Boysetsfire may not have been the first political band I ever heard, but the Delaware outfit were undeniably one of the most accessible. They weren't tucked away in academic theory or shouting from unreachable pulpits_they were on the road, playing local VFW halls and grimy all-ages venues that you could actually afford to be in. They brought the revolution to the people, $10 at the door_ and After the Eulogy was my introduction. Yes, they were political. Absolutely. And I happily credit Nat Gray's lyrics specifically for helping me break from the hollow conservatism and half-hearted Catholic guilt that formed the background noise of my upbringing. After the Eulogy wasn't just music, it was an ideological rupture. Without this album or BSF, I might very well have ended up as one of those incomprehensibly frightened and angry uncles on Facebook, raving about microchips in vaccines and confusing memes for peer-reviewed sources. My father would probably say Boysetsfire turned me into pinko commie scum; I'd argue they just helped me become a functional adult with empathy and a working moral compass. But hey, that's a conversation for the Thanksgiving table, not here. After the Eulogy is a near-perfect record. If someone asked me what made Boysetsfire great, this is the album I'd hand them without hesitation. It's where their strengths matured beyond In Chrysalis (see what I did there?). This is the record to showcase the urgency, the catharsis, the blend of fury and melody, and above all, their unflinching sincerity. More than just a political document, Eulogy was a portal into screamo, into post-hardcore, and into the radical notion that vulnerability wasn't weakness but strength, in other words After The Eulogy was a portal beyond the toxic masculinity that ate at my mind like in early adolescence and helped me see beyond the small town walls built for me. Gray, never afraid to wear their heart as openly as their politics, offered a model of emotional honesty that was revolutionary. Their lyrics didn't just rage against the machine; they dared to whisper about the damage it had done to our conscience. This album didn't just challenge political systems; it challenged masculinity, repression, and the toxic detachment that was seeping into hardcore in the early 2000s. At a time when "emo" was a punchline and hardcore scenes were being overrun by meathead crews looking for a fight, Boysetsfire stood apart. Gray and the band didn't care about the scene's rules or the genre's boundaries, instead they played with passion, principle, and purpose. You can hear the echoes of After the Eulogy in countless bands that followed; everyone from Rise Against to La Dispute to Touché Amoré has tipped their hat to Boysetsfire's fearless melding of the personal and political. The record laid down a blueprint for how to scream with both conviction and compassion, and that DNA is still alive in today's post-hardcore and emotional hardcore scenes. It wasn't just ahead of it's time, it helped shape what came next. You can hear Gray continue to help redraw that blueprint for this latest fucked-up timeline along with the rest of their new firebrand super-group The Iron Roses who are quietly setting the world ablaze. The legacy of After the Eulogy is indelible. Every punk who's ever dared to be sincere, every hardcore kid who's chosen empathy over bravado, owes something to this record. It proved you could scream about revolution and still sing about heartbreak, that doing one without the other might be impossible, and that doing both might just be the most radical act of all.