20 Songs to Get to Know Yellowcard
What do you know about the band Yellowcard?
I expect that a good number of you, if you’re aware of them at all, think of them as a one hit wonder. As much as it pains me, it’s hard to argue with that; nowadays their broader cultural legacy rests solely on the shoulders of one absolute banger of a one hit wonder. If you’ve ever heard any Yellowcard song, it’s “Ocean Avenue”.
Who knows why “Ocean Avenue” broke out into the mainstream the way it did. That period of time in music history was truly, unfathomably unpredictable, and likely never to be repeated. But I am not surprised at all that “Ocean Avenue” has gone on to become an Emo Nite staple within its original scene. It’s an ode to summer love, and the freedom and seeming invincibility of being young; it’s fast and sunny, the ultimate “driving down the road with the windows down and nowhere to be” jam. “We could leave this town and run forever”? Is there anything more pop-punk? Hell, I will go on the record and call “Ocean Avenue” the quintessential pop-punk song, packing everything people love about the genre into a fun and breezy 3 minutes, 18 seconds. It’s unimpeachable.
It also greatly overshadows everything else the band has ever done, even within their own scene; Yellowcard put out six more albums after Ocean Avenue, toured with scene titans and sold out countless shows, yet have remained a glaring blind spot to so many fans of their contemporaries.
Yellowcard’s been on my mind a lot lately. I was lucky enough to make two dates on their reunion tour last month, and it was a balm for the soul, allowing me to relive a lifetime of cherished musical memories. But I was also thinking about Yellowcard while reading the book Where Are Your Boys Tonight? The Oral History of Emo’s Mainstream Explosion 1999-2008 by Chris Payne, though this time because of their notable exclusion. It’s impossible for one book (even one that clocks in at a whopping 464 pages) to include every significant band when discussing a decade of musical evolution, but it’s nonetheless wild to me that Yellowcard isn’t mentioned even once in all that time. “Ocean Avenue” was everywhere during those days, and Yellowcard’s overnight rise and fall is pretty much the quintessential story of the Emo Explosion. Did Payne find that their story hewed too close to that narrative without something unique to offer? Was the band not interested in being interviewed? Or were they simply overlooked yet again? I don’t think it’s personal, but it is a pattern.
So yeah, over the past few weeks I’ve had a blast not only revisiting Yellowcard’s catalogue, but discussing it with other longtime fans and sharing their music with new ones as well. If the scene is going to overlook them even as their reunion sells out massive amphitheaters across the country, then I have to take matters into my own hands.
What follows is a playlist of 20 Yellowcard songs, in honor of Ocean Avenue’s 20th anniversary. If I were a more marketable writer I’d have a more consistent theme here, but I’m not, and I don’t; some of these are the “best” Yellowcard songs, and some are my favorites, but some are neither. Some of these songs I just feel are important pieces of Yellowcard’s story, while others are ones I have deep personal connections to, ones I can’t wait to share with you. Put together, I hope they’ll shine some light on why this band means so much to me, and why they deserve so much more attention than they’ve ever gotten. Hopefully you’ll find something to take away from this, even if it’s just a sick violin riff stuck in your head.
The Takedown (Paper Walls, 2007)
It may be a strange choice to kick things off with this slightly deep cut, but “The Takedown” is easily one of my favorite Yellowcard songs, and a brilliant example of what sets this band apart, musically, from so many of their pop-punk peers. First there’s Longineu Warren "LP" Parsons III, one of the best drummers there is, beating on relentlessly and imbuing “The Takedown” with a frantic, breathless energy. Then there’s Yellowcard’s secret weapon, Sean Mackin, who makes sure the violin isn’t a gimmick, but something that grants extra life to every song, whether it’s a background element or carrying the melody or, in the case of “The Takedown,” being pushed front-and-center into a kickass solo. That solo segues perfectly into Ryan Mendez’s equally kickass guitar solo; I truly, truly appreciate that Yellowcard is one of the few pop-punk bands that not only understands the value of a good old fashioned rock and roll guitar solo, but actually has the skill to pull them off. “The Takedown” just rocks, man.
Ocean Avenue (Ocean Avenue, 2003)
Yeah, duh.
I talked a lot in the intro to this piece about why I like “Ocean Avenue,” but one more aspect of it I’d like to touch on is the nostalgia factor. Nowadays of course it’s become a nostalgic touchstone for people in their thirties who fell in love with the song as teenagers, but it was always a nostalgic song, from the moment it was written. The song finds 23-year-old Ryan Key waxing nostalgic about nights spent on the beach with a lost love, romanticizing his teenage years in a way that only someone barely into his twenties, who feels ancient but doesn’t realize how young he actually is, can. It’s no wonder the song exploded. We all felt that way once, as we started growing up and feared the loss of our carefree youths, or perhaps the loss of the youth we never got to have. “Ocean Avenue” has an irresistible youthful energy but is also tinged with sadness and regret — just another thing making it the quintessential pop-punk song.
Believe (Ocean Avenue, 2003)
I was…not a very happy teenager. I was closeted and raised in a religion that was very vocal about how much it hated gay people, and I was having a very hard time picturing any sort of future for myself, much less thinking I deserved one. The summer after my junior year of high school was especially hard; I’d met a girl on a family vacation I thought I was in love with (in retrospect, I think I just needed a friend), and going home felt like losing the only chance I’d ever have to be straight, to be worth something, to have a normal life. I couldn’t see any other way to move forward.
I’d heard “Believe” many times before this, but the first time I really heard “Believe” and listened to what it had to say was that summer, lying on my bedroom floor, trying to figure out how to tie a noose as Ocean Avenue played in the background. The song humbled me. “Wanna to make a change right here, right now / Wanna live a life like you somehow / Wanna make your sacrifice worthwhile.” How could I possibly listen to a song about people selflessly sacrificing themselves to save lives, their example inspiring others, and still lie there and fantasize about throwing my own life away? Instead, I got up off the floor, called a friend, and told him how sad I was. It would be a long, long time before I’d work through my issues, but that day was the start of something changing in me. What else can I say? This song saved my life.
Powder (The Underdog EP, 2002)
Due to their sudden popularity, Yellowcard is one of those bands who seems like they came out of nowhere fully formed with their big iconic release, but they actually have a rather long history pre-Ocean Avenue. They released two whole records (1997’s unfortunately-named Midget Tosser, which is understandably not on Spotify, and 1999’s Where We Stand) before singer Ryan Key even joined the band! These albums feature Ben Dobson on lead vocals, and his rougher voice combined with faster, more urgent guitars almost turn them into hardcore records — they sound like the Movielife, but with a violin. Key took over vocals with 2001’s One For The Kids, which took the band in a more pop-punk direction; it’s beloved by a small but fierce segment of the fanbase, even if it does sound like it was recorded in a tin can. 2002’s Underdog EP is the bridge between Yellowcard’s first two eras, released on hip indie record label Fueled By Ramen in cooperation with Capital Records, in an attempt to drum up anticipation for Ocean Avenue without getting a major label stink all over the band and ruining their cred.
“Powder” feels like the obvious choice to represent this era. The music video was included as a bonus feature on the “Enhanced CD” version of Ocean Avenue, clueing countless new fans into the intriguing, mysterious fact that Yellowcard had other music out there. But the song, with its earnest, heavy handed anti-drug message, also became a bit infamous once people started realizing how heavily Yellowcard partied (“Need coke at Warped Tour? Go find Yellowcard”). More than a few fans had their vision of the band shattered. I once heard Key complain about how many fans would ask him “but what about ‘Powder’?!” when they heard about his drug use. Frankly, I think it’s a fair question; not for any moral reason, but because they made the leap from “Powder” to “Charlie Sheen” at record speed.
Rough Landing, Holly (Lights and Sounds, 2005)
Yellowcard was lucky enough to break out in an era where labels were still willing to make actual, honest-to-god music videos with actual, honest-to-god budgets. There’s quite a few excellent videos in Yellowcard’s oeuvre, but “Rough Landing, Holly” rises to the top of the pile with its fast-paced, spectacle-laden chase sequences driven by ever-shifting dream logic and brought to life with deft directorial trickery and a boatload of Capital Records money. It looks like it would have been an absolute blast to make, and is even more fun to watch; I have vivid memories of taping this video off of MTV2 and rewinding it over and over and over.
There’s one point in this video where Ryan is holding a black briefcase with a white sheep on it. That briefcase was also in the video for “Ocean Avenue,” and the sheep logo also shows up in on a door in the video for Brand New’s “Sic Gloria Transit…Glory Fades.” That damn sheep drove endless hours of speculation between my friends and I in high school as we tied string to our corkboards and tried to figure out what it all meant, what connection could possibly exist between all these videos. The actual answer ended up being a bit of a let-down — all 3 were directed by the same person, who used the sheep logo as his calling card. That director, though, was Mark Webb, who would go on to direct 500 Days of Summer and Andrew Garfield’s Amazing Spider-Man films— and let me tell you, learning this in the year of our lord 2023 is a goddamn delight.
Life of a Salesman (Ocean Avenue, 2003)
If there’s one thing Yellowcard singer/songwriter Ryan Key makes clear in his music, it’s that he absolutely adores his family. They’re an ever-present, recurring theme in his lyrics: “Dear Bobbie,” from 2007’s Paper Walls, is a love song about Key’s grandparents, interspersed with actual audio of Key’s grandfather reading a love-letter to his wife, and several songs in their catalogue are dedicated to Key’s beloved Aunt Steph. In a musical scene dominated by songs about heartbreak and discontent, it’s a refreshing change of pace.
In my experience, “Life of a Salesman,” a fawning ode to Key’s father, is one of the more controversial entries in the Yellowcard “songs about family” canon. I think part of that is because it’s such a simple, earnest song, but that’s a lot of what I love about it; it taps into the energy of a child who worships the ground his father walks on in a really adorable, compelling way (it also has a ripping solo, and perhaps my favorite drum fill of all time going into the second verse). “Salesman” also doesn’t get a lot of love because, well…not everybody has the same relationship with their father that Key does; in fact, I’d say that if you’re listening to this kind of music, chances that you and your dad don’t get along are pretty high. I remember a girl I knew in high school who hated this song specifically because she didn’t get along with her dad. I’ve never exactly had the closest relationship with my father myself, but that’s actually another reason why I’ve always liked this one; I wanted the father Key sang about here, not the one I actually got. Hell, I’m still drawn to songs about fathers and fatherhood for that very same reason.
With You Around (When You’re Through Thinking, Say Yes, 2011)
“With You Around” is the closest Yellowcard has ever come to recreating their greatest hit. It shares quite a bit in common with “Ocean Avenue”; they’re both the third track on their respective albums, both open with staccato guitar, both spin sunny tales of summertime love. While “Ocean Avenue” is ultimately a bittersweet story of lost love, though, “With You Around” is a full-on love song, and is all the better for it. While the verses find both the narrator and his love reassuring each other of their eternal love in the present, the chorus flashes back to how that love began: long days spent driving around, listening to their favorite songs together. As someone who has spent some of the best times of his life driving around with his friends, singing our favorite songs as loud as we can, I really resonate with this. I’m guessing many of us do, and that speaks to Yellowcard’s incredible, vital ability to tap into that feeling of being young, in love, and feeling invincible. It’s one of their greatest gifts as songwriters.
Gifts and Curses (Spider-Man 2 Soundtrack, 2004)
The Spider-Man 2 soundtrack was the second CD I ever bought in a store1. It was a big deal at the time; the likes of Dashboard Confessional, Midtown, Taking Back Sunday, and the Ataris being featured on the soundtrack of the biggest movie in the world was just another sign that pop-punk and emo were breaking through into the mainstream. I picked the record up for one reason and one reason alone, though: a brand new Yellowcard song. “Gift and Curses” didn’t let me down, and has gone on to be a fan-favorite; I finally got to see it played live during Yellowcard’s “final” tour in 2016, and it was one of those moments where my life just felt complete.
The highlight of this track is its extended bridge, which drops to near total silence, slowly bringing in the violin and just building and building until it releases the tension with this brief, but striking and cinematic guitar solo. It’s a brilliantly structured song and one that sounds unlike anything else on the record, nor in Yellowcard’s entire discography. But what also sets “Gifts and Curses” apart is that it’s actually about Spider-Man — and not in that kinda cheesy way where it just sprinkles in a few character names and calls it a day, but in the sense that it’s actually told from the point of view of Spider-Man and explores relationships and conflicts that are important to both the film and Spider-Man’s comic book origins. Long before I knew the full extent of Ryan Key’s geek fandom, I recognized him as one of my own, and it certainly helped secure this band as one of my favorites going forward.
Lights and Sounds (Lights and Sounds, 2005)
Yellowcard ended up following an unfortunately common career arc — they followed up their breakthrough hit Ocean Avenue with a darker, more experimental record called Lights and Sounds that bombed commercially, alienated fans, and resigned them to years of rock band journeymanship.
Lights and Sounds was a bit of a concept record that found the band grappling with their own overnight success. Much of its story was told through the character of “Holly Wood” (as we’ll get to in a bit, “California” is probably the most important and common recurring motif in Yellowcard’s discography), but the title/opening track “Lights and Sounds” is more straightforward in its approach, a searing indictment of the greed and hypocrisy they saw around them in the entertainment industry, of the pressure put on them to deliver another hit, of the omnipresent temptation of drugs and alcohol, and ultimately of the loss of their adolescent bounciness these created.
“Pissed off” is one of my favorite modes for Yellowcard to operate in, whether it’s them telling off wayward pals in “Empty Apartment” or “Five Becomes Four,” or a traitorous love in “For You, and Your Denial.” “Lights and Sounds” is one of their best screeds, though; everything about it is infused with righteous fury, be it the jagged guitar, the menace behind the rapid-fire drum rolls, or even the intense lights and harsh camera movement seen in the music video. As an opening statement for a new era of Yellowcard, it said exactly what it set out to, for better or for worse.
Holly Wood Died (Lights and Sounds, 2005)
Lights and Sounds, as a record, took even greater risks with its instrumentation than it did its lyrics. “Two Weeks from Twenty” — an anti-war/anti-W. Bush protest — is pretty much a jazz song, featuring a trumpet solo from a member of the Black Eyed Peas; “How I Go,” meanwhile, is a full on country ballad about the movie Big Fish, and a duet with Natalie Maines of the Chicks (then known as the Dixie Chicks). Most impressively, Yellowcard violinist Sean Mackin composed a string section for each song and conducted the orchestra himself!
“Holly Wood Died” doesn't seem like the most obvious beneficiary of those musical aspirations at first; it’s perhaps one of the best songs on the record, but also one of the most musically straightforward, at least until you get to the end and the string symphony comes in over the guitar, creating this intense closing movement that then drops to just strings, playing us out with this mournful, beautiful tune. It’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever heard, and gave me chills the first time I saw the song live, even if the strings were still pre-recorded (Mackin apologized for not being able to afford to bring an entire orchestra on tour). Yellowcard have an incredible knack for writing closing songs, and “Died” is top tier, summing up everything the band was trying to say and do on this record into one thrilling closing statement.
View From Heaven (Ocean Avenue, 2003)
On the inside cover of Ocean Avenue there is an epitaph: “In rocking memory of Scott McRae Shad.” Shad was a prominent figure in the Florida punk scene, drummer in the band Inspection 12, and one of Ryan Key’s best friends; his tragic death at only 18 years old left a permanent mark on the band. “View From Heaven” is only the first Yellowcard song dedicated to Shad; tracks like “Shadows and Regrets” and “See Me Smiling” would continue to explore the band’s grief.
“View From Heaven” is worth talking about for its instrumental side, too. Maybe it’s the violin, maybe its their southern roots, but Yellowcard occasionally slips into writing straight-up pop-country songs, and “View From Heaven” is an absolutely charming one, with this gently rollicking guitar and bass and a violin-line straight out of a hoe down. It’s downright relaxing, until a sudden burst of emotion and frantic violin breaks through in the bridge and reminds you of the loss the song is actually build on.
Paper Walls (Paper Walls, 2007)
Paper Walls, as a record, seems to have been intended as a bit of a course correction for Yellowcard after Lights and Sounds underperformed, offering the band’s newfound maturity wrapped in a more palatable, familiar, pop-punk adjacent package. Whether or not it succeeded at this is a matter of perspective; they certainly didn’t regain their massive mainstream success, but the album was quite well received by Yellowcard fans, new and old alike.
The closing/title track, “Paper Walls,” turns this attempt at a comeback into an anthemic mission statement, portraying Yellowcard as steadfast defenders of their scene, fighting to keep their musical dreams alive in the face of deathly cruel haters (“Don't listen too close, their words are like guns/With bullets that fly and kill what you've won”). With time they learn to let go of the pain (“Let's take what hurts, and write it all down/On these paper walls in this empty house/And when our ink runs out, we'll burn it to the ground”), and the ritual allows them to move forward with their career stronger than ever before. “Hear me now, you will never be alone” they declare to their fans; it’s a powerful note to end a record on, even if it ends up unintentionally ringing a bit hollow once Yellowcard goes on a four year long indefinite hiatus not long after Paper Walls’ release. Still, it’s a banger of a closer.
Ten (Southern Air, 2012)
In the lead-up to Southern Air’s release, I remember hearing whispers online about a song called “Ten,” a song that left listeners shocked and which Ryan Key had apparently said he would never play live because it was too raw and emotional for him. So of course, the first thing I did when my copy arrived, before even playing the album, was open up the booklet and read the lyrics to “Ten.” They reduced me to tears. A few hours later I actually listened to the song for the first time, sitting in my car in my driveway, and it left me a messy, sobbing wreck, my face buried in my steering wheel as tears gushed uncontrollably. No other Yellowcard song has ever affected me this way.
I’m a sucker for sad songs, to be sure, and songs about dead kids are guaranteed tearjerkers, but still, there’s something special about “Ten.” Maybe it’s how gentle the music is, just an acoustic guitar and a soft, hummed melody as an intro/outro. But I think it’s mostly the specificity with which Key speaks about the life he and his child could have had; the amount of time Key’s clearly spent imagining this possible life that will never come to be, especially when you remember how much family means to him. It’s devastatingly simple, straightforward, heartfelt, and so goddamn full of love. Forgive me for not learning my lesson about forming parasocial relationships with musicians, but Key sounds like he’d be a good dad, and I really hope he gets the chance some day.
Always Summer (Southern Air, 2012)
“Always Summer” is the song that made me sit up and go, “Oh, Yellowcard’s back.” Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed When You’re Through Thinking, Say Yes, Yellowcard’s 2011 release that was their “official” return from hiatus — in fact, I think it has a few of the band’s all-time greatest songs — but it’s a rather somber and more downcast record musically, which has never been my favorite mode for the band to operate in, especially for an entire record. Maybe it’s just because I imprinted on Ocean Avenue like a baby duck when I was young, but for me Yellowcard will always mean “summer,” and I don’t think any song in Yellowcard’s catalogue represents that better than “Always Summer.” It’s not just because of the subject matter, either; it’s just a fast-paced, happy song that sounds the way sunshine feels, warm and joyful and full of energy and possibility. The music video captures this perfectly, both in the band’s joyous performance and the clips of listeners dancing and singing along freely. It’s a video that captures exactly how I feel listening to a really, really good Yellowcard song. I guess it should be no surprise that Southern Air went on to become my favorite Yellowcard record. Though the band stretches their sound and songwriting skills throughout, every song still has that special something, that spark of possibility that makes “Always Summer” and every other song on it so damn good. It’s pretty much as perfect as a pop-punk record gets.
Light Up The Sky (Paper Walls, 2007)
“Light Up The Sky,” in my mind at least, is forever linked to the Season 1 finale of the TV show Heroes. The episode featured protagonist Peter Petrelli forced into becoming a human bomb, intended to destroy New York City; instead, Peter’s brother Nathan flies him far above the city, seemingly sacrificing them both and harmlessly lighting the skyline in a brilliant, explosive burst of white. I first heard “Light Up The Sky” a few months after this episode aired, and the connection seemed obvious. With lyrics like “And I would explode just to save your life/Yeah, I would explode/Let me light up the sky/Light it up for you/Let me tell you why/I would die for you” and “Let me light up the sky/Just for you tonight/Let me help you fly” it’s honestly hard for me to tell what else this song could possibly be about — the imagery is so similar and so damn specific! And it’s not like a song about Heroes would have been outside of Yellowcard’s wheelhouse: Ryan Key is a known mega-nerd who had already written songs about Spider-Man and The Goonies, and would go on to write for Marvel Comics and host a Star Wars podcast. He was absolutely watching Heroes in 2007.
I’d all but taken it for granted that “Sky” was inspired by Heroes until I sat down to write this piece, looked up some dates, and discovered that Paper Walls was released less than two weeks after that Heroes finale aired — nowhere near enough turnaround time to create the song in response to the episode. Moreover, Yellowcard was performing the song live as early as March 2007, several months before the episode aired and potentially before it had even been written. I’d swear that I’d read interviews where Key said this song was inspired by Heroes, but searching now, I can’t find a thing; Genius Lyrics seems to think “Sky” is referring to saving someone from a burning building. So, apparently, I’ve been completely wrong about this song for 15 years now. Oh well, at least it makes a good story.
Sing For Me (When You’re Through Thinking, Say Yes, 2011) / Telescope (Southern Air, 2012)
Ryan Key and his Aunt Stephanie shared a special relationship. It was her encouragement and support that convinced him to follow his dreams and join Yellowcard in the first place, a moment forever immortalized in the song “Rock Star Land” off One For The Kids, and she’d go on to become Yellowcard’s biggest fan. Tragically, she was diagnosed with cancer during the making of When You’re Through Thinking, Say Yes, and passed away not long after. “Sing For Me” and “Telescope” both address this loss in different ways. “Sing For Me” is sang from the point of view of Stephanie as she says her goodbyes to Key; it’s a clear testament to the love Key felt from his Aunt, and also his attempt to write himself a path through the upcoming darkness of her loss. “Telescope,” meanwhile, serves as a more straightforward memorial to Stephanie as someone who always helped Key find his path in life. I struggled over which of these two songs to include on this list (I enjoy listening to “Telescope” more — that bridge! — but “Sing For Me” is the fan favorite that gets played live), but ultimately realized that they’re best enjoyed together, where they form a powerful testament to one of the key figures in Yellowcard’s history. Thanks to her nephew’s music and fans, Stephanie will never be forgotten.
Fragile And Dear (Lift a Sail, 2014)
Yellowcard was always going to have trouble following up Southern Air. What do you do next when you’ve already released a perfect pop-punk record? If you’re Yellowcard, you veer into entirely uncharted territory. To say that Lift a Sail is Yellowcard’s strangest, most polarizing record is an understatement — I yet to meet a fan of it in person. In preparation for this piece, I sat down and listened to Lift a Sail for the first time in literal years, and actually liked it more than I expected, but it just doesn’t sound like a Yellowcard record, y’know? There’s this vital spark to their music in its prime that’s just missing from even the best songs on this record.
Though Lift a Sail features a few ballads and a few catchy tracks with actual energy (“Deepest Well” is my favorite Lift a Sail track by a country mile), most of its songs (such as “Crash the Gates” and “Transmission Home”) were clearly designed to echo out of giant arenas; yet, they often feel muted and lifeless. Yellowcard had been covering the likes of Coldplay and The Lumineers in their live shows for a while before this, and seemed to be trying to model themselves after that kind of big name, generic indie stadium rock. I could write you a 10,000 word essay on why some bands can change genres and make it work and others can’t and still not come to any sort of concrete conclusion, but what I can tell you is that Yellowcard was not able to make it work. I think fans saw Lift a Sail as a betrayal, especially since they’d made this kind of swerve before (on a much smaller scale) with Lights and Sounds. Some had the impression that Yellowcard was writing more “scene” focused music to amass fans, then pivoting to the kind of music they actually wanted to make, then scrambling back to the scene when they failed, then repeating the process. I realize that’s an incredibly uncharitable take and not at all the band’s actual thought process, but I can’t say it wasn’t the general feeling going around at the time.
“Fragile and Dear” is a pretty deep cut from Lift a Sail, but on my most recent listen, it’s the song that stuck with me the most, and the more I thought about it, the more I realized that it represents everything Yellowcard was trying to do with this record. There’s the sparse verses with strange electronic flourishes, the bigger chorus that still doesn’t sound as big as it’s clearly meant to, and yet there’s also this really beautiful vocal melody and violin line, because even at their “worst,” Yellowcard’s still a pretty damn good band.
A Place We Set Afire (Yellowcard, 2016)
Yellowcard’s 2016 self-titled album was never meant to be just another record. It was written with all intention of being their final record, its release announced on the same day as their break-up as a sort of final gift to the fans. Tracks like “Rest In Peace,” “A Place We Set Afire,” and “Fields and Fences” (which, until 2023, was the final Yellowcard song) found the band looking back at their career, towards an uncertain future, and saying very explicit goodbyes to their fans, hoping these songs would help both the band and their fans cope with the loss.
This modus operandi carried over to the record’s music videos as well, but most explicitly to their final video, “A Place We Set Afire,” which features a documentary-style framing device where the band literally says their goodbyes to viewers. The rest of the video follows two parallel stories, with Yellowcard preparing to play a show on their farewell tour while one of their fans simultaneously prepares to attend said show. Notably, the young man playing the fan isn’t an actor, nor is he a musician or someone in the scene or even in the music biz; he’s literally just one of Yellowcard’s biggest fans. He’s also my nemesis.
Around eight or nine years ago we followed each other on Tumblr. I ran into him at a show in Philly and introduced myself, and he brushed me off. Feeling insecure and embarrassed, I found his Twitter, where he was talking shit about me behind my back. For years after that I just kept seeing this kid at every other show I went to, until finally, I click on the link to watch the final Yellowcard video and am confronted with his face, the punchline to one big long cosmic joke at my expense.
I’m sure he’s fine, and I’m happy he got to do something as incredible as starring in his favorite band’s final music video, but also, fuck ‘im, y’know?
Childhood Eyes (Childhood Eyes [EP], 2023)
This isn’t the first song Yellowcard have written about the power of being young at heart — “Be The Young,” one of the band’s very best efforts, built an entire anthem around the idea — but what elevates “Childhood Eyes’” take on the theme is its timing. Yellowcard’s last few albums/years as a band were focused on new, more “mature” directions that lost the youthful spark that drew so many fans to the band in the first place. Then they broke up; by all accounts it was a difficult, fraught decision, and not a single soul in the band ever expected to be playing music together again. Any new Yellowcard song would have felt like a miracle, but for their first new song in seven years to be this bouncy and fun, for it to look to the future with a childlike optimism that harkens back to Yellowcard’s best material, was a truly unexpected joy. “Childhood Eyes” has ushered in a new era for Yellowcard, and I’m genuinely excited to hear what it sounds like.
Southern Air (Southern Air, 2012)
The idea of “California” is probably the most important and prominent lyrical throughline in Yellowcard’s entire catalogue. “Rock Star Land” establishes California as a goal to be achieved, the place that will help fulfill Key’s dreams of rock-stardom. However, “Back Home,” the final track of Ocean Avenue, finds Key homesick and disillusioned with California, longing for the place he grew up and the people he left behind; Lights and Sounds, meanwhile, finds Key disillusioned with fame altogether, portraying Hollywood as a place that’s twisted, broken, and dying.
“Southern Air” is the final part of this story2. The song never actually names California, L.A., or Hollywood, but it’s a clear response to Key’s time there, years later, when he’s had time to heal from the scars California inflicted and declare himself better, to look back at those years as adventures rather than trials and tribulations. Most importantly, he’s been able to come to terms with where he came from and truly embrace it as his home, as a place to rest, recharge, re-connect, and reflect on his storied career. It’s a beautiful capstone to a long and tumultuous story of ambition, tragedy, and personal growth.
From 2016-2023, Yellowcard’s “Fields and Fences” was the “final” Yellowcard song. If I were choosing one of Yellowcard’s songs to be their last, though, it would be “Southern Air.” It’s not just because it’s the final track on the last truly great album Yellowcard has put out, either; it’s because it’s the perfect closing statement for the band, a song that wraps up just about every theme they’ve considered throughout their career in a powerful, compelling bow.
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“Do You Know What I Love the Most?” is a newsletter from Spencer Irwin about his relationship with the stories he loves. Spencer is an enthusiast and writer from Newark, Delaware, who likes punk rock, comic books, working out, breakfast, and most of all, stories. His previous work appeared on Retcon Punch, One Week One Band, and Crisis on Infinite Chords, and he can be found on Twitter at @ThatSpenceGuy. If you like this newsletter, please subscribe and share with your friends!
The first CD I ever bought at the store was the Punisher soundtrack at a Hot Topic. I wrote about the harrowing experience a few years ago.
Two years later, a track on Lift a Sail would be named “California,” but like most of the songs on that record, it attempted to create a new definition of California altogether, as a place Key and his then-wife could reunite, rather than to elaborate on previous themes.