25 Years of The Used
There are shows you go to, and then there are shows you feel — deep in your chest, years after the lights go down. The Used’s 25th anniversary run in Boston was the latter. I had the chance to cover the first two nights of their three-night residency at Citizens House of Blues, and from the second the lights dimmed, it was clear this wasn’t just a celebration — it was a shared release. It felt like coming home.
Fans screamed lyrics at the top of their lungs to strangers who suddenly didn’t feel like strangers at all. People danced, moshed, and crowd-surfed with that wild kind of joy usually reserved for the first time you hear a song that changes you. It was chaotic and cathartic — healing in a way only live music can be.
Night One – The Used
Before the nostolgia hit full force, The Funeral Portrait opened with a theatrical, haunting set that primed the audience for the emotional rollercoaster ahead. Their energy was sharp and polished, adding a layer of eerie beauty to the night before The Used took the stage.
Then The Used took the stage to kick off the tour with their 2002 self-titled debut — the album that introduced most of us to the beautiful chaos that is this band. As the lights dropped and “Maybe Memories” hit, the entire room erupted. It wasn’t just excitement; it was release. You could feel how much this record meant to the people in that room — how much it still means.
Every lyric was shouted back like a war cry. “The Taste of Ink” became an anthem all over again. “Buried Myself Alive” took the air out of the room in the best way, and “Blue and Yellow” hit with the kind of emotional weight that only a song that’s been lived through can carry. There were people crying. People holding each other. Strangers becoming family, even just for a song or two.
Bert McCracken was magnetic — swinging between playful chaos and soul-baring honesty. His presence hasn’t dulled at all with time. If anything, he’s more in tune with the crowd now than ever. You could tell he felt it, too. This wasn’t a band going through the motions — this was a band reliving it with us.
By the time “A Box Full of Sharp Objects” tore through the final moments of the set, it felt like the whole building was vibrating — like we’d all cracked something open together and let the light (and rage, and joy) flood in.
Night one was the kind of show you remember forever. A night that didn’t just bring back memories — it reminded us why we fell in love with this music in the first place.
Night Two – In Love and Death
Night two was different from the jump — not in energy, but in emotion. If night one felt like a rebirth, night two felt like a reckoning. Rebuilder opened the night with fast, gritty punk energy that set the tone without overshadowing what was to come. As Boston locals, their presence felt like a subtle reminder of the scene’s roots — community, connection, catharsis.
In Love and Death is an album soaked in grief, heartbreak, and the kind of vulnerability that shaped an entire generation of emo and post-hardcore fans. Hearing it in full, front to back, was something else entirely. It was heavy. Beautiful. Unrelenting.
“Take It Away” opened the night like a punch to the chest, and from there, the band carried us through every raw corner of that album — no skipping, no softening the edges. “I Caught Fire” was a moment of collective breathlessness; the whole room lit up, not just from the lights but from people losing themselves in the words. “Cut Up Angels” and “Let It Bleed” hit with a quiet sort of pain — the kind that settles in your bones.
There was a real sense of shared emotion in the room. Everyone was in it together — arms around friends, hands in the air, tears on more than a few faces. This wasn’t just a concert; it was something sacred.
Bert was as emotionally raw as ever — switching between soft-spoken sincerity and explosive, unhinged intensity. You could tell this album still holds weight for him, just as it does for so many fans. There were moments where he stood back and just let the crowd take over — hundreds of voices rising in unison, screaming out feelings they probably didn’t even know they still carried.
When “I’m a Fake” closed the set, it felt like the emotional peak of everything we’d been building toward over both nights — part spoken-word breakdown, part total release. A perfect, chaotic goodbye.
These shows weren’t just concerts — they were healing. Nostalgic in the deepest way. Getting to scream these songs alongside friends, the same ones I used to blast with my sister, hit harder than I expected. This band has soundtracked so many moments in my life, and they’ll always hold a special place in my heart.
Here’s to 25 years of The Used — and all the chaos, comfort, and connection they’ve given us along the way.
