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Gonzo Report: The Used kick off House of Blues' 20th anniversary series
Superlative screamos mark 25 years of their own
On any given weekend 20 years ago, you could find me running around Downtown, usually armed with a pack of Marb Milds, a fake ID, and a head full of confetti ice cream where my brains should have been. Some of my go-to hangout spots were Hennessey’s Tavern (now boarded up), and Horton Plaza, now a site full of eerie, old ghosts. A sign of the times. But the House of Blues? They've endured. Hey hey, my my... What could possibly keep a place alive better than live music? Nietzsche said that without music, life would be a mistake. To me, that meant that going to a concert Downtown was making one less mistake.
Bethany knows whereof I speak. She and her friend Jessica flew down from the Bay Area to see The Used during the House of Blues’ 20th anniversary series kickoff. The two call themselves the Trauma Twins, which is not to say that their traumas are the same. After losing her right leg in a motorcycle accident, Jessica now moshes with help from a prosthetic. As for Bethany, she has a scar that runs from the top of her chest down and under her left breast. “My ex-husband tried to cut my heart out,” she said. “He’s in prison now. I can’t believe I’m telling you this.” She decided to get some fresh ink while in town. Tattooed on her right torso is a lyric from The Used song “I’m a Fake” — Love is not like anything/ especially a fucking knife.
Speaking of commemorations, self-proclaimed “best band in the world” The Used has been satiating the screamo scene for the past 25 years. It’s hard not to notice that the Utah band came to immense popularity right around the start of the fourth turning (mid 2000s), the 20-year generational period of crises and disruptions in whose filthy final waters we’re currently bathing.
On short notice, colleague Gabe Garcia agreed to come out and be my plus-one. He proved a solid trooper on a school night. To keep Gabe from knocking anybody out in a mosh pit, we mostly stayed put on the balcony and watched from above. I noticed that everyone in our section was wearing a tag with my name written on it. Gabe’s, the tall 91X photographer’s, the dark-haired woman — all their tags read "Jake." What was happening? “You’re a commodity,” Gabe reminded me. “A commodity is something you can touch. Like a can of beer.” Was this turning into some kind of Black Mirror episode where nothing was real? Nah. It was just the name of our section. Relax, neurotic cowboy.
Meanwhile, beneath a hanging Hamsa hand on the stage below, local emo act Ikana opened things up. Holding up a The Used T-shirt, the Ikana frontman shared the story of the first rock show he ever went to. “So back in 2009, a fourteen-year-old kid was in Reno, Nevada and he wanted to go see the first rock show he ever went to. I went to a skate shop where they were selling [The Used] tickets, not knowing how I was going to get there. I ended up making it to the show and knew from that moment on that I wanted to be a musician.”
Back on the balcony, we watched a sold-out crowd try to open some mosh pits. From our vantage point, it looked like a slow-moving storm weather system. Pits grinded into life but quickly mutated out. The urge to wedge myself into the sea of bodies seized me. “Are you ready to go down?” I asked Gabe. He gave the thumbs up, chugged his drink, and followed. After a couple of songs, we climbed back up to the balcony for the rest of the evening, remaining clear of the crammed crisis of the floor’s sweaty, spinning meat. We could barely penetrate the crowd without quickly being spit back out, defeated.
When the lights turned on for everybody to go home, I ran into a friend. “I saw you up there,” he said. “I was trying to get your attention. I imagine the balcony must be a similar experience to the Roman elites casually watching peasants get devoured by lions and bears at the Colosseum.” Rome’s Colosseum was active for 500 years. The House of Blues has a long way to go to match that, but 20 years of rocking is impressive. And nobody has to go up against any apex predators — just young moshers.
Here's something you might be interested in.
Gonzo Report: The Used kick off House of Blues' 20th anniversary series
Superlative screamos mark 25 years of their own
Gonzo Report: The Used kick off House of Blues' 20th anniversary series
Superlative screamos mark 25 years of their own
On any given weekend 20 years ago, you could find me running around Downtown, usually armed with a pack of Marb Milds, a fake ID, and a head full of confetti ice cream where my brains should have been. Some of my go-to hangout spots were Hennessey’s Tavern (now boarded up), and Horton Plaza, now a site full of eerie, old ghosts. A sign of the times. But the House of Blues? They've endured. Hey hey, my my... What could possibly keep a place alive better than live music? Nietzsche said that without music, life would be a mistake. To me, that meant that going to a concert Downtown was making one less mistake.
Bethany knows whereof I speak. She and her friend Jessica flew down from the Bay Area to see The Used during the House of Blues’ 20th anniversary series kickoff. The two call themselves the Trauma Twins, which is not to say that their traumas are the same. After losing her right leg in a motorcycle accident, Jessica now moshes with help from a prosthetic. As for Bethany, she has a scar that runs from the top of her chest down and under her left breast. “My ex-husband tried to cut my heart out,” she said. “He’s in prison now. I can’t believe I’m telling you this.” She decided to get some fresh ink while in town. Tattooed on her right torso is a lyric from The Used song “I’m a Fake” — Love is not like anything/ especially a fucking knife.
Speaking of commemorations, self-proclaimed “best band in the world” The Used has been satiating the screamo scene for the past 25 years. It’s hard not to notice that the Utah band came to immense popularity right around the start of the fourth turning (mid 2000s), the 20-year generational period of crises and disruptions in whose filthy final waters we’re currently bathing.
On short notice, colleague Gabe Garcia agreed to come out and be my plus-one. He proved a solid trooper on a school night. To keep Gabe from knocking anybody out in a mosh pit, we mostly stayed put on the balcony and watched from above. I noticed that everyone in our section was wearing a tag with my name written on it. Gabe’s, the tall 91X photographer’s, the dark-haired woman — all their tags read "Jake." What was happening? “You’re a commodity,” Gabe reminded me. “A commodity is something you can touch. Like a can of beer.” Was this turning into some kind of Black Mirror episode where nothing was real? Nah. It was just the name of our section. Relax, neurotic cowboy.
Meanwhile, beneath a hanging Hamsa hand on the stage below, local emo act Ikana opened things up. Holding up a The Used T-shirt, the Ikana frontman shared the story of the first rock show he ever went to. “So back in 2009, a fourteen-year-old kid was in Reno, Nevada and he wanted to go see the first rock show he ever went to. I went to a skate shop where they were selling [The Used] tickets, not knowing how I was going to get there. I ended up making it to the show and knew from that moment on that I wanted to be a musician.”
Back on the balcony, we watched a sold-out crowd try to open some mosh pits. From our vantage point, it looked like a slow-moving storm weather system. Pits grinded into life but quickly mutated out. The urge to wedge myself into the sea of bodies seized me. “Are you ready to go down?” I asked Gabe. He gave the thumbs up, chugged his drink, and followed. After a couple of songs, we climbed back up to the balcony for the rest of the evening, remaining clear of the crammed crisis of the floor’s sweaty, spinning meat. We could barely penetrate the crowd without quickly being spit back out, defeated.
When the lights turned on for everybody to go home, I ran into a friend. “I saw you up there,” he said. “I was trying to get your attention. I imagine the balcony must be a similar experience to the Roman elites casually watching peasants get devoured by lions and bears at the Colosseum.” Rome’s Colosseum was active for 500 years. The House of Blues has a long way to go to match that, but 20 years of rocking is impressive. And nobody has to go up against any apex predators — just young moshers.
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