I watched the “City Walls” music video on Sunday night just a few days after it came out. I’d come off one of those weeks you have as a senior that makes you contemplate your entire life course, one where assignments seem to never end and every stressful thing possible happens within a few days of each other. My friend Liam told me to text him my reaction to the video, so I knew I was in for something good.
Still, I never could have predicted the ending. The music video and the accompanying album, “Breach,” wrap up a decade’s worth of lore from the Columbus duo – they crafted a story about a protagonist named Clancy who is trying to defeat an evil cult of Bishops who live in the city Dema alongside the Torchbearer, the leader of the Banditos, who rebel against Dema’s leadership. The entire thing is an allegory for mental health struggles based on the band members’ own struggles.
From the amount of lyrics encouraging fans to “stay alive,” I expected a victory for our protagonist. Instead, he loses his battle, being overtaken by the head Bishop, Nico, and continues on Nico’s evil as the new leader of the Bishops. Defeated because he believed Clancy would beat Nico, the Torchbearer packs his things and resolves to try again with someone else, implying Clancy is not the first person who the Banditos have supported in a battle against the Bishops, and he won’t be the last, either.
In the greater allegory, the band is telling their listeners they will most likely fall back on their mental health journey, but they are never defeated – they have to keep trying, and every time, they will get stronger. As a lifelong fan, I found this subversion of my expectations to be touching. I didn’t need to see Clancy win because I know life won’t always work out how you want it to by now. I needed to see him lose, and for people to move on anyway, still dedicated to their goal to save themselves.
I fell in love with Twenty One Pilots when I heard “Stressed Out” on my mom’s car radio for the first time in 2016, and I haven’t turned back since. Their music has helped me through middle school awkwardness, pandemic boredom, fear for the future and my own mental health journey over the past decade. They are a huge reason why I am who I am.
Flash forward to 2025, and I am no longer an awkward middle schooler but rather a senior in college about to earn a Bachelor’s degree. I’ve grown into myself a bit more, and I’m confident in who I am and who I want to be. I’m overwhelmed with the huge life transition ahead of me, but so is everyone else around me.
Out of habit, I’ve been listening to Twenty One Pilots to help me process this stress. Now that I’m crowning into adulthood, I don’t really know what I need to hear to support me. Everything feels so confusing. But somehow, I find solace in the same familiar voice that helped me through middle and high school. What used to be a way to find community among people feeling just as confused as I was is now a way to remember I’m not alone and to “push on through” the darkness, as lead singer and multi-instrumentalist Tyler Joseph beckons listeners to do on “Oldies Station” off “Clancy,” “Breach’s” sister album.
“Clancy” came out as I was navigating my first summer alone in D.C., and “Breach” when I was coping with my transition back to the Trump-run U.S. after a semester abroad. I’d grown so much in terms of independence and self-confidence during that time period, and yet, I still felt overwhelmed – natural for someone in their early 20s, but not any easier to deal with. I so desperately wanted to know things would be OK, but that sort of clarity on the future is unachievable. The only way to be OK in the future is to work to build a future I think will make me happy.
Twenty One Pilots reassures this to me, and all of their fans, in the ending of “Breach.” Beyond “City Walls’” message to start again despite failure, the final track on the album, “Intentions,” says what matters most about one’s character is their intentions. When I don’t know what the next step forward in my life will be, I can look to this as a sort of solace that no matter what I do, I can trust myself to make the best decision I can in the moment. And after a decade of being a Twenty One Pilots fan, I know that with my friends, family and musical community, I am never alone. It’s the perfect bow to wrap on top of five albums worth of emotional support.
A few days after I watched the “City Walls” video, I invited my friend over for a Twenty One Pilots music video marathon. As we watched the videos together, I reflected on all the moments their music supported me through. By the end of the marathon, I was starting to get emotional. As I recounted all of my Twenty One Pilots-related memories with my friend, the concerts, secret website codes and music video releases, I felt like I’d watched myself grow up again. Now, left with their final message, I can still find support in that same group I did as an adolescent, this time with the maturity and independence of a young adult.