The Pit

Arms flailing, bodies flying, sweat dripping, blood spilling, anarchy, chaos, stupidity. All these things might seem correct if one was watching from the outside. But on the inside things happen differently. Smiles, high fives, dancing, and camaraderie appear, instead. People helping those who have fallen down. People sharing their last sip of water, even though it means their own throat will stay parched for the remainder of the day. People doing the impossible as they bend over under the crush of the crowd, searching for the lost hat of someone they have never met nor will ever see again. This is what happens inside the most intense of all places, the mosh pit.

I first came in contact with a pit on my eighteenth birthday. I had heard the rumors, even seen some of the injuries from classmates. I feared for my life as we arrived that fateful day for a huge three-band concert featuring Suicidal Tendencies, Danzig, and Metallica. I stood nervously by my friends, anxiously awaiting the first band, but nervously dreading their taking the stage. As I gazed about me I saw the long hair, the black tee-shirts, breathed in the dust, cigarette smoke, all tinted with the then unknown scent of marijuana. Scantily clad women, their mouths emitting the scent of cheap vodka and whiskey, trailed behind their bare chested and inebriated boyfriends. The stage sat some 10 yards away, adorned only with lights that stood glistening in the warm sun. I felt my spine tingling with excitement as my heart raced in expectation.

Then it began. Suicidal Tendencies hit the stage with their rumbling bass and growling guitars. The mass of fans crowded forward and I felt myself being led with their writhing, sweating bodies closer and closer to the stage as the mass of people became more and more compact. I was in my first mosh pit and my body tensed and relaxed in rhythm to the heavy music. There is no way to describe the feelings that went through me as I felt myself come alive and move as a single mass with all those around me. My body, gyrating and spinning, found the rhythm and moved on its own. Around me was a mish-mash of people: mohawks, skinheads, piercings, G.Q's, preppies, potheads. All were moving as one collective unit. Above me people were crowd surfing, their raised hands and exuberant faces showing so plainly the emotions they felt.

I felt like I was alone, in my own separate universe as I weaved in and out of the convulsing bodies. The music moved me and I neither felt nor heard anything but what the music repeated over and over again: life, power, vitality, be yourself and live. By the end of the day, after nearly five hours of movement, music, and moshing, I was exhausted, yet strangely invigorated. I felt as if I had gone through a rite of passage, asserted my manhood, become one with all those around me. With the music still pounding in my eardrums, I regretted having to go. The only thought on my mind was coming back and joining the fray again.

Since then I have seen countless other bands perform, bands as popular as Black Sabbath or Soundgarden, or bands as unknown as Slo-Burn or Season to Risk. But they all have one thing in common: wild, thrashing mosh pits. Memories flow back like the undulating of the crowd in a vicious pit. I see before me the crowd open up as two dozen people decide it is time for their own pit. People stop dancing, instead forming a circle around these two dozen, watching as they slam into each other at high speed, arms flailing, legs moving crazily to the rhythm of the music. All stand in awe as the most insane of the crowd pound into each other. I boldly step in, my body moving to the sounds of the most intense music, be it Sepultura's Chaos A.D., Rage Against the Machine's Killing in the Name, or even the lost Sabbath classic, War Pigs. I slam into a mountain of a man, like a linebacker hitting a fullback, except without the pads. My body bounces off as I stumble around, feeling the music, feeling the eyes of the crowd on me, feeling the bodies around me tense in a spasm of exuberance. Instinct takes over as every inhibition to conform, to follow the rules that have been pounded into my brain since my birth, flows into the gathering dust. Life seems simple as my brain recedes and my body takes control, the energy pulsating through my limbs into my very soul.

I am no longer a rookie in my first pit, having seen and survived many concerts. But I still relish seeing the newbies in the crowd as they tense up before the show, only to see them enjoy the writhing of the pit and come out, much like me, exhausted and happy. I have seen bands throw their guitars, their musical lifeblood, into the crowd as thanks for the crowd's fervor. I have seen people dive for picks, clothes, and drumsticks, all for a tangible memory of a great concert. I have had band members crowd surf over me after a stage dive, people clamoring all around trying to touch their idols. I have seen people from totally different worlds-punks and metalheads, dropouts and Deans listers, 15 year olds and 40 year olds-come together and express themselves without saying a word. Not everything is as it seems.

Granted, a mosh pit is not for everyone. At times they can be violent, destructive and obnoxious. But so can the real world. Nowhere else can you have such controlled chaos. Nowhere else can you reject all of societies misplaced ideas and become totally free. Nowhere else can you feel the music instead of just hearing it. Nowhere else can you truly feel alive.