Yungblud x Aerosmith: One More Time, or One Last Time?
If you’ve got the same algorithm I do, your feeds have likely been plastered with Yungblud’s face next to Aerosmith’s logo. The unlikely pairing has been announced as a collaboration taking the form of a new EP titled One More Time. For a lifelong Aerosmith fan like me, the very fact that there’s new music at all feels monumental. The title, though, reads like a signal flare—it might be the band’s final recorded chapter.
Where’s the Rest of the Band?
Here’s my sticking point: from what I’ve seen so far, this collaboration seems to be presented as a Steven Tyler and Joe Perry project, not truly as “Aerosmith.” The videos, merch drops, and press mentions put the spotlight almost exclusively on the Toxic Twins. That’s not unusual—Tyler and Perry have always been the faces of the group—but Aerosmith has been one of the rare 70s bands to keep their original lineup intact for five decades. Tom Hamilton, Joey Kramer, and Brad Whitford have been part of the band’s DNA just as much as Tyler and Perry, and to exclude their presence—or even their credit—feels like a rewriting of history in service of marketing shorthand. If this really is “one more time,” it feels off not to have the whole band’s fingerprints on it.
The Logic Behind the Collab
On the other hand, the strategy makes sense. Aerosmith’s farewell tour ended prematurely due to health concerns, leaving a gap in closure. Enter Yungblud—a younger artist with a massive, socially savvy fanbase who thrives on spectacle and reinvention. Pairing him with Aerosmith creates a bridge across generations. It keeps the Aerosmith name in circulation and gives their legacy a new pop-cultural angle while also giving Yungblud the credibility boost of standing next to legends. It’s a mutually beneficial handshake—youthful relevance meets classic rock prestige.
Merch, Marketing, and Mixed Feelings
Of course, no modern release is complete without an avalanche of merch. One More Time arrives with multiple vinyl editions: a standard EP, a liquid-filled special edition, a YB edition, an Aero edition, and several retailer-specific variants. As a collector, I can’t help but feel excited—vinyl as an art object scratches that itch. But there’s also a nagging eco-capitalist critique here. Do we really need five plastic-heavy versions of a four-track EP? It’s a double-edged sword: vinyl variants boost sales and make headlines, but they also lean into the “cash grab” narrative that dogs legacy acts.
What It All Means
On balance, the collaboration hits the right marketing beats: nostalgia, collectibility, intergenerational crossover, and a sense of finality. It’s designed to be big, loud, and everywhere all at once. But whether it holds up as Aerosmith’s last word depends on how present—or absent—the full band really is. If this ends up being remembered as Tyler and Perry featuring Yungblud, that’s one thing. If it carries the full weight of Aerosmith’s legacy, it’s another.
For me, as both a fan and a collector, it’s hard not to feel both conflicted and intrigued. Maybe that’s the point—“one more time” doesn’t just describe the band’s swan song, it describes the tug-of-war between legacy and reinvention, authenticity and marketing. And maybe that tension is exactly what keeps Aerosmith worth talking about, fifty years on.