The crowd sways like starlings in murmuration as we wait for the show to start. The relaxed vibe belies the pandemonium about to be unleashed. Metal concerts are like that. To an outsider, they appear violent, and they can be, but to fans like me they are a place of solace.
I’ve been attending concerts since I was a teenager; the first was in a dusty parking lot and I never looked back. At the time, I gave no thought to what amplifiers cranked to 10 might do to my hearing, and it didn’t help that I liked being close to the action. Tonight, in Denver, I’ve got earplugs, sensible sneakers, and, because it has been acting up, a brace on my knee.
The lights dim and my pupils dilate. The band starts and my adrenaline spikes. The music is loud, but I don’t care. I push toward the stage, the sound becoming a roar, thrumming in my ears. A circle opens in front of me. I’ve reached the pit, where dozens of bodies swirl in a vortex, pushing and colliding with each other in a communal dance called moshing that is both an individual act of catharsis and a c... Read more
