51. Fucking Obnoxious Mosh Pit Kids

If you ever want to re-acquaint yourself with your own age, I would suggest checking Pollstar or BandsInTown and going to the next concert in your town. Nothing quite solidifies the age gap in our society like a good music show. Over my years of evolving from a hyperactive concert kid to a more sober twentysomething with back problems, I have experienced firsthand the demographic separations at concerts.

I remember the first time I became aware of my own age at shows. I went with a group of friends to see The Front Bottoms in Albuquerque at the top of the year. If you ever get a chance to see the Front Bottoms live, for the love of God, go. They put on a killer show. Afterwards, one of my friends asked if something was bothering me at the show because I was “just listening to the music” rather than thrashing around with the majority of the crowd. For someone who usually woke up the morning after a show unable to move my neck, this was a sobering observation.

As supporting evidence, here’s me after a Black Keys show in 2010. It was summer and there was no air conditioning. That’s my excuse.

Anyone who has been to their fair share of shows can attest to the fact that not all shows are created equal. At their best, concerts can be a cathartic experience in which you share the music and space of a beloved artist with a dozen to thousands of people at one time. At their worst, concerts can be used as a coherent argument for population control and the license to kill.

Just like any other large gathering that requires a mass observation of the Social Contract, teenagers (statistically, the worst kind of people in the world) are the ones to always ruin it. For the rest of us older kids masquerading as legitimate adults, we go to shows to have a good time with friends, dance our asses off, and maybe just possibly score an invite to the after-party. For all the teenage boys at shows (it’s never teenage girls, they’re all at home doing productive things like cyberbullying and sexting), it’s a giant contest to crown the most obnoxious person on the fucking planet.

Teenagers, due to their inherent lack of humanity, are the most likely candidates to practice the Seven Deadly Sins of Concert-Goers, which are as follows:

  • Lust (ex. The Couple That Will Not Stop Making Out On The Dance Floor)
  • Gluttony (ex. The Douche That Won’t Stop Calling Out Requests)
  • Greed (ex. “STOP PUSHING JACKASS, YOU CAN SEE THE BAND FINE FROM HERE”)
  • Sloth (ex. The Guy Who Records The Entire Show On His Smartphone Instead Of Idon’tknow, WATCHING IT???)
  • Envy (ex. The Stage Diver Who Just Wants To Be Part Of The Band)
  • Pride (ex.  The Guy/Girl Who Spends The Entire Show On His/Her Smartphone Taking The Perfect Blurry Ugly Selfie)
  • Wrath (ex. Unnecessary Moshing)
  • The Freebird Guy (The only justified time to use the death penalty)

As I’ve passed the age of 21 and become a member of the beverage carrying population of America, nothing fills my soul with  more molten fire and hatred at a rock show than the obligatory phalanx of fifteen to eighteen year olds loaded up on testosterone and Four Loko smashing against each other five feet away from me, putting my unbelievably overpriced whiskey and coke in more danger than a crew member on The Odyssey.

Pictured: My drink at shows

It’s not the whirling pubescent limbs that upset me so much as the blatant disregard for the people that surround them. When I went to go see Run The Jewels earlier this week in Denver, I spent half the time having my face melted and the other half dodging shoulder charges from shirtless eighteen year olds in board shorts like a drunk rap music loving Daredevil. I watched a kid get his ass reamed by a thirty year old woman for nearly knocking her over, before finally emptying her entire beer in his acne and shame-ridden face. Moshing clearly makes animals of us all.

It doesn’t just happen at rock or rap shows either. My best friend Brett told me how he once saw a mosh pit break out at a Death Cab For Cutie Show. I don’t know about you, but the last thing I want to do when I hear I Will Follow You Into The Dark is BREAK FACE.

“I was very fucking confused”, said the man who once wore this.

That’s not to say that moshing should be banned at concerts. There’s nothing wrong with a good mosh pit as long as it’s at a hardcore or metal show between consenting adults where I am not currently present.  I just ask the thousands of concert-going kids out there to please be aware that nobody actually wants a mosh pit to break out at the show except for you. This goes double for taking your shirt off. My beer thanks you.

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