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The Used At The Rev A Second Prespective
The Rev, Boise, ID
10-05-2026
I’m now 36, slightly sore, slightly drunk, and ready to rock. The anticipation builds as an anxious crowd waits for the band to come on. The first sign I’m not the only aging millennial here is the DJ between sets, playing a medley of 90s and 2000s rock as the crowd sings along, peaking on a Puddle of Mudd song, ironically: different vibe but same big feelies. While waiting, I make friends with my crowd neighbor, a man named Sean, a recent Cali transplant in his late 30s. We trade concert tales, and I recommend a few local spots he should check out in Boise. We are on the outskirts of the crowd, so it's not a prime spot, but it's good enough to see the band clearly.
The stage lights flash as darkness falls and the first notes hit us. Spotlights pan across the audience as we all let out an excited cheer. They waste no time in dropping some old hits. A couple of songs in, I hear the anthem call: “You almost always pick the best times to drop the worst lines.” Buried myself alive brought out feelings that night buried in me so deep that I forgot even existed.
“I’ll be just fine pretending I’m not / I’m far from lonely and it’s all that I’ve got”. Forgotten memories of being an angsty teenager playing this song on repeat surface. Years of struggling to learn what a healthy relationship was, years of pressure to find your way in this confusing thing called adulthood, bubble up and explode as I scream along to the chorus. I wipe the tears streaming down my face and exchange an awkward glance with Sean, who I can see has a few tears trailing down his face too. My voice growing weak, I yell to him, “If a mosh pit doesn’t start soon, I’m going to start it myself.” He laughs, but I don’t think he knows how serious I am.
The guitarist steps to the edge of the stage, his foot on the speaker, hyping us up even more. Bert was very impressive in his energy and showmanship. We both now lack our signature haircuts, covering our faces, and in a way, it’s another reminder that things have really changed for all of us. His vocal notes are on point all night as he gives it his all. He often holds the mic out to the audience to sing, and we are more than happy to help. There were a couple of moments I wish I could have heard him hit those heavy screams more, but I can’t say it bothers me too much either.
A couple more songs pass before I declare to my new friend, “It’s Time!” We start weaving through the crowd toward the middle, calling on my fellow fans to join. I get mostly maybes, except for a rude interaction with a couple in the crowd who were most certainly not down with this plan. A verse later, Sean and 3 other good-sized men are behind me, ready to go. As the next chorus hits with a hard scream, we begin. I push through the first couple of people, but with fellow dancers in tow, everyone picks it up fast. What was a shoulder-to-shoulder standing crowd turns into semi-organized chaos as the sea of people clears a space and starts to circle. Success!
Ecstatic now, I’m lost in the moment of my triumph and my confusing surge of emotions as we keep dancing in circles. I don’t know exactly what happened next, other than the feeling of slamming into a perhaps metaphorical brick wall, but a very real person, at full speed. Cartoon stars are in my eyes. I factory-reset, lying flat on my back as dancers’ feet fly by and over my head. My fellow moshers help me up, lifting me back on my feet. Moments later, someone holds my cell phone in the air, somehow jarred from my pocket. For all the chaos of a good pit, there's an unwritten rule: When someone goes down, you pick them back up. I stagger a couple of feet out of the pit to catch my breath before diving back in. 3 songs later, Bert looks at the pit and laughs before saying he’s proud of this Boise audience. I’m proud of us too.
The band finishes with what's perhaps my favorite The Used song, “A Box Full of Sharp Objects.” It was the final emotional release of something heavy, giving us one last hurrah. I highly recommend you see The Used anytime you get the chance! I didn’t expect to reference Charles Dickens in this review, but while procrastinating on finishing it, I came across a quote that really stuck with me and helped shape my final thoughts.
“Heaven knows we need never be ashamed of our tears, for they are rain upon the blinding dust of earth, overlying our hard hearts.” (Charles Dickens, Great Expectations (1861), Chapter 19)
That October night, I can say I wasn't ashamed to cry my eyes out. Perhaps the Victorians had their own version of emo, just with different haircuts. They had oil portraits instead of our mirror selfies, but we both had a flair for dramatic outfits. Most importantly, they both understood the power of finding and sharing your own pain through someone else's art.
At 16, I was alone in my tears but found comfort in my Walkman blasting The Used. At 36, I’m in tears again, but this time I find comfort in both The Used's familiar music and the community and friends around me. I've grown beyond much of the pain that originally connected me to this music, but I haven't outgrown my angst or my need for music that unapologetically expresses emotions. So next time those big feelies start coming up, I ask you to put on a nostalgic album that you connect with and have yourself a good cry.
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