This month, I’ve been reflecting on the 10th anniversary of “fourth-wave” emo. I’m sure folks could split hairs over the exact timing. (“Pre-2013 Tumblr was the true peak” is a sentence that will make you feel very old or very young.) Considering the genre revolves around a mutually emotional relationship between artist and listener, divisive opinions are expected.
February 2014 remains the peak of this emo revival for me because of two pivotal records: Modern Baseball’s You’re Gonna Miss It All and The Hotelier’s Home, Like Noplace is There. At face value, they feel like opposite ends of the emo spectrum. And yet, together, they cover a wide range of joy, anxiety, grief, and despair in a way no other pair of records from that era can.
These albums were released in a moment that wasn’t built to last — both in terms of the genre and my late adolescence. Each record reckons with what has passed in its own way, just as I still do, listening to them now 10 years later.
At surface level, You’re Gonna Miss It All traverses collegiate anxieties and the friction of early adulthood with razor-sharp wit and vulnerability. “Your Graduation” remains a fantastic lead single, while “Rock Bottom” and “Apartment” practically reek of beer and sweat-stained couches. And let’s be honest: Is there a more concise cry for newborn adults than the first line of “I hate worrying about the future / ’Cause all my current problems are based around the past”?
Yet, underneath that veneer is constant fumbling over small moments that pull the listener back into yesterday’s dramas. Right off the bat, singer Bren Lukens hits the nail on the head in opener “Fine, Great”, and again through “Apartment” and “The Old Gospel Choir” — romanticizing skipping class to sleep in while lamenting broken hearts that make you feel dead inside. Singer Jake Ewald circles the casual regrets and self-consciousness at the “deep end of my adolescence,” from “Oh, why did I do that? / Why does everything collapse / Even when it’s glued together?” on “Broken Cash Machine” to “She was my trophy shelf of slip-ups / My untamed, hormonal, Loch Ness shit show” on “Notes”.
There was no doubt about whether Modern Baseball would build off the momentum of their DIY debut, Sports. The real question was, “How far would they go?” Underground virality built a hype train for their first release with Run for Cover Records. Even by today’s standards, it feels like an indie album rollout that created legions of fans overnight. I remember riding with my buddy Nick and jamming to “Your Graduation” when I got home for winter break, watching my best friends get hooked, and taking in new singles and music videos like an emo sacrament.
The collective anticipation led to fantastic tour placement as the opening act on The Wonder Years’ The Greatest Generation tour. On the first night, a packed crowd in Clifton Park, NY, screamed like preteens at a boy band. One voice aptly noted, “They’re just a bunch of dudes!” Correct, random stranger! And yet, those awkward college kids couldn’t help but conjure magic. (Quick aside: If you can plan a spring-break road trip around a concert you and your friends are excited about, do it.)
On the flip side, The Hotelier didn’t have that level of a bombastic rollout. The lead single “The Scope of All of This Rebuilding” was only a high-tempo glimpse into what the nine-track LP would cover. “Your Deep Rest” previewed the album’s true colors with cathartic shouts of grief for a dead friend. But it took the record coming out in full to get what singer/bassist Christian Holden meant when they wrote, “Our new album deals with some real dark stuff. So to all my brooding and slightly damaged friends, have your happy album or Rugrats in Paris nearby.”
At its core, Home, Like Noplace is There is about the brutality of loss and grief of loved ones gone too soon, the grim realities of addiction and depression, and the feeling of disconnecting from home and the role you played in it. No longer shielded by youth’s innocence, the narrator must navigate the aftermath. Along the way, The Hotelier doesn’t hesitate to call out the societal failures that lead to such terrible pain. From losing loved ones to pushing back against an incongruent gender identity, this record frames their existence as inherently political.
Ten years later, “Your Deep Rest” remains the most potent, gut-wrenching example, as Holden sings, “I found the notes you left behind / Little hints and helpless cries / Desperate wishing to be over.” The song is framed around Holden’s perspective as a survivor, having seen a beloved friend crumble under generations of struggle that fed alcoholism and depression. The line “A conscious erasure of working class background / Where despair trickles down / Imbalanced chemical crutch / Open up, swallow down” can get drowned out during the emotional overwhelm. Still, it never fails to demand justice amid systemic pitfalls.
The album’s closer, “Dendron,” further grapples with survivor’s guilt and mental illness via arboreal metaphors. There’s palpable devastation in the outro call: “Wish I was there to say goodbye when you went away / Wish I was home, oh, but no place was there / I cut off my arm at the bone in solidarity / Capital teaches that there’s less when you share.” Again, Holden attempts to battle the reality of what they’ve lost. Yet, by the end of the record, the listener is still right where they started. Reprised melodies bring the album to a close, reminding us that grief is a war to fight, not a single battle to win.
For months after its release, I struggled to listen to this record all the way through. The death of loved ones had bookended that spring: my childhood best friend, Connor, in January and my sister, Allison, in April. I wasn’t there when they passed, which made this album feel like salt in the wound. I had to miss Connor’s funeral, but when I got home for my sister’s, I, too, found that no place was there.
When I interviewed The Hotelier before a show in October 2014, I was curious about the band’s next steps. It felt like they could do anything off the momentum of Home, Like Noplace is There. Holden replied, “Not as sad, I hope. That feels like a logical move for us.” In hindsight, it shouldn’t have been surprising when they named their 2016 follow-up Goodness.
Having grown up in this genre with a “heart on your sleeve” ethos, seeing its contributors mature beyond the emotional rollercoaster of being in your twenties makes sense. At that point, everything — the happiness, anxieties, losses — feels permanent. But that intensity can never last. Standing on the other end of this decade makes it clear that I wouldn’t want it to.
Both bands went on to release their respective third records in May 2016 (once again, two weeks apart) and went quiet for their own reasons. Lukens stepped away from Modern Baseball for mental health reasons and has remained largely out of the public eye. Holden ended their twenties making more money from poker than merch cuts, but has spent their early thirties falling in love1 with music again.
Fortunately, The Hotelier reemerged to play through Home, Like Noplace is There as part of their 10th-anniversary tour with Foxing. At their stop in Carrboro, NC, listening to 750 people belt out every word of “An Introduction to the Album” felt like a lucid dream. I couldn’t keep myself from trying to film that moment, just as I could not hold back tears when singing along to “Your Deep Rest” with the crowd. I’m willing to bet I wasn’t the only one there who brought ghosts along with them.
Walking out of the venue and back to my car in the February air felt like time-traveling. For a second, the clock had turned back to emotionally fraught college days — before fast-forwarding to the present mundanity of having work in the morning. Celebrating that chapter in my musical upbringing, I was given a vital reminder that time is a cruel construct, demanding you to be present. Otherwise, you’re gonna miss it all.
Works Referenced
1: “The Hotelier Is Finding Home in All Sorts of Places” by Ian Cohen (The Ringer)
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