To be 19...

I'm going to take a break from politics, race, and controversy to discuss what I believe to be an interesting phenomenon that I used to take part in. 

Some time ago, when I was around the ages of 18 and 19, I was went through a period of interest in metal music. I can't say it's completely gone, but it definitely is not my main musical interest in any way these days. There was something about it that made me feel very alive. It brought out a lot of the frustration and angst I felt in ways that everyday society couldn't allow me to do. When I would hear it, it seemed like a good way for me to express my feelings of rebellion against what I thought was a cruel, fucked up system at a time when I didn't quite have the knowledge and capabilities to take on issues like I do now. 

To access this music, you went one of two ways: the conventional, everyday way, which was a CD, or shows. At shows one would witness a spectacular display, brimming as a mixture of brutality, harmony, brute expression, and solidarity. From an onlooker, it looks like a large mess, a convoluted jumbling of angry bodies thrown into each other by the hand of the music of some equally as angry people: a mosh pit. There was, and is, however, much more to it.

An onlooker only gains so much, whether they enjoy it or not. To be inside the pit while the band delivers a break-down that everybody in the pit anticipates and clings on for is to truly understand what it means to be chaotic and in harmony at once. Nothing one person really does directly creates a chain motion with another to form something to that of a chorus line, River-dance routine, or anything similar. It is rather in fragmented consciousnesses of the mosh-pitters that binds them together. How so? Mutual understanding and solidarity, despite the anger, brutality, and confusion. 

When you get in for the first time, you will be leaving an owned man/woman. Seriously, someone is going to fuck up some part of your body, leaving you sore and ready to collapse. It is only with repeated exposure to the pit that you see where you fit. You come to establish a pit identity; "that guy" who "does that". This is not an assigned role, but an expectation that can often change but usually into something that is called for at the moment. In acting out the expectation, two pitters may see someone fallen and actively break ranks from their place and pick him/her up. One may see an intruder getting out of hand in the pit and join ranks with others to take him/her out of the scene. 

The pushing, corralling, punching, grabbing, throwing, kicking, and slinging of the pit is where one determines their place. Where am I comfortable? What should I do? What can I do? Though it may appear to be a mess, a pit is actually a place where one can discover their level of fear, courage, and abilities - all the while breaking free from those limitations and expanding on them. This is not done without rhyme, rhythm, or reason. It was the flow of the music that determined your actions and force of them. I, personally, did a lot of pushing, throwing, and slinging my elbows. This was where I fit after much experimentation of what to do and when to do it.

During post-break down periods, one tends to stop short and catch ones breath, often times grabbing a quick drink of water and pouring the rest down ones face and hair, falling onto the back and chest in the case of a male, whose shirt has probably been ripped off, torn off, or taken off by the pitter himself. 

Upon awakening the next day, one may find a series of bruises, scrapes, welts, or even cuts/busted lips. Broken teeth are not uncommon to find. These are battle scars, reminding the person that they, in their quest to get rid of their pain, agony, angst, and confusion, had to take a little brutality as a trade off. It was amongst these people that I found some semblance of balance in my daily, stressful, and confusing life from the years 2003 to 2004. I don't regret a second of any of it. Soreness and aesthetic imperfections be damned, at least it stopped me from becoming where I would have likely landed without it: blank inside. 

Is it a guy thing? Primarily. I don't recall many women partaking in the ritual stress-relief seminar. Does this mean it is a macho display of brutality. I don't think so in all cases. I think it's a way for 21st century men to take out their frustrations of being raised by one paradigm of manliness, being taught another by society and the media, and bridging the two gaps while trying to figure themselves out. Are there some that use it as a tool to just be violent? Yes. But I wouldn't use that group to condemn the entire practice any more than I would a few bad eggs that ruin the good vibes and energy at a hip-hop club, which is an entirely different but good experience. 

Well, that's that. Example? Watch at 0:37 to the inciting of the pit, one of the most exciting times in the event.