On their self-titled album, The Used display an acute talent for spoiling resonant music and a serviceable singing voice with their tendency toward vocal-chord-straining, ear-popping screams.
When vocalist Bert McCracken isn't trying to mutilate his ability to be expressive in his singing, like in "The Taste of Ink," the strength of the band shines through. This radio-friendly tune is one of the strongest on an album that may otherwise seem too hardcore for pop fans and not hard enough for listeners who prefer their rock with an edge.
Other tracks on the disc include catchy hooks and verses that soothe the ears without sinking into complacent repetition. But in many songs, McCracken mistakes volume and piercing roars for the transmission of rage, frustration, and other emotions called for by the song's lyrics.
In "Bulimic," the lyric "goodbye to you/you're taking up my time," grates over eardrums, but there doesn't seem to be a real cause for the emotional display; the rest of the song is delivered in a sort of mournful repression that doesn't justify the outbreak of misery in these two lines.
The strength of The Used is definitely in their ballads and the portions of their tracks when both singer and band are calm enough to string together coherent thoughts and chords into cohesive units. "Poetic Tragedy" is one such track where all the elements seem to be coming together, only to have the tapestry of the sound torn rudely apart at the entry of the chorus with one of McCracken's ear-splitting cries.
Musically, "Buried Myself Alive" is one of the most accomplished songs, with the patter of instrumentals in the background pulling it past the moments where it seems McCracken's screams might overwhelm the music.
The biggest problem with the album is that like the artists themselves, the songs begin to blur. Not only is it nearly impossible to isolate a specific tune (other than "The Taste of Ink"), it is also difficult to think of The Used as anything other than another Nu-Metaler type pseudo-poppers.
That said, I'm interested in seeing where the band goes with their next album and hope that it leans more toward tracks like "Ink" and "Blue and Yellow," bearing less resemblance to "A Box Full Of Sharp Objects." It's the prime offender in McCracken's vocal acrobatics, though perhaps the only one where the lyrics justify the heights of his apparent fury.
