"I just wanted it to be a best friends thing," Great Hour of Noon's Jamie Shea confides. He is sitting on a stool in his Upper East Side Manhattan apartment.

It's funny how life works, always twisting and tugging you around when it expects you have settled into a routine. A surprise was in store for the guys and for me that brisk Saturday morning when I hoisted myself up the five flights of stairs.

Before I even have my coat unbuttoned, Jamie blurts out that Mike has left the band. It appears that Jamie keeps secrets like a sieve holds water. Mike has decided that he cannot balance the grueling task of being a bass player with his last semester in film school -- a daunting task for anyone to take on. Jamie informs me that the band is staying together, and they have full confidence Mike will return shortly... or they will find another bass player.

This is the first of many surprises that Great Hour will face in the next year. [I guess] that's what happens when dynamic young rockers decide to tempt fate and start a band. And if you're a young journalist trying to make it in the rough and tumble war of the words, it helps if you have a good story. That's the reason I find myself standing outside the apartment 5D on a Saturday afternoon. I am buzzed in and I start the climb up the five flights of steps to the apartment owned by Jamie Shea and Pat McNulty. Timidly I push the door inwards and find myself in a small alcove of a living room surrounded by Jamie, Pat and Mike. I settle comfortably (semi) onto the cool wood floor and survey the three guys with whom I will be spending a hell of a lot of time.

First there is Jamie -- what's not to love about Jamie? He is a pint-sized man, dressed in Diesel jeans; he is always in style, try as hard as he may to avoid it. A bit cynical and weathered from years playing the "bitch" role, he seems truly at ease when music is the topic.

Pat greets me with a quiet hello and a self-conscious smile; stubble grows on his youthful face, underneath a cap of unruly hair. At 26 he is half paranoid child, half talented, mature veteran of the business. As dim light filters through the haze of smoke, 25-year-old Jamie turns to Pat and commands him to play the "Jesus is a Fisherman" song. Pat unsteadily rises, electric blue guitar in hand, and strums some chords that oddly resemble a sound that only a White Snake reunion concert could produce.

Pat and Jamie have known each other for years; playing together comes just as naturally as any other known function. Jamie says they first met in New England, smoking outside their dorm in college. Talk turned to music, and the rest, well, is history. The world took them on separate paths for a couple years, but ultimately it came full circle, and Jamie and Pat are now back together, playing together, and setting up tentative plans to move back to where the match first ignited, hopefully to fulfill their dreams.

Mike Richardson, the band's drummer, resides in Rhode Island where he has another musical venture called Three Speed Amplifier. One summer while tending bar in a beach town, he befriended two security guards, Pat and Jamie. Pat had a stint as a bass player in Mike's band, and all three remained close, though their lives took them to different states. Now reunited, they think it is important for them to be sequestered, together, in a house where they started. They call themselves Great Hour of Noon, but they aren't great -- not yet anyway. They are dedicated, they dream big, and they actually have talent, but they are still a far cry from rock stardom.

About an hour earlier we were all sitting cross-legged on the pale wooden floor of Pat and Jamie's living room/dining room/kitchen/studio. Pat was huddled in the corner by the fridge rolling cigarettes (he always is) and animatedly talking about how enthralled he is to be a part of this band, and to have it written about. Jamie echoes his sentiments and they banter back and forth for a while.

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The next day -- again out of breath from those damn stairs -- I sink into a wooden chair and turn to face Pat. The scruffy, unshaven Pat appears to be wearing the exact same outfit he was in three days earlier. In fact, jittered up on coffee, it is not out of the question to think maybe he has been up for those three days. A pile of dirty dishes rest in the sink, an amp is sitting on the stove, and Pat is wearing the same outfit he had on last time I saw him: the glamorous recording studio is complete

Chain-smoking and sweaty, the men of Great Hour of Noon (named after the perfect hour to wake) take their marks. Jamie stands behind the mic while Pat faces him. The pure, melodious opening chords drown any lingering doubts I might have about the project. "Home" starts with floating, delayed vocal. Jamie scrunches up his face into a barely recognizable shape and wails his heart out while Pat solidly plays along. The result is impressive... beautiful, actually.

To virgin ears, the band recalls Radiohead and Coldplay, at least until it's Pat's turn for vocals. Jamie graciously steps to the side, and once again I am shocked by the lack of egos in the project. Jamie sits down while Pat slowly works and reworks a new piece he is working on. Pat's vocals are weaker, but the songs he sings sound catchy. Opting not to use the mic in many cases, some of his words become drowned [out] by the guitar. He sings with his eyes closed, swaying softly from left to right, obviously a bit uncomfortable that there is an outsider listening to his unpolished performance.

Though dead set on the path to stardom, the boys of the "hour" need to maintain day jobs to support their rock-star dreams. Fortunately for them, their career paths meld nicely with the connections needed to make it big. After being on the road for more than two years with Epic recording artist Howie Day, Jamie felt it was time to plant himself firmly in the Big Apple. After teetering around the skirts of the biz, he landed a job at Notorious Pictures, where Pat works. The boys that play together, well, they play together a lot!

Being that Jamie spent the better part of the past two years on the road, he has accrued some fans. Sometimes the gaggle of stargazing youngsters needs someone tangible to fill their void -- and that man is Jamie. He has become the everyman to the hoards of people who turn up to see Howie play. He chats, schmoozes and even emails with some of Day's biggest fans, his winning endeavors earning him their undying support. Basically, Great Hour had fans before they even had songs. Numerous postings fill up Day's message boards, raving about the upcoming March show and alerting those out of the loop to jump back in, quickly. Jamie's hope is that Howie's fans will enjoy his music, "I hope they do, because they are the most dedicated group of people I have ever encountered," he says.

While many new acts might be thrilled with a built-in fan base, Pat is uncomfortable with the idea. He doesn't outright say it, but instead nervously strums his guitar and quickly informs the room that he doesn't care who listens as long as he is being true to himself, and then changes the subject. One thing about Pat is that he is very true to himself. With the prospect of moving to Rhode Island looming in the future, Pat says that he is ready to give up the career he though he wanted. "This (the band) is what I want to do."

Jamie is also the group's built-in manager. Life on the road has made him friends, as well as connections, with venues, managers, booking agents, and other industry insiders. He says his strategy for marketing the band is his "secret sauce": if he gives out the recipe, it just won't work. But it's easy for any outsider to see that the key ingredient is hard work. No one works harder than Jamie, no one.

Another day, and at lasts the guitars seem to meld, and I seem to have disappeared into the cloud of smoke -- they smoke a lot, they talk a little, and they play even more. The second rehearsal starts more smoothly than the first; the guitars sound better, the voices stronger, and I don't feel like such an intruder. Pat starts up the chords to a song called "Everything" and my throat catches a little. A sweet nostalgic feeling sweeps the room, I start to comment on the feeling the song evoked and they both agree, but no one can place the melody -- it's haunting, but gorgeously simple.

Later that week the boys are upstairs recording -- voiceless recordings, I am told, to send to Mike in Providence so he can work on his drums. I want to listen to them anyway. Though Pat and Jamie comment that they think it's boring without the words, I kind of dig it. It's soothing, and at least it sounds on key and smooth.

The morning of their first show quickly fades to afternoon as the guys pack up and head up to Rhode Island. With a few faithful friends in tow, they feel nervous and excited about the upcoming evening. For the first time in public all three members of Great Hour of Noon are onstage together, and the magic that they felt prompted Jamie to say that they would never play without a drummer again.

The show was a success, the crowd was won over, and Pat and Jamie were left in a euphoric state as they began the long drive back to the city. Their first Great Hour is behind them, and all they can do it look forward to the next.