Biography

Thirteen years ago, we gathered up some songs, made a bunch of little ghosts out of cardboard, and had the honor to start playing shows for you. You – our friends, family, and (much to our surprise and gratitude) our fans. In the years following, you gave the four of us some of the most memorable moments of our lives. We drove around in a van, playing music and having adventures. We had the opportunity to perform in some of our favorite venues in Los Angeles. We played and recorded alongside incredibly talented people. We played shows in which we were all imbued with the same unshakeable commitment and passion, in which we felt synchronized with one another and the audience; in which we felt ourselves transcend our everyday lives and discover something pure and transient and indescribable. And there were bad shows, too. Shows in which strings broke and drum stands broke and our hearts sank. They were fun, too. This is a farewell letter. The Deadly Syndrome is no more. It is incredibly egotistical to write a farewell letter; the very act itself presumes that anyone cares. But that’s something that we never had to doubt. Because we saw you. We saw you at the shows, we saw you at the merch table. We saw you on the internet, supporting us and telling people about us. You gave us encouragement and praise and unending kindness. If everyone on the planet could feel, just for a moment, as loved and appreciated as you made us feel, the world would be a better place for it.