Tennis and the End of Adolescence

How the band's decision to move on suggests that I should too.

Just a few moments ago I was 15 listening to the serene guitar chords in “Fields of Blue, ” completely swept up in a feeling I couldn’t explain. Now I’m 23, and the same band that soundtracked my coming-of-age is saying goodbye.

The song that introduced me to Tennis on Dec 29, 2016 (thanks Spotify).

Origins

I first discovered Tennis while shuffling through my Discover Weekly playlist as a high school freshman. I liked what I was hearing, but when I clicked on their profile, none of their previous albums showed up for some reason. A couple of months later—during my late-2010s indie-music nirvana—I decided to check again, only to find they had just released Yours Conditionally.

That album went on to define my high school years more than almost any other. Around that time, the married duo had taken matters into their own hands, sailing again and releasing the songs they wrote on their own label. It wasn’t just a personal shift for them—it marked a moment where they’d found their sound and, it seemed, a deeper sense of who they were. I resonated with that, as I was also on a journey of self-discovery, and music was my primary guide.

Alternate cover to Yours Conditionally, shot by Luca Venter.

I found their music so refreshing and beautiful. It was this retro, confectionary pop—full of words and sounds that radiated love, admiration, and occasional melancholy. Exactly what the heavy-hearted yearner in me needed (and still does). Tennis always sounded, to me, like the tenderness of young love or the feeling of being seen in the smallest gesture.

It wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows, though. There was always a touch of sadness woven in. While much of their music centers on their mutual love, it also acknowledges the hardships that come with it. And yet, beneath it all, there’s this quiet conviction: that it’s worth it in the end.

I think Tennis shaped how I view both love and music—in the best way possible. At a time when I was exploring all kinds of music, both great and questionable, I stumbled across something that felt passionate and genuine. Their music ended up defining a large part of my relationship at the time. I listened to Swimmer so often I became desensitized to it—I’d hear it every time I got into my then-girlfriend’s car. I don’t know if she still listens to them, but I hope their music brings her good memories.

“10 Minutes 10 Years” is my favorite song by them. I have several others, but this one in particular captures the intimacy and vulnerability of love and companionship.

The Farewell Tour

Tennis at First Ave, May 21 2025.

“Is not impermanence the very fragrance of our days? Nothing lasts forever people; not even good things.”

Alaina Moore (at the Farewell Tour in First Ave).

My first time seeing Tennis live was three years in the making—delayed by postponed shows due to COVID and a bout of voice loss. So when I finally got to see them again, I was excited, but unsure how to process the fact that this was their farewell. Stepping into First Ave again, two years later, I felt a wave of déjà vu—aware of everything that had changed in the time since. Still, the room was filled with reverence and deep appreciation for the music they’ve shared with us over the years. Not to mention how quiet and attentive the crowd was during Billie Marten’s set; she was angelic!!

I think Alaina’s words at the beginning set the tone for how to take in the news of their indefinite hiatus. Rather than mourning the end, it felt more important to be grateful—to have witnessed their journey and to be radically present at these final shows. And that’s exactly what happened. I sang and lost myself in classics like “My Better Self,” “Need Your Love,” and their Carole King-esque rendition of “My Emotions Are Blinding.”

A few songs into the set, it hit me that the clues had been there all along. Lines like “From where we are, we are never coming back,” or “How long can we stay like this, leaning in for one more kiss? I’m holding you so long, I will haunt you when I’m gone,” were quiet signals that this wasn’t always going to last. Whether intentional or not, those lyrics—some written years ago—pointed to the same truth: impermanence is inevitable. But maybe that’s what makes certain moments and phases in life so painfully, beautifully sweet.

The End of My Adolescence

Tennis at First Ave, April 2023. Shot on film by yours truly!

Technically, adolescence ranges from ages 10 to 19, with some organizations now extending it to 24. And while I’m a grown adult (I look like a 30+ year old), this particular moment feels like the end of my adolescence—or what’s left of it. I think it’s for a couple of reasons. First, I associate Tennis with the seasons of life I went through while growing up—each album marking a distinct chapter, and a different version of me.

Second, their farewell through the announcement, the tour, and the album—resurfaced parts of myself I had either forgotten, outgrown, or still need to heal. The themes of closure, time, and growing up hit harder in your early 20s. They pierced through the naive belief that nothing ever ends and that we have all the time in the world.

I think I’ve used music (among other forms of media) and the memories tied to it as a way to delay personal growth—a way to hold on to the “good times.” There’s something particularly painful yet freeing in realizing that the things that held you through your youth don’t need to hold you anymore. When the soundtrack to your life shifts—whether for better or worse, expected or not—you have to adapt. You have to accept the past for what it was: both beautiful and flawed.

That doesn’t mean I’ll stop listening to Tennis, or the music I grew up with. It just means I’m making peace with what it means to move on—to let things come and go, and to honor their place in your story without holding on too tight. I’m so, so grateful to have found their music, and to have grown up alongside it. I’m grateful for the way it fanned the flame in my heart to listen, to love, and to appreciate music more deeply.

Their swan song might be reaching its final note, but the version of me who listened to Yours Conditionally alone in my room on repeat; he’s still somewhere inside. Quieter now, and perhaps more at peace. But still listening.