This blank screen terrifies me. The cursor blinks. I search for the words. And in the back of my mind, there’s a cold little voice telling me it’s pointless. That I’ve said everything meaningful I’ll ever say about music. That I’m washed up and irrelevant. That the music I care most about, and the medium by which I communicate my love for that music, has passed me by. The voice whispers. And I hear the soundtrack to my life softly echo through my head like an abandoned radio station hallway. The florescent marquee sputtering, fizzling, and coughing up the bygones of a lost era. My era.

The empty space sits like a verdict — relentless, accusatory.

This is the kind of tension that comes with age. No one ever told me my youthful anxiety of never amounting to anything would morph into being worried I’ll only be remembered for what’s behind me. And it’s a funny kind of cruel, because I’m a little ashamed to admit it. But, honestly, I’ve been thinking about all of this a lot lately. The past, the glory days of the punk and emo scene. Growing up, giving in, the bands that have come and gone. And I’ve been thinking about the pressure that builds over time, how the momentum of not doing becomes intoxicating. By not doing, you never have to worry about failure. You can make up stories in your head about all the reasons it’s not worth trying, and your ego stays nice and protected.

But I’ve also been watching all these artists push against that pressure, lean against that momentum, and emerge bursting with creativity and a newfound sense of purpose. Freed of the shackles of needing to live up to the expectations of being the next big thing, or having to follow up their massive hit records, they’re able to tap into a creative force and deliver music that moves beyond just being a nostalgic feint. And it inspires me. I’ve been spending the past few months immersed in new music from the bands only we knew. Bands with funny names like Motion City Soundtrack, The Format, and The Starting Line. Little gems from our youth that always felt like a shared secret — ours and ours alone.

And that voice in my head? That one that tells me to stop trying, that no one reads anymore? That asks if our past is the best we will ever know? I know the antidote. I’ve known it most of my life. It involves headphones, a volume slider, and a great fucking song.

Much like seeing an old friend that you thought you’d never run into again, reunions bring back a flood of memories that make you realize just how important these people are in your life. When Yellowcard announced that they would be playing a show at Chicago’s Riot Fest in 2022, the band realized that there was still a lot of positive energy that happens when they get together. When I last chatted with lead vocalist, Ryan Key, he mentioned that there was a feeling within the Yellowcard camp that their last two albums, Lift a Sail and their self-titled, were made “more for them” in the band and that this latest EP, Childhood Eyes, would have the potential of getting longtime fans of the band excited in the direction they’re taking. Key mentioned in a different interview, “We knew we were writing an EP which meant we only got five songs, so we had to really make them special. And I think there was an immediate sense of bringing it back to Paper Walls—the idea that we need to make something that we’re proud of, but also something that gets Yellowcard fans excited about what we’re doing. So at that point, we picked up the guitars and started demoing and, honestly, I think these five songs could have just been on that record in 2007. And I love that.” By getting that familiar, yet glorious feeling of reinvigorating their passion for playing music together again, Yellowcard have made a dramatic collection of songs that not only lives up to the legacy they built, but hints at the possibility of more music in the future.

With goodbye comes reflection. This reflection is often bittersweet as it drifts between that which has filled us with joy and that which has caused us pain. There’s a cauterization of once open wounds that necessitates a search for meaning in the steps that led us here. And it’s within this reflection that we try and attach understanding to our history. Why does saying goodbye make us feel this way? What is it about this specific action that leads to an emotional cluster-fuck? A perceptible and undeniable bond between love and sadness? I keep asking myself these questions as I prepare to say goodbye to one of the best bands that ever came from our music scene. A band that has soundtracked my highs, soundtracked my lows, and has been a constant musical mirror to the love, and sadness, that life has brought. As I walk into this realization, I can’t help but reflect on just how many of my goodbyes have been punctuated by a Yellowcard song. Goodbye to friends, goodbye to family, goodbye to relationships, goodbye to states, goodbye to innocence, goodbye to youth. And with that I realize that I don’t want to become numb to goodbyes. I want them to sting. I want them to hurt. I want the goodbye to be a remembrance of everything that led to that moment. Yellowcard’s final self-titled album is that pinprick. It’s that puncture against the consciousness that reminds me why I listen to music, it’s the melodic pull that has dominated my life for all these years. It’s between this intense feeling of familiar and new that I find the closing Yellowcard album lays itself to rest.

Read More “Yellowcard – Yellowcard”

When I sat down to write this review, I found myself staring at Microsoft Word’s blinking cursor for at least 10 minutes, coming up blank. That’s not a common occurrence for me. Usually, when I write a review, it comes out fully formed, all in one sitting. But how could I review an album such as this? What could I say that would speak to the experiences of other listeners and not just my own? The struggle was born from the fact that Yellowcard’s last album, Southern Air, became one of the most personal records in my life two years ago. That album came out toward the end of summer 2012, the summer before my senior year in college. It was my last summer in my hometown, my last summer before the real world set in, and songs like “Southern Air” and “Always Summer” just felt so fitting. Suffice to say that listening to an album that ends with the line “this will always be home” is particularly resonant when you’re driving away and don’t really know where your next “home” is going to be.

Needless to say, Southern Air is my favorite Yellowcard album, and probably always will be. I connected with it like people older than me connected with Ocean Avenue back in 2003, and I was worried that, like them, I’d have to deal with a follow-up that completely misplaced the magic of its predecessor. But while Lift a Sail, Yellowcard’s latest record, is a departure from the anthemic beachside sound of the band’s last couple albums, it isn’t a departure in the same way 2006’s Lights and Sounds was. Sure, both records shift in a more “rock” focused direction, both are darker than their predecessors, and both are highly ambitious. The difference is that, where Lights and Sound was directionless and dull, Lift a Sail is the portrait of a band that has more to say right now than at any other point in their career.

Welcome back to another round of the AP.net Roundtable – an article revolving around a much-anticipated album and the discussion it inspires amongst a handful of staff members. Today’s roundtable article features Jason Tate, Craig Manning, Ryan Gardner, Cody Nelson and myself discussing Yellowcard’s latest release, Ocean Avenue Acoustic. Throughout the discussion we touched on which renditions were executed the best, favorite moments on the release, and why this album has affected so many pop-punk fans. So pick up your copy of Ocean Avenue Acoustic, put the needle down, and check out the latest AP.net Roundtable discussion in the replies. – Drew Beringer

For a band as established and celebrated as Yellowcard, the decision to return from a hiatus is a weighty one. It’s not as simple as waking up, getting back into the studio, putting out a record and playing a few shows. There is a lot at stake, and the band’s legacy is part of those stakes. Putting out a bad or even a mediocre record can tarnish an otherwise sterling career, and this is something the fans consider, too. Certainly, some reunion records we could have done without – even some reunion records that have come out fairly recently. Many would rather not have their outlook on their favorite band be affected by a hasty and ill-advised reunion album – in some cases, the allure of “what could have been” might have been more satisfying than the product of the reunion.

Yellowcard saw a triumphant return into the music industry earlier this year with its fifth studio record, When You’re Through Thinking, Say Yes. The album blended characteristics of the group’s breakout Ocean Avenue and its more ambitious Paper Walls, all the while making the bold point that they weren’t just back, but back with a new focus and hunger.

As is becoming something of a trend for Hopeless Records’ roster, we now get the opportunity to hear the entirety of When You’re Through Thinking, Say Yes in an acoustic form. However, as is fully apparent from opener “The Sound of You and Me,” much more effort and time was put into this project than one might originally expect from the idea. Ryan Key’s normally high-flying vocals are kept slightly in check to match the stripped down instrumentation, but he still remains the backbone of Yellowcard’s instantly identifiable sound. 

When Yellowcard announced its hiatus in 2008, the popular opinion was that the band was done for good. Listeners who felt as though they would never hear another record from the Jacksonville, Fla., five-piece pop-punk innovators were definitely not alone. While the band was only gone for just over two years ― not that long of a break in the grand scheme of things ― plenty of signs pointed to the conclusion that they were finished. Frontman Ryan Key started a new band called Big If, Longineu Parsons was drumming for other projects, and the other members of the group were strewn across the country each doing their own things. Capitol Records even came out with a weird four-track EP of previously released Yellowcard material entitled Deep Cuts.

Let us face the facts: not many music critics want to admit to liking pop-punk. Not even I, the great pop-punk apologist, can say the negative connotation associated with the genre is undeserving. Think about it – from the young and extremely vocal fans, to the piled on guy liner, to the outrageous media stunts – it’s easy to see why the genre has become the leper colony of the music world.

Read More “Yellowcard – Paper Walls”

Before basking in the mainstream success that was Ocean Avenue, Yellowcard were just another bunch of underdogs plowing through releases and member changes. The Underdog EP, which features members Ryan Key (vocals/guitar), Warren Cooke (bass), Sean Mackin (violin), Ben Harper (guitar), and Longineu W. Parsons III (drums), will regrettably remain unexplored by more casual fans the band has picked up in recent years. But those who do take the time to dig through Yellowcard’s back catalog of music will be pleasantly surprised by The Underdog EP.