In my 26 years on this earth, I have come to learn a few universal truths: 2+2=4, the mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell, and the guac always costs extra.

I have also come to learn another universally shared truth: Nickelback sucks.

In a world of Limp Bizkits, Creeds, and Insane Clown Posses, no band gets worse flack than Nickelback, the undisputed titleholder of the shittiest band of all time.

In 2013, Rolling Stone magazine named Nickelback the worst band of the 1990s. A petition was once signed by over 55,000 people to prevent the band from performing at a football game. A pickle earned more Facebook fans than Nickelback after a Facebook page titled, “Can This Pickle Get More Fans Than Nickelback?” earned 1,471,001 likes in less than a month, beating Nickelback’s 1,420,995 likes.

Undeterred, these Candian rockstars have sold over 50 million albums worldwide. They were ranked the second best-selling foreign act in the U.S. in the 2000s, only behind The Beatles. And despite taking every rock n roll cliche and bastardizing it until its devoid of any soul, they went on to become Billboard’s Adult Pop Artist of the Decade in 2009.

This phenomenon has shaken me to my core.

When I found out that Nickelback would be playing a five-night (yes, five night) residency at The Joint in the Hard Rock Casino in my hometown of Las Vegas, I had to see for myself if they really were that bad. Spoiler alert: they were.

The original plan was to sneak in because the thought of giving Nickelback my money felt yucky. I did not succeed. Next thing I know I am paying a scalper $10 for a ticket, don’t judge me, it all happened so fast.

It’s the opening night of their residency, and I enter the venue. My first priority is to get a drink, and by drink, I mean a $16 domestic beer. I asked the bartender how she felt about having to work at a Nickelback concert for the next five nights. Her answer, “I want to kill myself.”

It was then that I realize what I got myself into.

I settle into a spot near the front of the stage and the opening act began. A Canadian Southern Rock four piece appropriately called Monster Truck took the stage. We were subjected to a tribley wearing keyboardist, a shirtless guitarist, and a singer who resembled a hybrid of a Hell’s Angel biker and Scott Stapp violently gyrate on the stage for the next 40 minutes. It was during their set that I concluded Nickelback isn’t the worst band in the world … Monster Truck is.

I’m sure by now you’re wondering, who are these mythical Nickelback fans? Amongst a sea of middle-aged white people wielding bedazzled bootcut jeans, I met the wholesome Dawn and her 17-year-old son Ethan between sets.

Dawn took Ethan to a Nickleback concert in 2003 – which was also his first concert ever. One could call this child abuse, but Ethan was joyful at his Nickelback homecoming. “We’re concert people.” Dawn eagerly told me. When I asked her why she liked Nickleback she said: “It’s feel-good music that makes you happy.”

It’s 10:00 P.M. on the dot, the lights go dim, not a dime was spared on pyrotechnics. Cue the fire, fog machines, laser beams, and giant LED screen (Nickelback has never been known for being subtle): crooner Chad Kroeger and company take the stage. Pandemonium ensues.

Two songs into their set, Kroeger takes a minute to talk to the audience: “When the manager of the Hard Rock contacted us to do a residency in Vegas, I thought, who thought they could let me loose and give me the keys to the town? They are out of their minds.” he declared.

“I’m gonna try to be good in Vegas? That ain’t gonna happen. I’ll gamble all the money I make, then drink away the rest of it.”

This drinking routine was a common theme throughout the night. Kroeger made numerous references to heading to the bar whilst encouraging the audience to do the same. I started to believe that Kroeger was in cahoots with Big Liquor and Nickelback was actually an elaborate front for shilling alcohol.

“Let’s just sing the fucker.” Kroeger eloquently stated as he slammed his plastic cup on the stage.

They continue to perform their classic hits while throwing in a few tracks off their latest record Feed the Machine. Even still, after over 20 years of making music, each song of the set lacked any emotion or distinct indication from the other.  Fan favorite “Photograph” begins. A belligerent sing-along session ensues.

This was my first moment of cognitive dissonance – why am I judging people for enjoying something that makes them happy? Even if I think it’s bad, who am I to place my pretentious music ideologies onto others?

Shortly after this realization, I heard a man in the crowd yell “show me your tits” to a female audience member directly next to me, Then I remembered where my reservations came from.

Halfway through the set, Kroeger takes another drink break, this time its Jäegermeister. This seemed highly appropriate and symbolic. Any self-described alcohol snoop would sneer at Jäegermeister. But, just like Nickelback, you either love it or hate it.

“My good friend Tommy Lee told me this: if you can get one song on heavy rotation in a strip club, you’ll have a career for the rest of your life.” Kroeger proclaimed as he sipped his third helping of Jager.

The perfect segue into their next song “Something In Your Mouth,” and in case you were wondering, the title is literal.

After this, they released their arsenal of strip clubs hits. Did you know Nickelback was highly celebrated in the adult entertainment realm? Me neither. I normally wouldn’t consider myself a prude, but watching this group of Boomers obscenely grind on each other, in parallel to the raunchy lyrical content was enough to make Nicki Minaj blush.

I head to the bar for another overpriced beer. As I drink at the bar, watching the crowd from afar, another wave of cognition overcomes me. I feel like Holden Caufield wanting to save the children from falling off of the cliff.

I want to save these lost souls and show them the light. I want the best for Dawn and her son Ethan. I want them to feel the same joy that I did when I heard Neutral Milk Hotel for the first time. It’s not too late to learn that good music exists. I want to show them The Velvet Underground, or My Bloody Valentine. Hell, I’d even settle for Nine Inch Nails at this point.

As the night comes to an end, and set closer “Burn It To The Ground” fades into the ether, I realize that Nickelback is more sorrowful than I imagined. At the end of this, I can leave this concert behind. But Chad and his boys can never escape it. But, it’s not too late dor Dawn and Ethan.