A large body slams into mine, shoving me against a hard metal railing and forcing the breath out of my lungs. I stop my head-banging and turn to see a tank of a man, tattooed to the nines and reeling with alcohol consumption. He stumbles towards me and lays a hand on my shoulder: "Hey sorry about that...you okay?" I nod yes and he gives me a thumbs up, then wanders back into the crowd. A moment later the boy next to me has the same experience and I reach out a hand to him. "Hey you alright?" He looks up grimacing, nods, and we both smile. It's all part of the concert, right?
First rock and roll concert experience: Alcohol? Check. It's EVERYWHERE. It's seeped into my clothes, in my hair, in the sweat of those around me. Gluing my feet to the floor. Volume? Check. Standing a yard from the speakers my ears have already been assaulted by the wailing guitar chords, the singer's grainy voice shouting an inch from the microphone, and the screams of fans behind me. Insanity? Check! The pounding bass is contagious, vibrating through my bones and shaking me around. The people behind me (mostly drunk) are spinning crazily into one another, bouncing off of other bodies like so many pin-balls in an act of mosh-pit madness, eyes closed and obviously possessed by a sense of spontaneity that I have never felt.
One young man is shoved too hard and crashes to the floor. He come up swinging, and it looks like a fight. But the man that shoved him holds his hand out and helps the young man to his feet, and the two join the melee again laughing. I shake my head, bemused. I don't think I'll ever understand what the attraction of alcohol is.
The lights flash faster and the hard metal screams from the speakers, throwing the pin-ballers into a frenzy. My friend Taber turns his attention from the stage to throw a protective arm out every time someone's body hurtles in my direction. As one song ends and another begins, one of the Blacktooth Grin's sound men appears next to us. "Some crazy shit is about to go down. You'll want to protect your friend better. Here, stand like this." He illustrates by placing one hand on either side of me grabbing the bar, his body shielding me from harm. Taber takes his place, and I'm surprised at how much safer I feel. Somewhere in my subconscious I note that the man didn't tell us to relocate or to flee for our own safety. Even the most violent of the drunks is not asked to leave. Perhaps this is what rock and roll brings out in people--a sense of community where there are very few rules beyond common sense: "don't puke on anyone" and "don't invite the fuzz."
Before Grin does a final number the lead singer invites his son on stage. He can't be more than twelve, but already he sports a mohawk and piercings. Those who had been in full destructive mode a moment before rush to the stage railing to cheer this young rocker on, and as the boy begins to sing the entire crowd reaches decibels to raise the roof. The kid's face is glowing and I can see pride shining in his dad's eyes as the two share the microphone, connected by a father-son activity far removed from Sunday night football or golf.
Each time I feel impact behind me I ask Taber if he's alright, trying to relax when he reassures me he's fine. Without knowing I'm doing it my head is banging to the beat and I'm screaming the chorus along with everyone else. Kathy and Tracy are doing the same next to me, and every once in a while our eyes will meet and we'll be bobbing in unison, connected by the music.
After the Grin leaves the stage Taber and I wander off to try to score him a drumstick from the band. When we return unsuccessful the next band has finished setting up and are starting sound checks. I can already tell that they will be different from the last group. Instead of rows of plastic cups filled with beer they have water bottles. Many of the drunk fans have faded out into the crowd or taken seats by the bar, leaving behind a younger and more sober group by the stage.
Destrophy challenges all my preconceptions of rock and roll. Their stage presence is a paradox of professional confidence and humility, rather than the brass in-your-face attitudes of the previous three bands. I'm grateful that the bassist is of a different breed than Malachi's bass player--a young, arrogant twit who spent more time winking at girls than actually strumming notes. Destrophy's bass and guitarist don't battle for attention; like all good musicians, they show their passion for the music in their faces and their hands, eyes closed to the crowd before them. The music transports them away from screaming fans and to a place where very few of us have ever been; where music is God and God is in every note.
The drummer reminded me of Animal on the Muppets--a crazed kind of look on his face while he beat the living daylights out of the cymbals, a whirlwind of spinning sticks and Mylar and metal. For all I know, the guy could be on speed, improvising the whole thing. But if he's the glue that holds the band together, then Destrophy is indestructible.
The lead singer makes sure to thank all the bands opening the show, the fans, and the Knitting Factory, setting him way above the other bands in my view. After the concert is over Destrophy comes out to meet the fans, to sign things, and even to give out hugs. Still on a post-concert high, I got a poster signed and a hug from the lead singer Ari. I shook the drummer's hand and wondered if comparing him to Animal would be offensive. And then we were off. First rock concert experience officially over.
I might have come away from Unholy X-mas believing that all rock and roll was noise and alcohol. I might have come away thinking to myself "thank God I wasn't smashed into jelly against the stage by the crazies." These thoughts may have crossed my mind during the first half of the show, but the last hour changed it for me. Destrophy proved to me that rock can still be rock without being terrifying, and that decent people can exist on and off the stage.
I'm looking forward to my next rock concert in the spring, and this time I'll come a little more prepared. I'll wear shoes that I don't care about getting stepped on. I'll bring money for CDs in case I end up loving the music so I won't have to stand back with empty pockets. And I won't bring any preconceptions about the bands I've come to see. I'll let the music speak for itself.
