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The Less Than Able Guide to Moshing

As I have immersed myself into the punk scene and made an effort to go to more concerts, I’ve wondered about moshing. Really, it looks like fun. What’s not to love? Running around. Flailing about. Unleashing your aggression. Interacting with your fellow punks. In my observation, moshing is the best way to release and interact in the most primal way. It’s cathartic.

I’ve been bouncing from show to show over the past few nights because the Missus has been doing some amazing work photographing local bands. If you want some amazing photography done, go check her out! Because of this, we’ve been very busy. But those adventures are for another time.

A week ago, I was randomly musing to myself. Y’know, as you do. But I mused to myself, “I wonder what moshing and crowd surfing is like.” Now, usually when one has musings like this, we go out and experience them first hand. I, on the other hand, muse things I can not normally do. If it’s something I can do, I don’t see the point in musing. I just do!

Then Friday night happened.

Friday was the album release for The Venomous Pinks, but we really went for Skull Drug.

The Missus took pictures.

I enjoyed the show.

We brought my mother.

It was a great time, really. I had a few drinks for St. Patrick’s Day – not as many as I would have liked – and I bought mom a few drinks to cope with pain and her bad foot accidentally being stepped on.

My first taste of moshing was when Evan, lead vocals of Skull Drug, accidentally tripped over my chair when mildly shoving around a few people.

Everything was fine. No one seemed hurt. Evan performed just fine. No harm, no foul.

Evan performed just fine but Skull Drug has a way of making people move. Skull Drug makes people go wild.

I love it!

Yucca Tap Room is a relatively intimate venue. So, even standing in the back of the room wasn’t enough buffer.

Skull Drug started playing.

The room started moving.

There was only one row of people between the pit and me.

As much as they tried, those in front of me could not deny the force of the pit. The undulating mass weakened the wall and a single punk broke through. A single punk, moving at full force, could not have stopped themselves if they tried. My hat flew behind me, glasses bent, lenses are sure to be smudged.

It was the first time I had been cold cocked to the face during a show.

Until this point, I have been kicked, shoved, nudged, tripped over, fallen on, and bumped in all my years going to shows. I assure you none of that compares to the unstoppable momentum of a punk in full thrash.

It was not going to be the last time I got cold cocked to the face during a show.

Only a few songs later and another one crashed through the buffering wall of more passive audience members.

Now, I really can’t say I was part of the mosh pit. Though, what I can say is, moshing came to me. Even now, I honestly feel great after the fact. The experience of the primal contact is enough to have a taste of the true art of moshing.

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