No. 088 - Kevin Abstract’s “Yellow” changed my life
Overwhelmed by loneliness in small-town Texas, Claire Robinson finally submits to her whimsy
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This Song Changed My Life is an independent music publication featuring weekly essays from people all around the world about the songs that mean the most to them. Created (and illustrated) by Grace Lilly.
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• 5 min read •
As a 16-year-old less-than-yeehaw girl who unexpectedly found herself growing up in rural Texas, I felt incredibly lost.
My sophomore class consisted of around 50 people. The majority of them had known each other since Kindergarten. Thrall, Texas was the kind of place where generations melted into generations and everyone knew each other’s stories well. My mom had grown up here and my grandfather before her. I was officially a third generation Tiger and proud to be so. I was even my high school mascot for two years.
I’ll never forget listening to new albums under the football bleachers with my closest friends between band practice, club meetings, and whatever we did to kill the time. But one overarching feeling reigned over me. I felt so incredibly alone. Despite my mother’s best efforts to fend off this loneliness, it persisted.
I used to lie out on my trampoline, usually by myself, with the exception of a few legendary sleepovers. I’d listen to music for hours, watching the stars, listening to the cars pass by on our little country road, dreaming. It was only a 45-minute drive to downtown Austin and just the thought of it made my brain buzz with excitement and possibility.
I really loved the band The Neighbourhood at the time, and to my delight they were set to play a show at Stubb’s Bar-B-Q in Austin. So my friends and I went over to my house after school that day and got all dolled up for it. We did each other’s makeup in true 2016 style. I believe this was the first night I ever wore a crop top. Kevin Abstract was opening the show and none of us had ever really heard of him before. We had the time of our teenage lives, despite the horrible humidity, and then went on about the regular business of math tests, girls-only dress code assemblies, and all the other 16-year-old small town ebbs and flows.
After that show, my friends and I couldn’t stop talking about Kevin Abstract. We’d listen to his music constantly for years, silently relating to it. Kevin wrote about the trials of growing up in a culture that wasn’t ready for us yet, and what it felt like to come to terms with queerness even if you don’t outwardly display it. Three of my friends heard that he was playing a concert at the House of Blues in Houston and thankfully someone’s mom was willing to drive us down for it.
He opened the concert with the song “Yellow” off of his new album, American Boyfriend. The soft guitar strums soothed the crowd. Suddenly, a lyric I deeply related to, “I think you hate me, the hell do I know.” I knew this feeling well. The entire room erupted, shouting “Jesus! Jesus Christ!” in time with the song, myself included. A funny nod to the line prior. It felt kinda silly but that was the point.
Standing in this loud, sweaty, half-full room, I realized that I had something to consider other than how I thought others viewed me. I had to consider myself and what I wanted out of life. I remember sitting outside the venue after the concert had ended watching several now-famous people smoke several cigarettes. Even though I don’t speak to these friends any longer, I wonder if they had the same realization as I did that night — that there was more for us out in the world than what we had in our high school. Maybe they already knew. Maybe we all just needed to feel like we weren’t alone for a few hours.
For the following months, this song left a huge impression on me. Sweltering summer nights lying out on my trampoline were soundtracked by “Yellow” like I was a character in an indie coming-of-age film. It felt like the crickets and coyotes sang back, “I wanna be yellow.” This line feels like an exclamation of clinging to happiness because you yearn for it so deeply, even when you can’t put on the “Yellow” facade.
The lyrics “I wanna build a sandcastle for no reason” summed up exactly how I was feeling holed up in a school that did not challenge me. Looking back now, I know that I have a name for that feeling. I like to call it “submitting to your whimsy.” To me, this means accepting what you can’t change, not letting these things change you, and choosing love and fun above all else. Even if it takes a lot of practice. Some people like to call it yearning, and ridicule romantics or dreamers and the like. I say these feelings are what make us human, and we should all cling to that for as long as we can.
“Memories fade and let go,” meaning just that. Memories are just memories but we live alongside ourselves for our entire lifetime. And yes, a young rapper from Corpus Christi, Texas helped me to realize that. I will always be grateful for Kevin Abstract and sad that he never really got his flowers for this song. But this track will forever remain, serving as the soundtrack to what it felt like for me at 16. All of the daydreaming of a big life, traversing the politics of high school friendships, figuring out who the heck I was. It all feels “Yellow” now. ◆
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About Claire
Claire Robinson is a 24-year-old creative (and preschool teacher) living in North Dallas-Fort Worth.
Instagram @_clairevictoria
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Categories
Friendship • Family • Coming of Age • Romance • Grief • Spirituality & Religion • Personal Development
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Fab share. Fab artist. Thanks for sharing.
this. made me wanna hug 16 yr old me and listen to all the songs that saved her life.