Nothing brings Christians together quite like the kosher violence of a Disciple moshpit. It’s an incredible experience I’ve had multiple times, but I understand some people will not. They think it’s just an excuse for young people to hit each other. Please allow me to educate you through my story.
With half a week left in town before the band hits the road, I’m being particularly picky on how I spend my money. I eat at home, and spend nothing on personal entertainment. When Pastor Mike Whitman told me about a Kutless, Disciple, Stellar Kart and Esterlyn concert two and a half hours away the next day for only twenty dollars, I was intrigued to say the least. I hadn’t seen Esterlyn since our show with them last year, and it had been ages since I’d seen any of the other acts. When Pastor Mike said someone in the church would pay my way, I couldn’t say no.
Esterlyn opened the concert at the Medford Armory. They were the softest act of the evening, and I guess I was the only one in my party that had heard them before we arrived. I wanted to say hi to Luke, because he’s the only current member I have previously met. Despite his ‘please come talk to us after our set’ speal, he and the rest of the band hid in the green room all night.
Stellar Kart was fun. I met a guy named Chris who happened to be standing next to us in the crowd. He eagerly awaited an opportunity to mosh with us, and I was more than happy to give him that opportunity. I pushed my friend Gage, and about four of us standing thrashing about.
What none of us had considered, was the current mosh pit wasn’t filled with rowdy or rambunctious youngsters. It was filled by Soccer mom’s with digital cameras, fighting desperately for a stable shot of the bass player singing their nine-year-old daughter’s favorite punk-rock ditty. They were annoyed and rather insulted by our antics.
They ran for the walls when Disciple started. As the guitars started feeding back in a non-standard tuning and the drummer warmed up on his kit, the elder men and women, and their children fled the center of the room as the juvenile delinquents flocked to their abandoned positions.
There is something just magical about the mosh-pit. There’s something in that thick air, and the smell of everyone else’s body odor as they throw themselves at you. There’s something about the transition from casually listening to a group you enjoy, to their songs becoming the anthem’s of your survival.
I associate the art of mosh-pit combat with most primitive dance-forms. Before english and european influence, dance wasn’t about being polite, or taking turns. It was about dominance, about strength, about pride, and about passion. The similarities between it and some african dances or native american dances strike me.
There is also something to be said about the adrenaline rush obtained from enduring a band and their aggressive followers. The balance of taking blows from people with twice the size or momentum of you, along with protecting someone on the floor, sending your force at someone that you believe “needs it”, and staying on your toes is rarely a cake-walk. It takes instincts and endurance if you want to make it out in one piece.
The mosh-pit summons any number of stereo-types. Whether you are a small, misunderstood guy in black pants, a black band shirt and a lip ring, or an overaged jock looking for someone his own size to strike. Not to mention the gals and girlfriends that go in simply for the view of the band, and everyone in between. The appeal isn’t lost on any stereotype. Perhaps some just lack the thirst for conquest.
The fun difference between a Secular concert’s mosh-pit and a Christian’s is the mercy. At this particular Disciple show, I was knocked down to the floor twice. Both times, the person that hit me was trying to pick me up before I hit the ground. Once I was back up, they dusted me off, made sure I was fine, and pushed me in a new direction. I’m the same way.
Chris, my other friends and I all had a great time during Disciple’s set. I wasn’t feeling up to moshing for Kutless, but I had a good time for their stuff as well.
In case you have never spent an extended amount of time with me, here’s a tid bit about me. I am one of the cheapest people on the planet. I’m almost always broke, and few things bother me quite the way spending money does. I’m better when I have a solid income, but I haven’t had that for like two years now. If someone gives me a loaf of bread and a jar of Chunky Peanut butter, I’ll be eating Peanut Butter sandwiches till I run out of bread.