It’s Halloween, 2002, and the standard variety of emo rock kids have foregone trick or treating for a No Use for a Name show at St.Andrews, one of Detroit’s scrappiest and most legendary concert halls. Ryan Key, the lead singer of opening band Yellowcard, addresses the audience in his denim cutoffs, blonde wig, and SlickShoes t-shirt: “Are you guys drunk yet?!!” The kids--decked out in band t-shirts and last-minute costumes, a mosaic of sticker-coated backpacks, over-sized skater pants and busloads of slutty schoolgirls--scream as though they are drunk, as though that would even be likely, as though it would even be legal.

If punk spoke to the misfits and disco to the partiers, emo rock speaks to the sensitive guy and girl beneath every high-school-character-facade, the one who pines endlessly for their respected crush objects; the one who often wonders if they will ever fit in, leave their home town, or get along with their parents. And these under-21s are a goldmine for music execs, who have been molding and expanding these pop-punk outfits into TRL-style stars. Groups like Blink 182, Good Charlotte, Newfound Glory, Something Corporate and The Ataris offer the golden key to success with a brand of music that’s marketable yet shameless, popular but not bubblegum. They are grunge you can dance to, grunge with carefully styled hair. They are sometimes naughty and often sad, and just controversial enough to draw the kids without angering the parents. It’s a strain that sings earnestly and honestly about love (unrequieted, lost, and forlorn, among others). And it’s huge. Really, really huge.

This Sunday, August 29th, Yellowcard will perform on the MTV Music Video Awards in Miami, along with mega-stars Jessica Simpson, Hoobastank and Kanye West, which seems—well—pretty far away from a converted church stage in a mostly deserted street of Detroit, Michigan. And oddly close to the Jacksonville high school where the band started.

And in October, 2002, Yellowcard was just another hopeful, one of dozens who graced the Warped-Tour second-stages, hoping for a single to skyrocket them into the rock stars they told everyone they would be, back then, back when they were the very dreamy high school kids they still sing about.

The band had just left Lobster Records for big-bucks at Capitol. They had just replaced their bassist Warren Cooke with Inspection 12 bassist Pete Mosely. And the band was building a following based on their particular twist on punk music: the violin. Much of the band’s energy emanates from founding member Sean Mackin, a classically-trained violinist who treats every stage like a trampoline, every performance like a pep rally. On Halloween, he had somehow packed his football player’s frame into a vinyl French maid’s dress and a purple wig, and he sweated and drank like the best frat boy, lifting his skirt like a stripper, looking surprised every time.

I had seen Yellowcard a few times throughout 2001 and 2002—in and around Detroit and in Las Vegas. Their talent was apparent—but their charisma was the most promising part of all, in an industry that requires it’s performers to erase the lines between musician and personality, between the artist and the human life.

On August 17th, 2004, Yellowcard announced it’s fall tour dates, following their slow climb to stardom that landed them on the top of the top of the Billboard and TRL charts. But back then—well, the college paper I wrote for scratched the story (and the interview) because the band was, and I quote; “a no-name.” Now, these “no-names” are trekking Europe in a cross-country tour, making a name for themselves alongside tour companions New Found Glory and The Starting Line. Yellowcard is booming following the success of their hit single “Ocean Avenue” and the album by that same name.

After the Halloween show, I met up with Yellowcard in the “dressing room,” a disheveled cavernous room, where No Use for a Name and Slickshoes were downing forties and picking from a spread that more resembled an 8th-grade-dance refreshments table than the legendary rock-star catering requests you see on VHI.

The question on everyone’s mind: What next? When can we start requesting our favorite brand of bottled water, our three flavors of Doritos?

The band was doing it’s own self-promotion at the time, building a following based on word of mouth and connections to other high-profile acts. “Kids that like our band like our record and our show, not because someone else says we’re cool,” Ryan told me. “We almost got lucky enough to get the short end of the stick and have to work really hard with a small label.”

Every band needs that one song, and Yellowcard has it now with “Ocean Avenue” and they had it then with “October Nights,” a sendoff to young love that positioned Yellowcard alongside their more established contemporaries, each rising to fame with their similar ballads; among them are Blink 182’s “First Date,” The Simple Plan’s “Addicted,” Unwritten Law’s “Kailin,” and Boxcar Racer’s “I Feel So.” They used to play “October Nights” last, because, as Ryan said; “playing October Nights early is like coming prematurely.”

Oh, angst. Emo kids seem to reach with abandon into the chests of teen angst, wrestling and wringing dry every first kiss, every walk to school, every love and every dance, stripping their own experiences to the bone and re-wording it in rhyme, hoping to produce the ideal result; a sing-along song. And it works. “What’s funny about October Nights is that it’s not even about someone I ended up with,” Ryan said, and you could see this wasn’t the first time he was telling this story, either. “It was just this girl that I had a huge crush on and there was one night that we got to sleep in the same bed—we didn’t hook up—she was pretty hard-headed. She played hard to get a little too long.”

Ryan is prime for his role as conveyor of the deep insides of misunderstood teenagers; he appears at least five years younger than his alleged 23, he is skinny and sincere, he seems to know what he’s talking about, he seems to--in fact--be just like you, or at least feel just like you, because, ultimately, that’s the point of all this singing and dancing anyhow, isn’t it? The chance to connect?

“I think high school is an important thing to write songs about, even if you’re not in high school anymore,” Ryan said. “People young and old can relate to a song that was about being in high school—that’s when you figure out who you’re going to be.”

Ryan is right, of course, and “Ocean Avenue,” with it’s pastel dreaminess and earnest lyrics, is full of these kinds of songs.

And then comes the gavel, which falls mercilessly upon successful albums like “Ocean Avenue”: Selling Out. These words function as a devil-on-the-shoulder protecting the innocence of independent music. The term “sell-out” is a forage of bullets that every young act tries to dodge; certainly a collective scowl was felt when Benji from Good Charlotte first appeared on TRL alongside Carson Daly, announcing the latest hit videos from Britney Spears and Kelly Clarkson. Call it the Kurt Cobain syndrome; is it better to be famous, or not be at all?

“I would love to take this as far as we can take it,” Ryan said. “I would answer to the question ‘aw, you guys fucking sold out,’ to ‘Yeah, we sold out the venues. If there’s an opportunity for us to get more fans by being on MTV or being on the radio, then lets do it. We’re still the same band. No one’s telling us what to do or what to wear. We’re just trying to take it to the next level. I would love to be the hugest rock band that ever rocked the planet. When I was a kid playing shows for my parents on the Smurf guitar—that’s what I always wanted to do.”

Well, they may not be the hugest rock band that ever rocked the planet quite yet, but they are up for an MTV Viewer’s Choice Award.—so check out their promotional website, yellowcard2004.com. This candidate might possess the most convincing story of the “American Dream” available on this years ballot.