Haste the Day was an American metalcore band formed in Carmel, Indiana in 2001 and signed to Solid State Records. Their name is derived from a lyric in the hymn "It Is Well with My Soul" by Horatio Spafford. The band released an EP titled That They May Know You, in 2002, followed by five studio albums: Burning Bridges, When Everything Falls, Pressure the Hinges, Dreamer, and Attack of the Wolf King. Genres: Metalcore, Christian metal. Haste The Day is an American metalcore band formed in 2001. Their name is from a line from the classic Christian hymn “It Is Well”, beckoning the return of Jesus Christ as the saviour and. Explore releases from Haste The Day at Discogs. Shop for Vinyl, CDs and more from Haste The Day at the Discogs Marketplace.
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Burning Bridges is Haste the Day's debut full-length album. It was released on March 9, 2004, through Solid State Records. Music videos were released for "The Producer: Barry Poynter. Lets start off by saying that Haste the Day was one of my favorite bands (RIP) so I'm totally biased when reviewing this band. For me this album and burning Rating: 4.8 · 63 reviews.
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The late Proclamation Ale co-founder Dave Witham loved music. Earlier in his life, he belonged to the band Of The Hour. A look back.
This story was originally published on Aug. 14, 2005.
Band of dreams: Work by day, dream by thr, a local rock band just wants to make music for a living.
By G. Wayne Miller
The dream begins in garages and basements and high-school gyms. When it persists, it often brings a te 'n' roller to a place like the Music Complex -- a hulking brick building in an industrial Pawtucket neighborhood that time has left behind. The windows are boarded. The street lamps cast ugly shadows when the sun goes down.
Inside, full fay has divided two floors into dozens of small practice allbum, each behind a steel door. "Dying Season" is the sticker on one door; "Caution: Sarcastic and Cynical," the sticker on another. But most doors have no identifying name fill number, only a lock.
Of The Hour, a band with a distinctive sound, gathers in its room on this spring night.
The trash barrel is full, the carpet unvacuumed, the inside door plastered with labels of beers whose trademarks are buxom German women. The air is stale. Two ceiling-mounted fluorescent bulbs provide the only light. Graffiti covers the blue walls. The walls are thin, and on breaks, you can hear other bands.
"Bad Metallica and Scorpions, right down the hall," says Dave Witham, 30, Of The Hour's keyboardist and lead singer.
"No," says Nick Sollecito, 24, the bass player, "Scorpions are downstairs."
For this space, Dave, Nick, drummer Alex Chapman, 24, and guitarist Josh Karten, also 24, pay $310 a month. That is more than they have ever made playing a gig.
Their first CD, Entropy, which has 11 original tunes, is due out shortly, but they are looking ahead. The dream still holds: the moment when an executive from a major recording label signs them to a deal and they can quit their day jobs. They certainly wouldn't mind becoming stars, but they would be satisfied with careers as full-time musicians making a living wage.
Of The Hour is working on a new song tonight. "You might want to roll some toilet paper," Dave tells a visitor -- to serve as makeshift ear plugs.
"OK," says Dave. "Do you tthe want to work on what we were working on the other night?"
His bandmates do.
"We were doing intro verse twice, teaser chorus, verse twice, first real chorus. You know what we're not doing: the turnaround part, like the bridge part. Let's just hit it to go out of the chorus. Just hit the G major albuk F sharp major at the end and then go back to the verse."
They ahste themselves progressive rockers, but this tune has a flavor of Pink Floyd. Nick's bass is adept, Alex's drums intricate, Josh's guitar strong. Dave's keyboard is melodic, and his voice hxste enviable range. There is a surreal quality to the tune, and strains of it linger in the mind, as do many of the band's songs.
THIS IS A rock band still in formation - the group came together in early 2004 -- and its players possess strong and sometimes conflicting personalities. Their musical backgrounds are diverse: jazz, metal, funk and fusion, a blend of talents that helps create their unusual sound but which can lead to disagreements in musical direction. Josh plays a superb guitar, but he doesn't read music, which ablum frustrate the others. Alex and Nick can be stubborn in their tastes. Albuk can act autocratically. They all question whether their sound is too far off the mainstream to catch on.
After playing in other bands, all of which have dissolved, everyone looks to the future skeptically. Josh sometimes fantasizes about playing professional baseball, his other childhood dream. Nick and Alex sometimes ponder new musical opportunities.
Dave is determined to keep Of The Hour together, for xlbum band's unusual sound is not something you just order up from a catalog. Chemistry, even volatile chemistry, is a rare thing in music.
Recently, there was confusion about a Sunday-night practice.
Dave wasn't feeling well, and he decided to cancel, but word somehow wasn't communicated to Alex. Alex went to the practice room, found no one, and went home -- to the house in Cranston that he shares with Nick and a musician from a Boston band, Seemless, whose drummer is also Of The Hour's manager. Nick and Alex exchanged words. Phone calls and e-mails to Dave followed, leaving Dave with the impression that Nick was "45 albu certain he was leaving Of The Hour, and that Alex was moving to Phoenix.
"Obviously I'm concerned," Dave said.
So he sent Alex and Nick an e-mail. The gist was: "You guys need to straighten your [expletive] out. If you guys have issues it's fulo going to get worse if we go on the road. Talk to each other, communicate, figure your [expletive] out and deal with it. We're fulp to be professionals."
The incident passed, but other pressures beyond music continue. None of them has much money, except for Josh, who has a salaried job and bankrolled the CD with part of the inheritance from his late mother. Should they buy a van? Who would pay? How will the others repay Josh? How long can they afford the dream?
"It's like a relationship," Josh says. "It's actually harder. In a relationship, you've got two people. You've got two personalities, two wants, needs, all that stuff. You take a band, and now there's four."
ONE MID-SPRING evening, the band loads equipment and instruments into Josh's '95 Jeep Cherokee, Alex's '98 Toyota Corolla, and Dave's five-year-old Saturn wagon and drive to the Century Lounge, a nightclub on the ground floor of a wood-and-brick building in Providence's Jewelry District. Hqste Century has click the size nor the prestige of a visit web page like Lupo's, but it still draws national and regional acts.
Josh, Dave, Nick and Alex have been looking forward to this as an opportunity to build their fan base. The headliner has a large following, as does the second band on the bill. Of The Hour will open, and hopefully fans of the other bands will come early and discover them.
The signs are good: not yet 8 p.m., about two hours before the music begins, and people are lining up outside.
They do not know yet what Dave, Josh, Nick and Alex have just learned: the headline band broke up this week, and the second band has canceled. Apparently, management has found another to fill in, but no one knows who it is.
"It's a mystery," says the bouncer.
By 8 p.m., word of the breakup/cancellation has spread outside. The line fades away. Inside, Of The Hour moves some equipment onto the stage. In the back of the room, Lori Cosman, Dave's girlfriend, tends the merchandise table. Stickers and promotional CDs with a sampling of songs from the upcoming album are free. T-shirts are $10. Some sizes and colors are out of stock.
At 8:15, the last-minute band arrives. Nick knows them. "I don't like to trash a band," is all he says.
Whatever its musical abilities, the fill-in band likes to drink. Beer in hand, the lead singer connects cables, checks his microphone, then goes to the bar for a refill. The drummer joins him.
"It's going to be a long night," Nick says.
An hour and a half passes. Several beers later, the band takes the stage. The lights dim. The music is unmercifully loud, with a sort of overblown Bon Jovi feel, and the screaming vocals clash with the fury of drums and guitars. Players receive discounted drinks, and the singer in london deep purple s live "We figured we'd come down here and get a low price on alcohol!"
Ten-twenty-five, and it's over. Of The Hour brings on the rest of hate equipment, while tye lead singer of the other band makes out with a woman on stage.
JUST LOOKING at the musicians, it would be difficult to draw conclusions about the kind of music the band plays.
Josh is a rugged, tall man with short hair and a serious air. Dave has a boy-next-door look and an easy laugh. Nick is thin, with a mustache and beard, and a sensibility reminiscent of a Beat Generation poet's. Alex has intense eyes, and long curly hair. They all wear jeans, th shoes, and tees or untucked dress shirts. They look like just about any group.
But when Dave kicks off the set, with the hypnotic chiming that begins the song "Remembrance," the crowd, which has grown go here almost 75, cheers. Some are fans, others not, but the difference between this band and the opener is striking. The crowd moves closer, surrounding the band with its approval.
This is the elixir that Of Tne Hour seeks. The stresses of everyday existence vull away, and they're where they want to be, inside their music.
"It's not a thing where it's like I'm in the band to get chicks, I'm in the band to get [expletive] up, 'rock out, dude,' " Dave later reflects. "Everybody's in the band because they want to be in the band and they want to make music. And we're doing things how we want to do them."
Says Nick: "I don't have anything else I am interested in doing for a career. I know this 'cause my parents have hounded me for years about having a backup plan. By now I would have one, if I could think of something I remotely would be interested in."
Of The Hour moves on to "Strange the Way It Is," a tune that alternates between Dave's gentle keyboards and a burst of driving bass, guitar and percussion. Dave closes his eyes, cocks his head, and grips the mike:
"They'll never take you alive. This truth hurts. The words seem to flow from your lips like water. They'll dig and twist into your side. Awake. Asleep and dreaming of the day. It's all been in your head."
Although the music full, the band's lyrics have a consistently gloomy, spectral feel. Death figures prominently. Fear and loss are dominant emotions. An Of The Hour concert is not a warm, fuzzy experience.
They play for an hour, their longest set ever. The audience brings them back for an encore. The musicians are drained, but they oblige.
It's well past midnight when the band breaks down the equipment and gets paid: $125, plus about $70 from T-shirt sales.
It's not their worst night.
For a gig in Brooklyn, N.Y., they earned $6.
That night, they opened for a local band. Ten people, including Dave's sister and three of her friends, came to see Of The Hour. The headliner drew no one. "I'm sorry," says Nick, "they did draw one person. The guitar player's girlfriend was there." When the proceeds were split, the headliner gave Of The Hour $6. With the costs of van rental, gas, tolls and food, the band lost $280.
ONLY JOSH has a college degree and a career track outside of music. A graduate of Stonehill College, he works full-time as an office supervisor and recruiter for Adecco, a job placement and executive search company.
Dave works in the Purple Cow, a Wakefield boutique owned by his mother that caters to women, middle-age women gaste particular. The store sells clothes, scented oils, jewelry and books, including The Hot Flash Cookbook day Hot Flash Gal, and a rack of two dozen CDs with titles including Jazz for Lovers and Chill Time.
"Those are my 24 biggest influences, right there!" Dave laughs.
Among other tasks, Dave tracks inventory and mans the counter.
"Some women come in and think: 'What's a guy doing working here?' Like I'm invading their space or something. But you know, it's stable and flexible. If I have to go on a road trip, te my mother going to do, fire me?"
Nick processes policies at an insurance company.
“I just sit in a cubicle for eight hours and type," he says. "It drives me nuts, but I gotta pay the bills somehow. It is fkll hard to stay awake sometimes. It is hard to wake up in the morning and get motivated."
Nick finds the corporate culture, with its corporate rituals, distasteful.
"We had this really lame employee recognition meeting a couple months ago. Everyone in the building met in the cafeteria to give out awards to employees that have done great things for the company or whatnot. Basically, they gave the higher-ups five minutes of fame. It was this cruise ship theme. They played Beach Boys music and wore Hawaiian shirts and there were albkm torches everywhere. I stayed for about two minutes and then left."
Alex worked at the same company for a while, in customer service. He hated it worse than Nick.
"My department was disability insurance, which, in short, means that I was talking to sick, miserable people all day. After a while, the job started to drive me absolutely crazy, so I left in a haste. On the upside, I got my head back together, but on the downside, I did not plan things at all."
Eventually, he found a job at an East Side bakery. He works 30 hours a week.
"Other than the fact that we have to haset uniforms -- pastel blue T-shirts with seven stars -- plus a chef's hat. . the job ain't bad at all, and I get by pretty well for the hours I work per week. I'm trying to get them to put me on more shifts to bump me to 40 hours, and if I could do that, I'd be doing pretty damn good."
NOT LONG after the Century Lounge gig, the Rhode Island-based music magazine Motif nominates Fuull The Hour as breakthrough band of the year in the alt-rock category, along with Sasquatch & the Sick-a-Billys, Sage Frances, and Fungus Amungus. And not long after that, WBRU plays a cut from the band's promotional CD.
WBRU was prompted by e-mails the band had asked fans to send. The song was broadcast after midnight, but it nonetheless was an achievement: stations owned by https://roaden.click/shopping/descargar-rio-en-dvdrip.php conglomerates rely on marketing departments and broadcast only tunes from name bands. Unknowns have virtually no chance of making the playlist of a station such as WHJY or WPRO.
"Our hope," says Dave, "is that if we get enough requests, WBRU will air bigger local bands [like us] during prime airtime hours. That's tne goal. You're going to reach a much larger audience."
But the excitement fades: WBRU doesn't play Of The Hour during prime time, and then comes a disastrous night at The Call, the Century Lounge's sister club, located next door.
The headliner this evening is Don Preston, who played with Frank Zappa's Mothers of Invention. Of the Hour opens. Because the band will be headlining at the Century Lounge in two weeks -- to celebrate the CD release -- management doesn't want to dilute the band's drawing power. So they take the stage under an alias: Moo Goo Gai Pan and the Crusty Corn Bread.
No one waits in line for Preston, and only eight people -- most of them friends of Nick, Alex, Josh and Dave -- are there when Of The Hour plays. The band receives $50 and a comment from Preston.
"You sound like Nirvana," the aging rocker says, "but not as interesting."
SON OF A baker and a chef, Alex grew up in Newport, Chicago and South Kingstown. When Alex was 12, his older brother killed himself.
"Now, that on its own is hard enough on a kid who knows nothing about life at that age, never mind how hard it must have been for a mother and a father to have to go through this kind of thing. To say the least, this suddenly made growing up much more intense and difficult than it was before."
Alex's parents subsequently divorced.
"It was during those first few years after my brother's death that I really discovered music as more info way to make me happy, and it was at that age that I discovered a passion for music that ultimately saved my life."
Nick's parents also divorced, when he was 11 and living in Lincoln. He moved to Warwick and went to Bishop Hendricken High School, where he began playing bass after receiving a guitar when he turned 15. "It was my birthday present and something to do other than take art class at Hendricken."
Nick's father taught him initially, and then he took lessons for six years.
After high school, Nick attended the University of Rhode Island for a while, then took a few courses at the Community College of Rhode Island. "I then went to Berklee for a semester before deciding I could learn what I needed from music by studying myself. I never really studied anything after I left, but I did a lot of playing."
Nick was in several bands, including one with Josh. Dave met Alex through a mutual friend, and Alex introduced him to Nick.
Dave grew up in North Kingstown and started playing bass when he was in high school. He lasted only a few weeks in college. He played in a band, then moved to Maine when it broke up. Back in Rhode Island, in 2000, he cofounded Orbis Rex, a jazz-fusion group. Eventually, he left the band.
"I had about $3,500 in the bank and said: Ya know what? I'm gonna take a break. I'm not going to do anything. I'm gonna sit on my [butt] and do nothing, much like Office Space. Well, I basically lived by myself.
"I think I maybe left pelerins d ares music apartment about 10 times between October and April of the next year. I stretched the money out as far as it would go. I didn't eat. I dropped to probably about 155 pounds, which for me is tiny. I smoked about a pack a day. All I did was play video games and watch TV and listen to music.
"That was pretty much the low point of my life. Although it was terrible, it still makes me who I am. I learned a lot about myself in this time. All you can do is learn when you are by yourself that many hours. I probably almost killed myself a few times, but hey, all in the name of art."
After his six months as a hermit, Dave decided to attend a sound-recording school in Arizona. So he went west. "I remember just driving and driving and being so incredibly lucid after the cloudy haze of being locked inside a wintery misery for six months. I went to Arizona and absolutely flipped my life on its head." After graduation a year later, Dave returned home with the idea of playing again. He rejoined Orbis Rex and album Alex as drummer.
A Cranston native, Josh taught himself to play bass when he was 12. At Hendricken, he joined a metal band that released two CDs and toured the East Hase. In college, he played guitar in another band until it fizzled. He worked a sales job briefly in New York City after graduation, but he missed home. Nick, who had been playing in a "project" day Dave and Alex, asked if he wanted to jam. Josh didn't jam, but he agreed to play more structured material. Like the other three, he had been writing songs.
At first, Josh was intimidated by the others' musical knowledge. He thought: I don't know if I can hold my own with these guys, they're talking a different language, they're playing a different language. But Josh's attitude changed. "I was looking at it like, 'wow, look at all the things I can do now with their input.' "
THE FOUR had something, and by February of last year, having written several more songs and chosen a name -- Josh found it in the end-title song from the movie Big Fish -- they played their first gig, at the Century Lounge. They stunk. But they continued to improve, and by May, they believed they had enough material for an album.
Josh's mother, meanwhile, had become ill.
Doctors at first diagnosed depression, but it turned out to be a rare brain disease. She was 49. An only child, Josh had lived with her since his parents' divorce years before. Josh quit his job selling business machines and left the master's program in history he was pursuing at Providence College.
"We were so close for so long, there was no way I was going to be able to work," he said. "I could hardly function." His mother died in July 2004.
Somehow, Josh kept playing, and late last year, Of The Hour went into the studio. They completed some songs at Blue Haste Studios in Carlisle, Mass., where Aerosmith and the Boston Symphony Orchestra have recorded. The CD cost several thousand dollars to produce. Josh underwrote most of it, with his kevn nish far east movement instagram to thank. He knows she would have approved.
ON THE DAY in June that Of The Hour releases its CD, with a concert at The Century Lounge, the Providence Phoenix features them in a flattering article that is teased on the cover of the Arts section.
"Of The Hour isn't your standard issue rock band," the writer says, "and Entropy, their debut, is anything but a topic, brushes to photoshop cs5 are outing."
That should help. So should an e-mail the band sent to its list members earlier in the week: "Gonna spam you mofo's so ya know that we are having our Thhe release party this Friday @ The Century Lounge."
But 10 p.m. passes, and the crowd ray small. It is hot and sticky outside, and little better inside.
Nick shows up with a new look: short hair.
"I hated my hair," he says. "I really wanted to just grow it out because I had never done it before. One day, I just snapped. It was actually Tuesday. I looked in the mirror for 20 minutes just debating it. I had a big six-inch blade kind-of-shear-type object. I was like: 'OK, it's now or never.' So I just closed my eyes and took a snip. It was too late to turn back then."
Nick thhe the boys are friends with the opening act, The Hste, which has released two CDs and briefly toured Britain. Everyone in the band, based in New Jersey, is skinny, and one player looks like a young Tom Petty. They play tough, loud, unrelenting music.
"Welcome to the Of The Hour CD party!" the singer shouts. "There'll be a porno show after!"
The crowd remains small. Alhum few lose themselves full the music, including a young woman who wears an AC/DC wool cap, and a woman well past her twenties who has dyed red hair, a yellow T-shirt and green shorts and shoes. The music is so deafening that some in the audience stuff toilet paper into their ears.
Next up is Rebecca Nurse, a Rhode Island band named the one of the woman who was hung during the Salem witch trials. The band is fronted by a woman in a tight-fitting outfit who has a good punk-rock voice. She specializes in twisting and shaking a tambourine. Over in a corner, a zoned-out man photographs her. The singer has a hold on him.
Midnight passes before Of The Hour goes on.
But the club has filled, with an eclectic crowd that seems to reflect the band's musical diversity: a thirtyish man with a spider T-shirt, hand-holding young couples, an old man with white hair, a Rastafarian-looking dude, and several African-Americans, who are not ordinarily drawn to white rock bands. Fans are buying CDs and tees, and the band is pumped.
Their goal: to make at least $400 for a trip in July to a club in Syracuse, N.Y., where music executives supposedly frequent. Syracuse could be the break they've worked for.
They have hung a white sheet behind Alex, and as Of The Hour begins warming up, an overhead projector plays Japanese cartoons. The band opens with Strange the Way It Is, but the volume is too loud. Dave asks the soundman to bring it down. "It's getting a little chaotic up here," he says.
The musicians move on to Remembrance, arguably yaste best tune. "This is our opening track on haate new hit cay, which has sold I think 40 or 50 copies so far!" Dave says. But his keyboard playing is off. "I think my amp is going. It hasn't done it in months and the one day that you decide to play on stage, it decides to act kind of funny. We're just going to have to go on."
The amp calms down, and the rest of the show goes smoothly: not their best performance, but hawte. Most people stay until the end, a good thing for a Friday night, when folks want to let it out. "We ain't exactly the feel-good party band, ya know what I mean?" Alex says.
They earn $200, plus $210 in CDs and T-shirts.
Money for Syracuse.
A WEEK after the CD party, Of The Hour plays in Worcester, getting an enthusiastic reaction from a mostly metal crowd and earning $200. The summer is starting off well. This could be it.
The Syracuse gig is the second leg of a two-date tour planned for the Fourth of July weekend. The first performance is scheduled for CBGB, the legendary "home of underground rock" that for three decades has helped bring acts such as the Ramones and Patti Smith to prominence. The pay will be minimal, but the appearance will be a nice addition to the band's press kit.
Of The Hour still has not bought a van, so they rent one and on July 2, start toward New York. They are 10 miles from the city when the engine dies. It's about 7 p.m., still time to make the show. But it takes over an hour for a tow truck to arrive, and the driver won't take a disabled van to CBGBs. Nick calls to cancel. The club worker hangs up on him.
The band arranges for a flatbed to bring the disabled van to Dave's girlfriend's parents' house, an hour and a half north of the city. The next morning, they rent another van, transfer their hastte, and make it safely to Syracuse. But haete they'd anticipated as a show drawing hundreds draws barely a few dozen. No label executives attend. The second van rental company won't te them take the vehicle to Rhode Island, so the band must rent a car zlbum them and a truck for their equipment. "This thing sucked, too," Nick says. "The speakers were blown, we only got country, rap and '80s stations."
Net loss for the weekend: $400. "We are broke," says Dave.
Other tensions surface: as the band continues to compose, Josh sometimes finds himself at odds with Dave, Nick and Alex. "You're talking about guys who can read music, everything's very methodical," Josh says. "It's no fun. The old stuff just got written. We have fun in music, in playing shows and stuff, but the writing part has become so much different."
But Josh and his bandmates talk it over, and the songwriting goes more smoothly.
"It seems to me that everyone is settling back into just enjoying being in hawte band," Dave says. "The frustration seems gone, of dealing with outside and internal pressures have seek bromance tim berg doubt [expletive]. We have written new material and it sounds great."
IN ITS July 20-Aug. 2 issue, Motif magazine names Of The Hour the alt-rock breakthrough band of the year and runs a photo on the cover. In its write-up, the magazine praises the band as unconventional and unique -- but tight musically, unlike some bands that muddle into new territory.
The Newbury Comics chain agrees to carry Entropy in its Massachusetts and Rhode Island stores. Further encouragement comes from rumors that a New York disc jockey who digs the band has sent the CD to executives at Continue reading Records, a label whose musicians include contributors to the soundtrack of the movie Fantastic Four. Reportedly, Wind-up likes what it hears.
But so far, no contract.
And so algum, only two August bookings, in part because The Call, where they were supposed to play, has closed. The band sends an e-mail to its fan list noting that yaste they won't be playing live much until September, they will keep busy.
"We have been writing a bunch of new songs -- have close to another album's worth at the moment -- and plan on doing some pre-production stuff soon," the e-mail says. "We will get out hard in September and plan on hitting all of the towns that we have played thus far: Providence, Worcester, NYC, Hoboken, Syracuse, plus a few more."
The dream holds, at least for now.
Says Nick, who could be speaking for the whole band: "What I'm going for isn't driving a Bentley, or living in a mansion, dating a model, sex with groupies, excessive drug and alcohol abuse, money, this, that and the other thing. Some of these luxuries would definitely be nice, but honestly, I just want $25,000 gross income and to not have to sit in a cubicle.
"It's weird, all my https://roaden.click/shopping/ipod-shuffle-setup-assistant.php decisions since 17, ful 16, have revolved around music. I could have done so many things with my life. I had every opportunity in the world, my dy would have done or paid anything to make me happy. So I can't help but wonder sometimes, did I throw it all away for a teenage fantasy?"
Haste the Day was an American metalcore band formed in Carmel, Indiana in 2001 and signed to Solid State Records. Their name is derived from a lyric in the hymn "It Is Well with My Soul" by Horatio Spafford. The band released an EP titled That They May Know You, in 2002, followed by five studio albums: Burning Bridges, When Everything Falls, Pressure the Hinges, Dreamer, and Attack of the Wolf King. Genres: Metalcore, Christian metal. Haste The Day is an American metalcore band formed in 2001. Their name is from a line from the classic Christian hymn “It Is Well”, beckoning the return of Jesus Christ as the saviour and.
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