I find February to be incredibly infuriating; the last stretch of winter’s bastardy gray grasp fondling specks of pink fabricated bullshit. The month also ironically mocks the rest of the year as well as those scorned lovers, as it tapers on the longest even though the calendar states it has the least amount of days. Cue in Philadelphia cupids, Modern Baseball, as they deliver You’re Gonna Miss It All as an early Valentine’s Day treat for those of us who are currently in bleary-eyed relationships with craft beer and snow.
You’re Gonna Miss It All begins with the tepid, “Fine, Great”. In the forefront is Lukens’ nasally delivery as the rest of the band keeps up simply but solid with his wordy lyricism. “Fine, Great” is the stock for the soup that is You’re Gonna Miss It All, as chicken bits and salt are poured into wounds that Lukens’, even as a college student, has decided to wear on his sleeve instead of a degree.
“Apartment” is the catharsis of the album, the two-step folly of unrequited loveliness as it flirts with sharp, quick aggression and sugary hooks. The male angst is unbearably evident; enough to make a girl blush over past brush-offs. Lukens does a wondrous job of taking these embarrassments and making them but sardonic bullet points in the scribbled notes of an awkward youth.
The self-centered machismo is full force with “Charlie Black”, with aggressive riffs and toned down lyrics, it becomes a rallying cry for scorned men everywhere, like a bustle of rhinos stomping down the ground in demand of retribution. It’s the anthem of You’re Gonna Miss It All, complete with the standard “whoahs” of any good natured emo-pop track.
You’re Gonna Miss it All stumbles out with “Pothole”, a broken toy serenade with a cracked, acrylic smile, winding up with jagged gears that have been oiled with the smooth cadence in Lukens’ vocal lubrication. Ewald’s wispy strumming marinates with a background sweeping sensation, bringing immense depth to a tender forlorn ballad, ultimately concluding the album with overwhelming irresolution.
Let’s face it. There’s a guilty pleasure in Valentine’s Day. No matter how silly we all claim it is we still bite into its chocolate- cherry center. Much the same can be said about Modern Baseball’s You’re Gonna Miss it All. Lukens, Farmer, Ewald, and Huber present to you a dozen emotively selfish roses, every tiny thorn, “…just a prick/in my finger or my toe/ripping snag holes all the way to my chest”.
You’re Gonna Miss it All is available now through Run for Cover Records. Be sure to check out Modern Baseball when they open for The Wonder Years at Starland Ballroom on April 18th.