Since 2011, every Yellowcard concert has included a new and very personal tribute. Lead singer Ryan Key steps into a solitary spotlight with his slate black guitar. He engages the audience with the story about how he started as a musician in thanks to one person in particular. He dedicates the next song, "Sing for Me," to his Aunt Stephanie. The crowd respectfully cheers, and it's plain to see he's not the same boy who left home before he could legally drink alcohol.
At nineteen, Key dropped out of Florida State University. He knew there was nothing else for him to do with his life but play music. When he told his parents he was heading to the west coast, they were unsupportive. But his Aunt Stephanie believed in him. She rode with him three thousand miles out to California. Before she said goodbye, she told him to live his life, and always follow his heart.
Nearly a decade later, Stephanie was diagnosed with a brain tumor. In 2011, she was given less than twelve months to live. Aggressive, experimental treatments followed with no guarantees. At the time, Yellowcard was just resurfacing out of their two-year hiatus. During the recording sessions for "When You're Through Thinking, Say Yes," Key wrote "Sing for Me" in for his Aunt Stephanie. She died shortly after the release of the album, and since then, he's sung her eulogy at every concert.
In 2012's "Southern Air," Aunt Stephanie gets one more song.
For the most part, this latest album is a tribute to summer music, and in particular, their roots in Jacksonville. Even the seemingly misplaced song "Sleep in the Snow" is the ballad of a southern boy opening up to a winter girl, a reflective breakup song that is so honest, charged, and emotionally resonate that the minute-long melodic outro leaves you wanting it to go on forever.
With the two albums released after Yellowcard's breakthrough "Ocean Avenue" in 2003, the band was trying to recapture lightning in a bottle, and to be honest, rather unsuccessfully. The tribulations and utter depletion of energy and creativity led to their hiatus in 2008. But when they returned with "Say Yes," they set their own expectations. "Southern Air" is a continuation of that statement, where Yellowcard puts an assured flag in the sand.
It begins with "Awakening," which boasts the kind of urgency and energy reminiscent of The Starting Line's opening numbers. Then there's "Surface of the Sun" a heavy anthem that buttresses Sean Macklin's violin with both a viola and cello. With some help from brothers-in-arms like Patrick Stump and All Time Low, the overall tone of the album is thoughtfully assertive, as summed up by the lyrics of "Here I Am Alive": "You don't grow up, you just grow old. It's safe to say I haven't done both."
While the opening numbers have all the hooks, the album still manages to close out strong. Among the final act is "Rivertown Blues," riding a chainsaw riff and machinegun drums that recycle some of the wonderful successes of "Ocean Avenue." For salivating shredders out there, there's also a beautifully harmonized guitar solo that bursts as clearly and commandingly as anything they've done to date. While the solo might not be entirely memorable, it packs enough punch to incite a few mosh pits along the next tour.
The song most critics are raving about is "Ten," a track recorded and intended to be acoustic-only from the outset. It's sung from a father to a child that never made it into his life, assumedly through miscarriage. The lyrics stripped and bare, more therapeutic than poetic, and if you do the math, this song very well might be about something that happened to Ryan Key himself; however, as of today, I could not find sources to confirm that.
And while the title track closer "Southern Air" finishes the album with a strong outro riff that reminds me of Silverchair's "Without You" - though it's more likely homage to early-90's Smashing Pumpkins, turn-up-the-Marshall-amps, grunge rock -- the backbone of the album is "Telescope," a postmortem dedication to Aunt Stephanie, an ode to that three thousand mile ride to the west coast. Key seeks some sense of closure here, if that's even possible to be had, and writes about the journey that changed his life, the one that turned a dropout into an power voice in popular music, the kind of thing you only see in movies. Key finds a balanced, resonate mix between hope, despair, plea, and peace in this song, a tough tightrope to tread, indeed:
"Let's just keep driving on,
All the stars jumping in through the windows.
Let's go where we belong,
Headed fast as we can for the unknown."
Where "Southern Air" could fly under the radar for most casual listeners, there's a confidence and maturity here to be relished. Among the gratitude and apologies, and even the touches of remorse, the composition of the album ultimately synthesizes into something beautiful. "Telescope" may or may not be the last tribute song for the woman who helped bring Yellowcard to the music world, but even if it is, don't be surprised if it, too, becomes a set list staple.