cam’s other band doin’ it REAL
Anonymous asked: After doing some searching I finally found some of Eyelets music and it's actually super sweet, so thanks Old Gray for introducing me to another cool band
hey this is tamaki, im the vocalist. im stoked you like our music! thanks for being awesome.
hacked by tama.
(Stage center, a lone NARRATOR. Standing straight, an average height, he seems weathered and worn, not by time but by some greater emotional weight. Around him, a blue haze rests in the air, the source unknown. He does not acknowledge it. He clears his throat, straightens a crease in the sleeve…
consciousxshift asked: I took pictures of you guys when you played at WonderRoot in Atlanta, Georgia. I'm a lazy schmuck and just found them. If I edit them all nice and pretty will you find a use for them?
We’ll post ‘em and boost ya! thank you xoxo
Last month I met Cam from Old Gray/Sorority Noise and it was great and I may have cried during their set
And then in the car
And then for an hour on my friends couch
the man the myth the legend
Listen/purchase: Farewell All Joy by IDYLLS
late to the fucking game but this shit is insane
(Stage center, a lone NARRATOR. Standing straight, an average height, he seems weathered and worn, not by time but by some greater emotional weight. Around him, a blue haze rests in the air, the source unknown. He does not acknowledge it. He clears his throat, straightens a crease in the sleeve of his suit, and speaks.)
NARRATOR : The day we are born is the day our battle begins. We are born with a subconscious desire instilled within us, forever fixated on finding nirvana. This is a battle with no clear opponent, no enemy to set our eyes on, as the definition of this desire and the means to reach it are as unique and varied as the people harboring it. To many, the heavens are the final bastion of hope. Others find a similar comfort within themselves. With goal in sight, we then create our own opponents for the sake of continuing our battle, refusing to remain idle.
(A pause. The NARRATOR regards the AUDIENCE, stage left, then turning his head to acknowledge stage right. An impassive sea of dreamers, insofar uninspired by his words, is reflected in his eyes. He is not discouraged. He still has a story to tell. The blue haze is dancing, swirling around the stage, delicate wisps of smoke careening in pirouettes around him. He is an audience of one to their advances, the lone recipient of their spectacle, and yet he continues uninhibited. The ballet would wait. He clears his throat.)
NARRATOR : On what grounds? Where do we derive our convictions from? Is it also subconscious, this sense of emotional wanderlust?
(The NARRATOR advances towards the AUDIENCE, approaching the edge of the stage. His arms swing upwards, emphatic pendulums, grasping for reason and meaning. There is spit when he speaks. There is a passion in his speech and guise that the AUDIENCE, preoccupied with their own vapid thoughts, continues to ignore.)
NARRATOR : Our fingers are merely stolen vulture’s talons, leaving desperate claw marks, deep crevasses dug into the flesh of anything we were foolish enough to let go of. Once loved is mistake enough, but we continue to love, and we continue to let go, the cycle repeating until everyone walks around hiding their clawed scars under layers of thicker and thicker skin. And that is but one stolen vice. We continue to steal, and we are still not masters of this ritualistic thievery, as no stolen eyes have yet seen enough to guide us.
(The blue haze spreads further, slowly enveloping the AUDIENCE with a soft blanket. Indifferent to its embrace, they casually continue their side-conversations, absent-mindedly regarding the NARRATOR, who begins to pace the stage with an intensified vigor. His speech is frenetic and approaching a climax. A few individuals now sit upright, regarding his monologue with a renewed focus. There is a unity through the pathos.
NARRATOR (shouting) : What guides you now? Each of you here, sitting in this theatre, are of no value to the universe! Time does not know your name, your successes, your personal heavens – all will be forgotten by the next turn of the page! What will guide you tomorrow, when the universe blinks and all of us are extinguished, swallowed by flames and suffocated by space? The puppeteer will only laugh as her theater crumbles, dilapidated! The puppeteer is laughing now!
(The AUDIENCE is transfixed by this new commotion. All side-conversations have stopped. The blue haze has risen, a suspended translucent veil across the theatre’s lights, creating a soft bloom throughout.)
NARRATOR (still shouting) : Our strings only become more tangled as we blindly continue to push the walls down on top of us! We must escape to the endless fields within ourselves, inside our dreams, and find something to cling to! Sink your talons into the flesh of what you love, greedily suck the blood until you have become one, and never –
(The curtain begins to close, obstructing the AUDIENCE’s view of the NARRATOR. He tries to push through the gaps, continuing to shout, but is swallowed in the folds of the heavy fabric. There is a spark and the curtain catches fire. It rapidly begins to spread, the march of the flames providing a metronome for the dance of the blue haze, now a solemn waltz. There is an incredible din of applause and catcalls. The AUDIENCE stands in ovation, cheering, as the theatre is reduced to rubble and ash.)
Anonymous asked: wow raf yr music tastes are hella typical dog
as if i care