Motel Mattress, Spread The Infection, Mallory, and MC iPod). To our favorite hood-folk story-yellers, The Old Edison, and the amazing people that make up The Swaggerin' Growlers, we've got your back and the next round. We'll catch you in the pit.


released January 15, 2011

Meagan Day - upright bass, vocals
Jack Hawkins - guitar, ukulele, vocals
Brandon Rainville - guitar, vocals, lyrics




Time and Place Boston, Massachusetts

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Track Name: As the Rain Dies Down
i know it's late and you worked ten today but i feel i've got a lot to explain. i've been filling my veins. i've been breaking this brain. i just don't understand why you still stay.

i've been living a storm but i'm not looking for shore. the drunk romantics have me at every single word. it's a cocaine dream. i don't think i'll ever renounce the reasons why i'm saddest as the rain dies down.

but would you believe in a trite melody if i sang it to you so beautifully? most girls get lost in the idea of the song but i think of you so differently.

so i go note for note in my idiot boat, weather the storm instead of myself - throwing darts at aerosol cans, serving three in the county jail ... trying so hard to get that buzz again.

would you believe in a trite melody if i sang it to you so beautifully? i always get caught in the canvas you thought would never look a thing like me.

so i'll let you sleep, i know it's what you need. the colors have dried and will fade eventually. what's just is never true but there's a coast in view, from the ocean's storm, there's a port in you.

would you believe in a trite melody if i sang it to you so beautifully? i'm fighting like hell, god knows why i do this to myself but it's yours all the same. so come back to me.
Track Name: The Revolution will be in Three-Four
we ride fixed gear bikes to symbolize that we're not dependent on your foreign ties. we are the wrench in the spokes of a life so defined, so share the road or just get back in line behind every car and truck that cannot bail themselves out without the government. so spend your days unfulfilled in your gridlock and we'll ride on, ride on, ride on ...

for the revolution will be in three-four time to a four-four beat in lives we syncopate with love and trust, in honesty. for the world we want to see lies in clapping hands and stomping feet, this is us, it's always been our future: the revolution will be in three-four.

and with guitars in hand, we are everyone's friend in basements and attics, on streets and meadowlands, we're busking for change and a song to incite, we hit all the wrong notes at all the right times. and we will play on ... and we will only stop when we feel it's right.


we'll burn every inch of our flags of defiance in defiance and for every bridge that's in our way, we'll come for the ashes the next day. on open roads, for open notes, we send letters to what we used to call "home," with promises, in post scripts, they will read eternal: "join the movement, get moved." and you can say what you will, i will fight for what's right - be it a vegan option, against a school gentrified. i'll roll my bali shag and never blow smoke. i may get cancer of the lungs but never of the soul. and with this thirst that you cannot quench, we will drink pbr and recycle all the cans. and for this hunger, we will be well fed out of dumpsters of stores we'd never set foot in.


and we will not break with voices that move, with voices that shake, if this is the time then this is the place, there is only now. there is only today.
Track Name: C'est La Guerre
she says that we must make love and not make war and leave the rest for some god to sort but i disagree so fundamentally, i think we should protect ourselves from all three, while the best minds of my generation are now medicated and left to play tragic. some of us are in the gutter, yes, but some of us are staring at the stars, shaking fists, screaming "fuck this!"

and i used to think writing letters would help, when at every basement show i had your rebel hand to hold. i miss the truth in the protest songs we sang. i miss us. i miss everything. so if you want a noble profession or decide to keep the kid, if you want to throw a brick or just lay foundations with it, if you want to vote or just sleep through november days, just know that i will stay. some of us just can't be saved but some of us can and will, i guess that's just the struggle for these lucid dreams. i left america for the idea of you.

and that's the kind of thought that keeps me awake at night, chasing sleep with cheap whiskey to a symphony of typewriter keys and when the words come out, the meaning's changed, behind closed doors, turned backs and in between sheets we drive the knife in and turn it when we feel we need to leave. so i'll go quietly, turn it now so i can turn away. such a sad time it is sometimes to be the tragic hero in your own masterpiece.

but i saw it so clearly in a dream and awoke to you the next morning.
Track Name: The Pact
we drank stolen whiskey out of glass mason jars and discussed the finer points of having no jobs and we came to a conclusion, we concluded we'd come with ourselves to each other to life and for love. and we shook on it. oh, how we did shake. on a fire escape, risked eviction, we drank and broke contact in such beautiful ways and i felt like a pawn, an insignificant piece but i moved a bit closer and changed the whole game. and a pregnancy scare had you keeping the kid and i thought about myself in your position and i thought about the jump from my third floor apartment and i thought myself right out of the conversation. and you wept. i looked away. the city slept. you had already picked out a name. i chose to stay. and you mentioned with worry, that since i came back i've been chasing someone that i feel i lack though the drinking died down and i hadn't bought a bag you felt surprised i had lived through the summer past. and though my actions disappointed you then, i was there now and that was more than could be said of anyone. so now i give chase almost every single day, my calves have grown stronger with every plan laid and at night, i go in search in light so dim of everything. i'll make a promise, a pact so sincere: that no matter the "there," i'll always be here. through the slings and the arrows of which we began, you're the answer, my reason, what i mean when i say, "the end." and i won't trade that for anything, for all of my shortcomings and the seeds that you're sowing. you had me, you have me. and i'll shake on it only if you shake on it.
Track Name: Slings and Arrows
i pick a spot on your bedroom wall and focus while you're talking comparisons of me and him, your plans, my head spins of hearing of your sins, your beautiful self destruction. we get off and i get turned off again. so i take off trade your bed for the t stop. you think that new york can save you, under pink sheets, it can not: buried in tales of love lost longing not to fail losing itself in what was there, finding everything is found in lost details. but how can we not try? don't you say my name like you now or ever had the right. you're just a clever line i write for you are the poetic device that i will sing to someone else tonight.

but before i left i scribbled a note addressed to you, steadied my shaking hands with confidence for once instead of booze, placed in your shoe knowing outcomes, there were two either you'd read and see beauty or swear off shoes and literacy. they'll say it's love that keeps tearing us apart, that ties the knot set for the noose, not for the neck but for such young and naive hearts. such willing subjects, we subjects ourselves to the will and fear of empty beds. i myself play best the fool but i'm tired of breaking my one rule. i'll run. and i know you will too.

so i keep this spot on the wall just to remind me i'm just a word in your fabled masterpiece you can't explain, let alone read. for the wanting, willing arms of a desperate city you're burning towns and bridges to the ground. and me? well, i'm burning too, for reasons as just as your eyes are blue. but you will always own just what you leave and lose. and now this too, sadly, belongs to you.
Track Name: The Burnt Town Blues
well, you only call me when you're dangerously drunk, when you'd skitch in a rainstorm and profess your love. i ain't got the time to accept the charges when you call collect, so call someone else.

out of all the worst things that have ever happened to me, you've got to be the prettiest that i've ever seen. you spit when you talk and you stumble when you walk, you show up at my door at three o'clock, shouting shit, causing a ruckus saying, "i'm done with him." i'll echo the sentiment: i'm done with the whole damn thing. i've been writing so hard i've broken ever last heart that gets in the way. i've been writing so hard i've broken every last pen in the place.

logic dictates this won't be the last time that the cops are called before you call it a night, you got me singing sad songs, now i'm sick to death on stage, spilling guts over diminished fifths. no, i won't be the one to post your bail. it is the least of my concerns. scarlet, you only want what you can't have, you only want to hurt and to get hurt. so now you'll have to eat your words. you will and you won't, you tried and you don't, yes i know. you will and you won't, you tried and you don't, so just go. you will, now you won't, you only try when you're provoked. you will and you won't, you tried and you don't, so just go. just go.
Track Name: Chords (I Should Have Never Taken a Chance on You)
balking, constantly waiting for a signal or a sign to get these neurons to fire. there is no logic behind this face, a violent girl keeps me at bay. and it makes me want to sleep all the time or jump face first off of something very high. with no one to wake me or to clean the sidewalks i pollute ... i should have never taken a chance on you.

i slur my talking, i'm fucking failing everyone i ever knew, at everything i ever try to do not call me out of pity. you want the truth? i loved you and you fucked me. and it makes me question the difference of wants in relation to needing them. but you spoke such beauty, talked me in to a fool ... i should have never taken a chance on you.

so now i'm wanting nothing more than the slow and painful death of you and yours and he can have the battle, i'll win the war. and if that's not fair, he can have the chords. and sometimes it feels so good to destroy you with the written word. i guess the joke's on me, i still sing your memory ... i should have never taken a chance on you.
Track Name: The Truth is...
the truth is, when we peel off our clothes and meet, you scare the shit out of me. maybe it's the tattoos, or that guy you still use or my ex who's fucked half the eastern seaboard since june.

some people live to watch the world burn, i live for you.

the truth is, if you slowed it down to think, you'd make sense out of me but i've made too many plans, got the ticket in hand. four months, three thousand miles, a mistake in a chance. the truth is, i'm the best and worst you'll be graced with and then again replaced. but when you smile, i die, when he calls, i know you lie and we laugh because if we didn't, we'd cry.

some people live to watch the world burn. i'm watching you.

the truth is, i lied so damn much to get where i am, where we were when we met. maybe it's just that. the stupid and subtle fact that when you say you're crazy it's just how you will act. but there's a truth in us. there's beauty in lust. there's nothing i'd rather have than you to wake up but it's a life you must lead and one i must leave; another thing i'll convince myself i don't need.

some people live to watch the world burn, so bright like the days' setting sun. some people live to watch the world burn. but i am not the one.
Track Name: Scarlet
in my dreams, you're a awake - your hand's in mine and you say "there's a better way but i can't do this today. it's not us, it's fate."

and i say, "jesus christ, i'm just a man and all i have are my hands and a little land. and you can't take that away. you just can't take that away."

and in my dreams, there she is - the same as we were when we were kids. scarlet lives. and i don't want to wake.

these days when i don't sleep, she lies and she waits for me. for me.

in my dreams, you're a awake - your hand's in mine and you say "there's a better way but i can't do this today. it's not us, it's fate." but if it's not us, it's too late.
Track Name: Below the Fold
as for me and what my broken beat holds is the rhythm and the grace and the beauty of a soul that knows no area code, grasped tight, held firm, like a new first born held close to the chest. for any port in the storm, i'd hold you like a note, like i always said i would. but now the rain falls flat, so far - i can relate. if boston's where i am then it's boston that i'll stay. if new england will, it can forever have me. but the question still burns, we have so much left to learn and even when the written word feels so good, i can't answer your eyes this time, you're right. we deserve what's due for all that we've been through, so we drink 'till we're drunk and we do what we do. i'm thinking thoughts while you're planning your next move. it's a question of scope, of loss, of youth. it's below the fold and out of view. you're the broken pack of cigarettes and currency i'm not familiar with yet but i still use.
Track Name: ...And the Lucid Dreams of Us
i was an anarchist before i was old enough to raise a fist, from the cradle i leapt with no ideology, just the knowledge that those walls could never hold me. while the years marched on, i followed suit and was given the gift of a bound notebook, kept my strings standard tuned, my fingers calloused and a red book of songs in my back pocket.

now i'm armed with a pen and i'll shoot you right where you stand. i am not what you think, what you know, no i'm not anything that could be labeled so easily.

and my power remains a dollar bill burning right in the face of every capitalist but the peace that i feel we need has become a whore in the night on the street and every time they invade she means a little less to me.

and i want to believe that there's something left to believe, that they won't do the same to me.

and i think i'll always have a problem with authority, with hawks of war and the moral majority, with heads of state and people that hate and any god i must fear just to feel safe. and every teacher that fails a kid who think differently, the media man, the radio personality, anyone who tore down the bricks that we laid just because they couldn't see just what we could create.

i need you to stand up. and i need you to believe that there's still some good in me. i kept my word. i kept my promise and the chords. and the lucid dreams of us.
Track Name: The Postscript / There will be Time
it's that same sad song that you request from the band's catalog you say describes you the best and even if it hurts singing, well at least you're feeling something at all. and finally, got my wits, got my 'script, got a fresh pack of strings, got my common sense and thought and said, "well, if you let these notes define you then you'll just be chords that anyone can play."

but far be it from me to call you on your shit when i haven't eaten for days, i haven't slept for weeks and the only thing that keeps me going is a note in my shoe with a promissary postscript that when the seasons turn, you'll be on my arm like a cigarette burn, stuck in my head like a mallory song, but up until then, you'll keep me in suspense with a click of your pen, with everything that you say ... but i can't wait, so i won't wait.

but there will be a time for sad songs on the rainiest of days, a time for community, a time we don't throw bricks but use them to create and have a rebel hand to hold at a protest meet. yes, there will be time for bad loves that destroy the better part of us, a time to fall down and get back up, a time when god is everyman, and when she says she'll be there, you believe her.

yes, there will be a time, with guitars and lovers in hand we wear the t-shirt of a local band we don't necessarily like but we support what they do and what they represent. a time when we give up our daily bread and the comfort of our beds and the shirts off our back, no hesitance, no questions asked.

yes, there will be a time when we're the songs we want to sing, when we're the company that we keep, when we're the lovers we want to leave and the change that we seek and know to be true, when we're good to each other because it's right and you live for me as i would die for you.

yes, there will be a time, to leave, to grieve, to lead, a time to quit your job and throw a dance party; when you toil all week for the gas to get to work and realize you're a slave in every sense of the word. yes, there will be a time for regret, for debts, for death, for letters you know you'll never send, to spend the whole week in bed clutching the shirt that still holds her scent. a time to accept that she's dead. a time to believe she will be free. and we will be released.