“I haven’t spoke to you since 17/Just thought I’d let you know you’re dead to me,” he lovingly sings on the spooky, abraded “Clarity in Kerosene,” one of the album’s most anguished songs. At the chorus, Mr. Mulherin toggles back and forth between shrieking and soothing, and in the verses, he alternates between a kind of whispered, conspiratorial singing and nimble rapping.

The music is similarly piercing and caressing. Mr. Mulherin often plays with an arid electric guitar tone redolent of lonely folk music. “I’m really into open tunings,” he said. “There’s something about that tone that’s chilly, that’s kind of cold and removed.” His beats are urgent and dark. (He produced the album with the punk producer Erik Ron and JayVee, a SoundCloud collaborator.)

The music of nothing,nowhere. is an intriguing turn for emo, which has been through at least four waves, and has been celebrating a revival by classicist-minded new bands in recent years. Mr. Mulherin is a devotee of the genre’s older standard-bearers — “I never stopped listening to these bands,” he said of groups like Mineral and the Promise Ring. But he’s part of a young, still relatively fringe group of artists, largely gathered on SoundCloud, that is melding vintage emo with contemporary hip-hop production, finding unlikely kinship.

In the way that the rise of Drake portended the final obliteration of the wall between hip-hop and R&B, the music of nothing,nowhere. — along with other SoundCloud-first artists including Lil Peep — helps bridge the chasm between rock and hip-hop. Unlike the rap-rock of a decade and a half ago, which was often clunky, expressed via brute force and a constant reminder of its forebears, Mr. Mulherin’s blend is seamless and intuitive.

That’s clearest on the ethereal and sinewy “Hopes Up,” which features a guest appearance by the emo godfather Chris Carrabba of Dashboard Confessional.