Far From Finished- Dedicated (by Jay Hale)

How bad do you want it? Seriously. How much work; how much blood, sweat and tears are you willing to put on the line for rock and roll? Are you willing to lose the shirt off your back; willing to drain your bank account at the gas pump just to get you to the next gig where you’ll most likely be paid with two large pizzas and three drink tickets? Are you willing to tour the country in a tiny van spending the night at rest stops next to the same four guys 40 weeks out of the year only to come home and sleep on a friend’s couch because you have no place to call your own? If you answered no to any of the above questions you’ll never have enough mettle to be a member of Far From Finished — a band with more conviction and more dedication to their music than you’ll ever know.

Walking up to the cramped rehearsal space they share with two other bands on the outskirts of Boston you get to soak in a myriad of senses. A cloud of cheap cigarette smoke permeates the dank, poorly lit converted warehouse. Empty beer bottles and broken guitar strings litter the halls. The stench of failure also lingers in the air. How many of the bands who call this building home will actually make a name for themselves? How many will pack it in by summer’s end? Judging by the macho rap-metal power chords and hackney cover band tunes reverberating three doors down, 2005 will be a year of high turnover rate at the Sound Museum rehearsal complex.

The door to Far From Finished’s room is open and instead of practicing for their upcoming record release show back in their old stomping grounds of southern Connecticut, the band is fucking around. Drummer Marc Cannata is setting up his kit and giving a broken cymbal a spin on its stand while bassist Brian Gay and guitarist Paul Christian sit around smoking cigarettes listening to lead vocalist Steve Neary reminisce about the numerous times he has defiled public transportation. Christian reaches down at his feet to grab an empty Miller High Life bottle to flick his ashes in as Gay chooses a more unconventional receptacle and takes the Doc Marten oxford off Cannata’s left foot. The band claims Cannata’s foot odor problem is so severe that the cigarette ashes actually help curb the stink. The newest member, former Street Dogs guitarist Rob Guidotti, enters the room and everyone has a laugh at Neary’s expense.

Call it youthful exuberance, temporary insanity or what have you, but Far From Finished appears excited and content — like they won some sort of prize. They look and act nothing like a band founded on adversity and one that seems to get kicked square in the balls at every turn.

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