Let me pose a question worthy of Socrates, Spinoza, and possibly a few guys hanging out behind a record store arguing about matrix numbers. If a Greek sailor rebuilds his ship, plank by plank, over fifty years, until not a single original piece remains, is it still the same ship? It’s called the Ship of Theseus argument, named after a famous greek sailor, James T. Kirk, who had his engineer slowly replace every deck and bulkead of his ship, The USS Enterprise, over the course of years, until, by the time they blew it up in the third movie, it didn’t look like the same ship on the inside or the outside, but still, everyone cried.

Anyway, replace “ship” with “band” and “replacing planks” with “hiring Tom Brislin to shred some keys” and you’ve got a whole different argument. Welcome to my TED Talk: “Why Your Band Is Still Your Band (and You’re Just Wrong).”

Next week, I’m seeing Yes live. My favorite band, my 13th show across 8 lineups (I’m considering this the same lineup as the 50th anniversary tour, despite what the liner notes say), and my 500th argument with some opinionated Yuppet who wants to argue “It’s not Yes without [insert classic-era musician here].” You know the type. The one who claims to be a huge Yes fan, but secretly only actually likes Fragile and Close to the Edge, and swears the band has been dead to him since 1979.

I went through this crap with Kansas. I had to lock people in my car, play Absence of Presence, on a loop, and eventually they would say, “Wow, this is a killer album, who is it?” Now I’m going through it with Rush. “Oh, it’s not Rush without Neil Peart.” Oh, I see. Please, tell me more about your PhD in metaphysical band authenticity, while I tell you who played drums on Working Man. Wait, weren’t you the same guy who said, back in ’87, he gave up on Rush because they went synth rock? You’re already dead to me.

We all miss Neil, probably not half as much as Alex and Geddy, but those guys have more than enough goodwill stored with me that if they wanted to do a tour with a Meg White and call it Rush, then I would support them and buy my ticket like a good fanboy. Same with Yes, same with Kansas, Styx, The Rolling Stones, Black Sabbath, Soundgarden, Tool, Journey, and a thousand others.

Is there a vocal cult of St. Louis Cardinals fans who refuse to call them “the Cardinals” because Stan Musial retired? Well, I hope not, or my argument is shot already, but it’s funny how this argument only applies to bands. Sports teams can change players; comic books can change teams, writers, and artists; and restaurants can change every item on the menu and roll over 100% of the staff without anyone standing outside yelling, “This isn’t ‘real Olive Garden!’” Swap out one singer or one drummer, however, and suddenly you’ve violated the Sacred Trust of Music Purity.

Philosophers have wrestled with the persistence of identity through change for centuries. I, personally, wrestled with the Facebook comment section for roughly seven minutes before concluding that most people don’t understand how bands, or boats, work. If you’re a huge fan of Yes, like me, then rarely is the name of someone who joins the band a total stranger, or even a surprise. I was already a Glass Tiger fan (as every Yes fan should have been) before Yes poached Jon. Billy’s name has been in the liner notes of Yes albums as a writer/performer since he started working with Squire in ’91. He’s pretty much captain of the farm team in that respect. Shellen’s Yes lineage goes back to playing with Sherwood in World Trade, Conspiracy, and Arc of Life. He’s also worked with Tony Kaye and Peter Banks at times. In fact, when those two joined Yes, the only thing I was angry about was that it meant we probably wouldn’t get another Circa: album! I really liked that band.

Every lineup change of every band (except for Ringo replacing Pete Best) has been scandalous and controversial. People hated Dio replacing Ozzy in Sabbath, now his tenure is revered, and I maintain Tony Martin is due that same respect, if nothing else, because he held the mic longer than Dio. There are still people who will cut you for admitting Van Halen’s Sammy Hagar years happened. There are people who want to put Ian Hill in bubble wrap because he’s the last original Judas Priest member left.

At some point, you have to admit: the band’s identity isn’t locked in a particular lineup. In fact, I maintain, like a baseball team, it’s helpful to swap some tools out once in a while and see what else works. Bands aren’t people. They’re brands attached to ideas that act as a living organism. Let them grow up once in a while instead of being so protective of their early sound and lineup. You’re like helicopter parents!

The Ship of Theseus question isn’t about wood or nails—it’s about continuity of spirit. Yes endures 57 years later because its ideas endure. It’s optimism in musical form. It’s counterpoint as theology. It’s the sound of humans trying to reach the divine through 13/8 time signatures. Sure, the hull has changed, but when you hear that turnaround in Starship Trooper, or the opening chord of Roundabout, you know it still floats. I’d like to think, like Mozart or The Platters or The Ohio Players, that there’s always going to be a version of the band keeping the music going, even if, like the Cardinals, I don’t recognize any of the guys they’re fielding this year.

So, special salute to Tom Brislin for keeping Kansas on the map, Sherwood for turning his bass into a defibrulator and resurrecting Yes (more than once), Anika Nilles for getting Alex and Geddy back out so we can see them play together again, and much love to everybody else who will never get the fan cred they deserve because… well, fans.