FIGHT ISSUE VOL. B – MURDER ON THE DANCE FLOOR

ARTWORK Dan Witz
WORDS Diana Weiß

The mosh pit is an almost mythical place, whose secrets are kept by those who have survived it. Moshing is hardcore in the double sense: a ritualized form of dancing practiced only by the most extreme followers of a brutally violent musical fringe. But, as is so often the case, what at first glance seems shocking and disgusting can serve as a powerful metaphor for social problems and their potential solutions. The willful colliding of bodies in a designated space, the merging of pleasure and pain, of order and chaos, of the collective and the individual provides a transgressive experience that participants describe as freeing and cathartic. Does the mosh pit offer a special remedy for the contemporary suffering that is otherwise hard to obtain? French sociologist Michel Maffesoli uses the Dionysian orgy as an example to illustrate that hedonism, violence and ecstasy are the key conditions in which man encounters himself and that ultimately shape humans into social beings “however bizarre, incomprehensible, or even repulsive” they may appear at first glance. But, while orgies are exclusive events, the mosh pit is open to anyone who dares to enter. Or is it? Bruises are to be expected Although most commonly associated with heavy metal culture, moshing derived from the punk scene in the late 1970s. Energetic and eruptive live shows and a natural aversion to rule-following ensured that concerts often turned into mass brawls, with musicians jumping off stage to beat up audience members and vice versa. Legend goes that the term moshing was coined in the early 1980s by the US reggae-punk band Bad Brains. The thick Jamaican accent of their lead singer H.R. led to the mishearing of the verb to mash, which quickly became reported as moshing by the burgeoning metal press. Over time, the punk practices of stage diving and slam dancing, more like a lashing out on the dance floor,

became regulated into an expressive performance at any show featuring aggressive music, like hardcore or metal. Within those fandoms, participating in the mosh pit is considered vital to a meaningful concert experience, separating mere bystanders or onlookers from the true fans. The mosh pit is a constructed, physical space, located in front of the stage, reserved for seemingly aggressive and potentially dangerous behaviors such as pushing, body slamming, headbanging and stagediving. Bruises are to be expected, and often carried like badges of honor, as well as bloody noses and knocked out teeth. In the late 1960s, British cultural anthropologist Victor Turner developed his theory of liminal spaces, that has remained influential until today. Liminality describes a state of in-between, a transitional zone marking the process of becoming. In this sense, mosh pits can be interpreted as liminal spaces in as far as they exist outside of the everyday rules and regulations, permitting those who enter to act in a way they typically would not. In the mosh pit, normative social rules are rejected, frustrations and anger are acted out, formulating new identities in the process. This is a political dynamic in that it becomes a forum for articulating political attitudes and values that may function to criticize existing institutions, policies, and current social orders. While moshing is undoubtedly a violent experience, with bands traditionally egging their audiences on with battle cries such as “Go smash someone up,” “Turn them into guacamole and taste them,” or, simply: “Act like you have health insurance.” Many fans insist that it all stays in the family, referring to the rules of Pit Etiquette, that include helping someone up if they are knocked over, no kicking or punching, and removing any dangerous jewelry before entering the pit.

In this way, the dark attraction of savagery is softened by the comforting sense of community. The musicologist Harris M. Berger referred to moshing as “good clean violent fun.” A study from 2013 concluded that moshing could lessen perceived stress and heighten personal self esteem. Unfortunately, these positive effects are largely overlooked by media coverage, instead focusing on rare cases of casualties at mainstream metal concerts such as Smashing Pumpkins and Limp Bizkit. The latter were also heavily featured in the Netflix Woodstock ’99 documentary, that portrayed rioting metalheads as brutish, dumb and destructive. Anthropologist Craig T. Palmer pointed out in 2005 that these regrettable incidents mostly occur because mainstream audiences have not been properly initiated into mosh pit culture, practice and etiquette. He sums up that “in the proper social environment where there is sufficient preexisting trust and the rules of etiquette are followed, moshing nurtures friendship and camaraderie with an acceptable level of risk.” The idea that moshing and pop culture simply don’t go together also explains the tragic events of November 5, 2021, when a fatal crowd stampede occurred during the Astroworld Festival hosted by rapper Travis Scott in Houston, Texas, leaving ten people dead and many more injured. Previously, Scott had been praised with bringing a much-needed punk rock sensibility to the over glamorized world of modern rap. But, instead of moshing, he used the term raging. In interviews, Scott always emphasized he same therapeutic and community-building aspects that had already been highlighted as positive by the metal fans: “Raging and, you know, having fun and expressing good feelings is something that I plan on doing and spreading across the globe,” he stated. “We don’t like people that just stand — whether you’re Black, white, brown, green, purple, yellow, blue, we don’t want you standing around.” There had been warning signs, however, that the growing success of the rapper, resulting in ever-growing crowds, made this happy anarchy approach increasingly unpredictable.

You always run the risk of being injured, but that’s life In 2015, an online concert review was titled “I Tried Not to Die at Travis Scott and Young Thug’s Show Last Night,” stating that what was expected to be a “safe haven” for die-hard fans quickly turned into a “fight for surviva l . ” Later in the same year, Scott pleaded guilty to charges o f reckless conduct after he had told fans at Lollapalooza to rush the barricades, resulting in a stampede that injured a 15-year-old girl. An inadequate security concept and mass hysteria had already led to 21 deaths at the Love Parade in Duisburg in 2010. But there is some evidence that incidents like Astroworld or Woodstock ’99 were exacerbated by the fact that the participants were mainly adolescent boys and young men. New Zealand criminologist Fiona Hutton points out that within musical subcultures, “space is gendered, and gender, sex and sexuality are spatially practiced.” Feminist scholars such as Angel McRobie argue that this division of spheres mirrors the capitalist economy, where the public space is dominated by male values such as aggressiveness and competitiveness. This space is potentially hostile to women, who risk assault if they choose to enter it without male protection. In the early 1990s, the riot grrrl movement openly addressed gender inequality and sexism in the punk scene for the first time. Kathleen Hannah, then-singer of Bikini Kill, famously called “Girls to the front!” during concerts – in order to have the men who were dancing in the pit make room for the female audience to move forward. A great historical achievement of riot grrrl was addressing the roles of FLINTA persons within the traditionally testosterone-fueled music scenes, such as punk and hardcore, but which also applies to a large extent to hip hop. Today, most fans describe the mosh pit as an inclusive space. As a user on the metalcore subreddit states: “The Pit is for everyone. You always run the risk of being injured, but that’s life.” It would be great if the moshpit values could be transferred to real life: Have fun, let system, but look out for each other.