The Used • Blindlove • May 3, 2025 • The Union • Night 1
Reviewed and Photographed by Max Taylor
Salt Lake City showed up big for The Used on May 3, 2025, at The Union. Night one of their three-night residency in Salt Lake City was completely sold out—walls sweating, balcony packed, every inch of standing space filled with fans shoulder to shoulder. This wasn’t just any concert. This was a celebration that felt like coming home. It was a full-circle moment for a band that cut its teeth in this very city, returning home to celebrate 25 chaotic, beautiful years.
Blindlove
The night opened with Blindlove, a rising alt-rock band formed in 2020 and fronted by Salt Lake native Brogan Kelby. From the jump, it was clear they weren’t just openers—they were part of the family. A solid chunk of the crowd was there for them, screaming lyrics, dancing, and throwing fists in the air like it was their headlining night too. The band delivered a power-packed punch of emotional alt-rock, with massive guitar solos, gut-punching vocals, and a nostalgic-meets-modern energy that could easily stand alongside bands like Foo Fighters or Thirty Seconds to Mars. At one point, Brogan unleashed a scream that felt like it cracked the ceiling, and it hit different—raw, real, and totally earned.
Blindlove’s rise has been impressive. Gaining momentum during the COVID-19 pandemic and landing on the national Top 40 alternative charts with their debut single “I Wanna Be Okay,” they’ve since toured with big names like Sleeping with Sirens and, of course, The Used. Their sound blends early 2000s angst with a shimmering edge of 80s and 90s influence, pulling in grunge, new wave, and radio-ready rock all at once. It was the perfect primer for what was coming next.
Between sets, the crowd went wild as Whitney Houston’s “I Wanna Dance With Somebody” and Chappell Roan’s “Pink Pony Club” blasted through the venue. The energy never dipped. Everyone was buzzing, chatting about memories, buying merch, and staking out the perfect view of the stage.
The Used
When the lights finally dimmed for The Used, the energy shifted. The stage was fully hidden behind a massive curtain. Then came the voices—audio of the band reflecting on their 25-year journey started playing, set to a video montage projected on the curtain itself. Grainy old footage, flashes of past shows, snippets of behind-the-scenes moments—it was intimate and cinematic all at once. The room fell quiet like everyone knew they were witnessing something sacred.
As the intro built and swelled, the silhouettes of the band emerged behind the curtain. Then the music kicked in. And with perfect timing—boom—the curtain dropped. The crowd exploded. It was pure, theatrical chaos, and it ruled.
From the moment the band fully took the stage, it felt like a family reunion. Frontman Bert McCracken’s words said it all: “So many friends and family here tonight, it’s fucking beautiful!” The crowd roared in response. You could tell this was more than a performance—it was a full-circle moment. Every lyric was shouted back with power. Heads were banging. Hands were constantly in the air. Fans who’d grown up with The Used were now singing alongside their kids.
A massive “25” shone from the kick drum —a proud declaration of survival and growth. The backdrop was haunting and iconic: the silhouette of a woman’s face, fractured with web-like cracks and black lips—the same image from the cover of their self-titled debut album. And that’s what we were there for. The whole album. Start to finish.
From the first chord, the room was on fire. People were dancing, screaming, hugging their friends with tears already in their eyes. The kind of joy that comes from deep nostalgia mixed with pure adrenaline. Every beat hit like a jolt to the chest, and the crowd responded in kind—jumping, waving, shouting lyrics like they’d been waiting their whole lives to sing them in that exact room, with that exact group of people. It was clear this night was going to be unforgettable.
“This song was a poem before it was a song,” Bert said before “Poetic Tragedy.” It was a moment of tenderness, a reminder that at its core, The Used has always been about feelings—the raw, bleeding-heart kind. And in that room, people let themselves feel everything. You could see it on their faces. For a few minutes, everyone was 17 again, screaming in their bedrooms or driving down backroads with the windows down, trying to make sense of life.
The set didn’t just rest on nostalgia—it came alive. The band threw in a blistering cover of Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spirit” that somehow felt both reverent and totally their own. And when they launched into “Greener With the Scenery,” Bert shouted, “We dedicate this song to all our day ones, you know who you are!!!” The crowd did know. The emotion cracked through every note.
At one point, Bert grinned mischievously and shouted, “Why don’t you boo the fuck out of us? 1, 2, 3!” The crowd, always down to play along, actually did boo—and without missing a beat, he threw his hands in the air and shot back: “How fucking dare you!” Everyone cracked up. It was moments like that—unhinged and heartfelt—that reminded you why The Used still holds this kind of power.
“I hope you’re having as much fun as I’m having. It’s so good to be home,” Bert said, and he wasn’t lying. The energy between band and audience was magnetic. He leaned into the mic again: “That’s right we fucking belong here! 25 years later and we’re not fucking going anywhere.”
Joey Bradford, the guitarist, had such a majestic mane (seriously, it had its own stage presence) which flowed in slow motion thanks to well-placed fans, and the band kept feeding off the room’s electricity. Fists were in the air. Voices lifted in unison. Everyone smiling. Everyone sweating.
Before the final song, Bert looked out over the sea of people and said, “Thank you so much, Salt Lake City, you are fucking incredible.” It felt sincere because it was sincere.
“We’ve been an emo band for 25 fucking years,” he continued. “Never broke up. Never took a break.” Then the final chords hit, and the night wrapped not with an end—but with a promise. They’re not done. Not by a long shot.