The Used's take on metal supposedly so defies pigeonholing that a new word has had to be coined: "screamo". If that evokes a picture of one-dimensional sweathogs giving their souls for rock 'n' roll, the Utah quartet are not to blame.
Screamo they do, but not to the exclusion of melody and lyrical depth, making their first British show less of an ordeal than it might have been. Despite their anonymity here, the metal grapevine ensured a swift sell-out, which was probably helped along by the Kelly Osbourne connection. Frontdude Bert McCracken is dating Ozzy's little swearer, who is over here promoting her own album, and the possibility of a duet by nu-metal's Brad and Jennifer must have shifted a few tickets. McCracken alluded to it, tantalisingly: "I want you to count down from three to one, and when you say 'One' you're going to get a surprise." The crowd complied, expecting her to materialise in a puff of profanity, but McCracken only laughed pityingly at our gullibility.
Otherwise, it went swimmingly. Bert invited us to shout our first names "so we can all be best friends" (well, they are from Provo, home of the Osmonds) and promised "the best night you've ever had". The ensuing 35 minutes of loudly paraded angst fell short of that but, in a genre that encourages low expectations, his confidence was contagious.
Screamo is essentially thrash rock with knobs on, and McCracken's throat was raw in 10 minutes. So there was not a lot to distinguish The Taste of Ink from, say, Boxful of Sharp Objects (one of several numbers about the singer's recovery from drug addiction).
Blue and Yellow, though, was more crooning, lilting along prettily. The other half-dozen songs were variations on a grunge theme, with much stopping and starting as McCracken gasped for air.
Apparently, when things are going especially well, he rounds off the evening by throwing up. He did not disappoint his first English crowd: as the last number shuddered to a halt, he bent in a graceful arc, and up came his dinner. So that's what Kelly sees in him. An elegant end to a zesty night.
