quiet morning on Growing Up, Letting Go, and Finding Peace in the Unknown
Behind quiet morning’s melancholic lyrics is a trio that insists they’re much more “clown-ey” than their music might suggest. In this exclusive interview for Alicia’s Studio, Tylo, Isaac, and Rae open up about the experiences behind their songs, the changing ways they understand their own memories, and what it means to stop searching for answers to questions that may not have them.
quiet morning is built around three distinct creative roles, but the group itself feels less rigid than that might suggest. Tylo shapes much of the band’s sonic identity while overseeing the engineering behind their recordings; Isaac writes, produces, and engineers; and Rae develops new ideas and handles much of the group’s creative direction. Outside of music, their interests stretch everywhere from coffee and latte art to street photography, films, racing, and the uncertain process of figuring out what comes next.
That uncertainty seems to follow them into the music—but not necessarily in the way listeners might expect.
If you only knew quiet morning through their lyrics, you might assume the people behind them are just as quiet, sad, or lonely as the songs can sometimes feel. The band would strongly disagree. “We are actually pretty clown-ey when you get to know us,” Rae says, while Isaac admits that some of his more depressing lyrics come from an instinct to exaggerate his own experiences and make them “very dramatic.”
The contrast is important. quiet morning’s songs may sit with heartbreak, nostalgia, comparison, and uncertainty, but the people writing them aren't necessarily trying to present those emotions as permanent states. Instead, they seem interested in capturing a particular moment—and allowing it to remain unresolved.
For quiet morning, writing isn't always about telling a complete story. Isaac describes his approach as writing “moments” rather than narratives, intentionally leaving enough space for listeners to decide what a song means for themselves. Tylo sees that openness in another way: as time passes, the stories they tell naturally change in meaning, becoming something closer to memories than definitive accounts of what happened.
That idea of memory runs quietly through their music. When asked whether they have become more comfortable with unanswered questions, the band's responses suggest that acceptance isn't necessarily the same thing as having everything figured out.
“I think some questions are not meant to be answered,” Rae says. “Some things are also better off with you not knowing the answer.”
For Rae, the comfort comes from recognizing what is outside of his control. Some things, he says, simply aren’t meant to be answered—and understanding that can bring a sense of peace. Rather than continuing to search for answers, there is comfort in accepting that certain things are beyond your control, and therefore aren’t inherently your fault.
That perspective becomes especially personal on under my skin, where Isaac repeats the ache of missing someone's touch, kiss, and breath. The song initially sounds like straightforward longing, but his interpretation of it has changed with time.
“As I grow older, I’ve learned to let go of the people who chose to leave,” he explains. When he wrote those lyrics, he says, he was missing “the past versions of people” while still seeing them through rose-tinted lenses.
It’s a distinction that appears throughout quiet morning’s writing: sometimes what hurts isn't simply losing someone, but realizing that the version of them you held onto no longer exists—or perhaps never existed in quite the way you remembered.
That realization surfaces again in touch, where the question “Is it just my eyes?” becomes a reflection on perception itself. Isaac remembers once believing that people could change if enough effort was put into a relationship, only to eventually understand that some personalities simply clash.
“There’s nothing that can be done about it,” he says.
There is no dramatic revelation in that realization, and perhaps that's exactly the point. quiet morning seems less interested in the moment everything suddenly makes sense than in the quieter realization that sometimes, it simply doesn't.
If under my skin looks backward, date urself turns the attention inward.
Isaac describes the song as a reminder to prioritize himself, delivered with what he jokingly calls his “diva energy.” Beneath that playfulness, though, is a more serious idea about self-love as something active rather than automatic.
For Isaac, that process came through reading and traveling—experiences that gradually changed the way he understood himself and the world around him. The song becomes less about suddenly discovering confidence and more about deliberately practicing the decision to choose yourself.
That same process of learning to accept where you are appears in sweater invite, which captures the quiet discomfort of watching friends move through life on seemingly more certain paths.
“I’ve stopped comparing my own career path to someone else’s,” Isaac says.
Music, he points out, comes with uncertainty and risk. For a while, that made it easy to compare himself to friends with more traditional careers and feel as though he was falling behind. Eventually, though, he began to recognize that there isn't one timeline everyone has to follow.
For all the introspection in quiet morning's music, the thing the trio most wants to preserve has little to do with artistic ambition.
When asked what they hope never changes as the band grows, Tylo hopes they continue having fun together through the “crazy journey.” Isaac echoes him, extending that hope to both onstage and offstage. Rae puts it slightly differently: he hopes their passion and love for the craft never disappears.
It feels fitting.
quiet morning may write about people leaving, relationships changing, uncertainty lingering, and the difficulty of accepting what can't be controlled. But underneath all of that is something considerably simpler: three friends who found each other through music and want to keep enjoying the process.
Maybe that's the balance at the center of quiet morning. Their songs don't need to have all the answers. They just need to capture something true enough to remember.
