THE USED TURN BACK TIME WITH A THREE-NIGHT EMO EPIC AT THE WILTERN
It’s rare that a band can command the same raw, chaotic energy two decades into their career—but The Used aren’t just any band. For three sold-out nights at The Wiltern, they didn’t just perform; they resurrected eras. Each night was a trip through time, an emotional excavation of the records that defined a generation of eyeliner-smeared, heart-on-sleeve misfits. The venue—a Los Angeles landmark with its ornate art deco walls and shadowy, intimate feel—was the perfect cathedral for this emo revival.
Night one kicked things off with a full-album performance of their 2002 self-titled debut, and it hit like a brick to the chest. “Maybe Memories” came roaring out of the gate like it was 2002 all over again, and by the time the first notes of “The Taste of Ink” rang out, the crowd was already hoarse from screaming. Bert McCracken, somehow still the chaotic high priest of emotional turmoil, stalked the stage with the same unhinged charisma he’s always had. Time has not dulled him—it’s sharpened him. His screams were razor-edged, his banter unfiltered, and his presence magnetic. Every fan in that room knew every word, and the nostalgia didn’t just wash over the crowd—it drowned them, in the best way.
Night two was all about In Love and Death, arguably their most emotionally bruising release. This set felt darker, more vulnerable, like cracking open an old wound you forgot you had. “Take It Away” was explosive, but it was “I Caught Fire” that brought the house down—delivered with so much aching sincerity it felt like a communal heartbreak. There was a strange intimacy in the room that night. The audience wasn’t just singing along; they were reliving something, collectively. You could feel the weight of those lyrics in the air, like they still hurt just as much now as they did back then.
The third and final night, focused on Lies for the Liars, was a celebration of the band’s more theatrical and experimental side. From the twisted lullaby of “The Bird and the Worm” to the swaggering punch of “Pretty Handsome Awkward,” it was a reminder that The Used were never afraid to go big, get weird, or throw pop convention out the window. This set felt less like a concert and more like a carnival—dark, wild, and oddly joyful. Confetti, strobes, crowd surfers—it was a proper finale to a run that felt like an emotional exorcism.
What made all three nights remarkable wasn’t just the music (though it was relentlessly tight), or the visuals (though The Wiltern never looked better bathed in reds, blues, and flickering whites). It was the sense of community—of fans old and new clinging to songs that have, at one point or another, saved their lives. These shows weren’t just about looking back. They were about holding onto the pieces that still matter.
The Used didn’t just revisit their past—they reanimated it. And in doing so, they reminded everyone in attendance that the emo heart still beats, wild and loud and messy, right where we left it.
