If Spill Canvas Spent As Much Time With Their Music As They Do With Their Press Kit, They'd Be Famous
""So I'd collapse to the grass with your notes ringing in my head / let the rain fill my mouth / and in a couple hours I'll be dead"
"And incase you were wondering / you're like a sunset to me / you're all kinds of beautiful as you end my day / and you sweetly retire as the stars chase you away"
The words of the young soul are endless wonder, caught in the elements between the certain makeups of life’s long turn and the uncertainty of early-borne vitriol. We were all once so wide eyed, so entrenched in the beaming enthusiastic glow. Yet, we often find that once the calendars become faceless, so does this once bright gleam. Replaced with the slow smolder of routine and consequence, we are but compelled to oblige with bitter tongues and casual imprudence. We don the faces of others, hiding colors we so want to shine and in turn, bask in the camouflage of grey; our favorite shade of irrelevance.
And in fear, we are at our most vulnerable; until time itself, graces us with the presence of a deeply buried thought. The very glow we covered under the thick cold is once again whispering, a faint but calling hand, a reach we are so dying for. And it is but a fleeting moment, because as the sparkle is blinding, the colors slowly recede; and in time and words and wealth; it is sure to fade to grey. Now as the sound is but a whisper, The Spill Canvas is that faint tapping, enveloped in soft spoken youthful appeal and acoustic burdened naiveté.
From the twilight fleeting of “Sunsets and Car Crashes” to the distorted hum of “All Hail the Heartbreaker”, the wonderment is but timeless. It hides not its simplistic veneer, crafted merely to touch, to move – not to change. It is reminding us that during this arduous and often lifeless flight, we tend to let our guard down, showing our weakness and vulnerability; but as Nick Thomas’ hallowed voice echoes amongst the unadorned auditory souvenirs, it reminds us that it is okay to feel."
""So I'd collapse to the grass with your notes ringing in my head / let the rain fill my mouth / and in a couple hours I'll be dead"
"And incase you were wondering / you're like a sunset to me / you're all kinds of beautiful as you end my day / and you sweetly retire as the stars chase you away"
The words of the young soul are endless wonder, caught in the elements between the certain makeups of life’s long turn and the uncertainty of early-borne vitriol. We were all once so wide eyed, so entrenched in the beaming enthusiastic glow. Yet, we often find that once the calendars become faceless, so does this once bright gleam. Replaced with the slow smolder of routine and consequence, we are but compelled to oblige with bitter tongues and casual imprudence. We don the faces of others, hiding colors we so want to shine and in turn, bask in the camouflage of grey; our favorite shade of irrelevance.
And in fear, we are at our most vulnerable; until time itself, graces us with the presence of a deeply buried thought. The very glow we covered under the thick cold is once again whispering, a faint but calling hand, a reach we are so dying for. And it is but a fleeting moment, because as the sparkle is blinding, the colors slowly recede; and in time and words and wealth; it is sure to fade to grey. Now as the sound is but a whisper, The Spill Canvas is that faint tapping, enveloped in soft spoken youthful appeal and acoustic burdened naiveté.
From the twilight fleeting of “Sunsets and Car Crashes” to the distorted hum of “All Hail the Heartbreaker”, the wonderment is but timeless. It hides not its simplistic veneer, crafted merely to touch, to move – not to change. It is reminding us that during this arduous and often lifeless flight, we tend to let our guard down, showing our weakness and vulnerability; but as Nick Thomas’ hallowed voice echoes amongst the unadorned auditory souvenirs, it reminds us that it is okay to feel."
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