Music Seen SA Blog

Mosh Culture (written Nov 1, 2008)

Yesterday my brother won tickets from Kiss to see Mudvayne, Ten Years, Snot and Before The Bloodshed. I have been to metal concerts before, but I’ve never decided to join the mosh. This evening was different.

We arrived at Sunset Station while Before the Bloodshed was on stage. These battle of the band winners were on fire tonight! There was an electric feeling in the air; as though the crowd were caught up in the music but anticipating the rest of the nights’ entertainment. The music moved through me in a tidal wave of sound. I’d heard of this band before, but never had a chance to see them live. I must say that they were worth the wait and that I wish them well with their future endeavors.

The second band, SNOT, was full of energy and managed to rile up the crowd. I was lucky enough to have a spot near the front where I could watch the band and the crowd at the same time.

The few who were moshing were clearly enjoying themselves, and I, myself, had a revelation. Moshing, while violent and dangerous, is a statement of belief in the ultimate goodness of man kind. The people around you will through you down; knock you out; kick you in the ribs; and throw you in the air. In the end, though, you go into the pit with the firm belief that these same people will pick you up; catch you when you fall, keep you up on their hands until you are ready to come down; and after it’s all over they’ll give you a man hug and go their separate ways.

The sad truths of such energizing shows are the tragic mistakes born from a moment of stupidity. While SNOT was playing, a girl decided that she wanted to crowd surf. Sadly, the people lifting her up pushed her forward instead of back. She went up and came back down with nothing and no one to break her fall. The guys she was with and several strangers carried her off of the floor. I saw the lights of an ambulance a few moment’s later, and I truly hope that the girl is ok.

Through out SNOT’s set, I was not surprised by the violence or the rage; however, I was utterly taken aback by the amount of joy, and excitement, and even love that I felt from the crowd. For this one evening, we were all connected; we were all related. These complete strangers were my brother or my sister or my father or my mother or my dearest friend. There was an overwhelming sense of camaraderie between all of the people there. Everyone was in love with the vibe and the experience and the music. It was symbiotic. The crowd fed off the band and off each other; the band fed off the crowd.

Through all of this, I stood aloof outside the circle. The second band ended their set, and we stood in anticipation, waiting for 10 Years to take the stage.

There was a momentary surge as the band came out, but this band was softer than the rest. The circle became less violent, more bouncing and swaying than the previous melee. The entire crowd moved as one to the singer’s voice, almost like a snake to a flute, and we all sang along as he dedicated a song to all of the beautiful people in San Antonio. We lulled and rose with the beat of the song and the volume of the singer. The pit was no longer the circle in the middle, but an entire mass of people moving, writhing, undulating as one.

The crush of the crowd become oppressive as 10 Years finished their set and exited the stage. People began chanting for Mudvayne. The crowd surged forward and backward and from side to side as everyone jostled for a spot closer to the stage. The mellow feeling from the previous band was lost as the anticipatory vibe became overwhelming. People began to mosh to the background music as the crew set up the stage. I had no choice but to move with the crowd. I was pushed forward, to the side, backwards, shaken almost like a rag doll in the mouth of a dog. There was a man behind me, I’ll never know who he was, that tried to protect me from the worst of it for as long as he could. There was another man who, in his haste to get to the front, picked me up and moved me over as though I weighed nothing. The crowd surged again as the band took the stage. For a few moments I was suspended between the press of people. My feet were more than a foot off the ground and my head was level with a guy who was about 6 feet tall. What could I do but put my arm around him and say hi? I was lowered a moment later, and my legs stayed stationary as the rest of my body moved in a circle with the force of the masses. I was thrown around; lifted up; tossed down; and grabbed and held for a moment of sanity in the affray.

The crushing weight of people moving together and apart in conflicting circles became too much after several songs, and I opted to move back a little bit. There was another circle further back, a stark defined being when compared to the tumult that encapsulated the entire front of the venue. Once again, people were standing at the edge and protecting others from the violence of the pit. Some of the fringe looked like they desperately wanted to join the fracas, but forewent it because they knew that someone needed to contain the pit. I moshed there for a little while, moving to the music, getting knocked down and being picked up again.

Dehydration finally forced me out of the lower levels and up to the refreshment booths. As much as I wanted something alcoholic, I was good and bought a tea. The sheer force of the music was still palpable from the back of the venue. Every beat of the drum and stroke of the guitars, even the singer’s voice, seemed to tear through my already abused body, and it was heaven. The music, sadly, came to and end, and I was there to witness the final mass exodus of the crowd. The symbiotic being now reduced to individuals once more. The air still felt electric, a vague remembrance of the previous revels.