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The curtain opens with the shuffling waltz of Beggar Fatigue and the mood is set by the line "Living is easy for someone else who goes on believing in spite of the truth." That 'Lucky Curtains' is Granfaloon Bus's shortest album is an act of mercy, such is its capacity to dampen the spirit. Left unnoticed while you go about your chores, it's as detectable as dust caught fleetingly in a shaft of light. Thus its subtlety and numerous nuances benefit the devoted listener, particularly those shut off from the outside world, submerged in headphone bliss. Here you can choose to listen unencumbered to the peculiar diction of Felix Costanza whose words, even when followed along their lines with a precise finger, alternate between conspicuous confession and opaque reticence. Felix is not to be found skipping along the yellow brick road. He's Harry Dean Stanton's Travis stumbling through the desert in Paris, Texas.
Or you may choose to scrutinise the numerous hues of Jeff Palmer's canvas, where attention to detail reaps ample dividends, exemplified by the multi-faceted ingenuity of There's a Sugar Museum or the procession of musical cameos that drift in and out of Scum of the Earth.
Unlike others born of suffering, 'Lucky Curtains' is not an easy record to listen to. It doesn't come with the melodic salvation of 'Sound of Lies' or the authority of 'Blood on the Tracks.' As Costanza so succinctly states in Plucked, "Truth is truth hurts."

Matt Dornan
CWAS #12 - Summer 2003

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