The opening chords of this first song, “The Scope of All This Rebuilding,” are causing multiple listens, I’ve replayed it over, and over, and over. The Hotelier offers something fresh tonight, while well-enough suited in modern punk sensibilities to suit a mood. The vocals are utterly broken, and I love it, I love how they come apart at the seams. I love the shattered feel. The intro melody that passes for a hook is morphed into different lyrics midway through, while off-kilter chords, speed lurches and breaks in the beat add some edge before sitting back into sustained tension. As far as continuity, I think it does the trick while the ending breaks it all of and brings it home — otherwise, lyrically, it feels more post-hardcore than pop punk, no beginning middle or end just words words words and thoughts thoughts thoughts and break break break off and I quite like that style sometime.
I love how the song is less than two and a half minutes, finished with the same angst as it starts, and I’ve either let it flow into the syncopated intro of “Your Deep Rest,” or click to replay. This song seems undeniably a single, or else an attention-grabber to stream around the Internet, though the rest of their BandCamp sampler is none too shabby either. Looking forward to picking up their full-length next month, playing it loud in my car,and getting to shows of all kinds once it’s warm enough outside to feel like venturing beyond my door. This winter, for all its plus sides and unexpected activity, has called for hibernation.
left the umbilical,
and now I carry around
this weight of broken hope.
I can’t retrace,
and I lost my hold
and blame myself because that is all
I’ve ever known.
Your face shows doubt
when your head feels the wake of the sorrow.
Swore to me that you could live without
then the beg turns to take turns to borrow.
Help me down.
I just want this out.
When you bend, when you break, when you follow
you cut me out.
Then you cut our ropes,
left the umbilical,
and now i’m lost and I can’t take this path back home.
Send a birthday card.
Leave a one-way note.
I lied. I’m sorry. This isn’t easy. I don’t know.
And you’d ask me to “open your walls to this.”
But I’m scared, fingers broken,
and ill-prepared to let this drag out.
When you forgot the words to our song.
When you can’t remember names its been too long.
When you stopped asking what was wrong
all the pressure built up it was too strong.
I can’t make this better.
It fell out of my hands because
I just wasn’t built to hold on.
and I can’t remember names its been too long.
and I can’t find your face in the crowd.
I made a promise said my eyes would stay shut
through something called the scope of all of this rebuilding.
I broke when I entered. Displaced from the center,
I can’t find my way around this.
My wounds healed while my fingers fixed.“
~The Scope of All This Rebuilding