Mish-mosh.

I've had one of those weekends of spectating. For better or worse, I found myself in one audience or another. On Friday, I saw another helping of Urinetown: the Musical. This time, I saw it for free just by wearing a tie and handing out programs. What a deal! The audience was much weaker this time around which killed most of the show pretty efficiently. Stupid old people. The cast tried their best to keep up the energy but it was weird. Afterwards, Liz and I met Buddy and Lindsay at Geet's Diner to yak it up. We talked mostly about horror movies and how much of an impatient freak our waitress was and then parted ways for the night. I had a patty melt.

I was much more excited for Saturday's show. I was going to meet Justin in Bensalem to see The Faceless, Arsis, and All Shall Perish at a Holiday Inn. I've been to veteran's halls, bars, and basements but I've never been to a hotel for a metal show. I arrived at the hotel and a very nice lady and her daughter were at the door collecting money, stamping hands, and selling water. I later ran into the father and the son who were working the sound board and lights. Not only was I in a hotel watching death metal, but a nice family was putting on the show. I have to wonder if they knew what they were getting into.

Left to Vanish was playing when I arrived and they were in the midst of playing breakdown after breakdown just to watch the kids kick each other. I use the term kids as literally as possible since the majority of the crowd was probably 16-17 years old. And they all brought their girlfriends with them. One of Justin's soon-to-be father friends commented that he felt like an old fart. I told him,
"Hey, I'm a married home-owner. How do you think I feel"
We had a good laugh and then secretly started weeping to ourselves. But at least we were still cool enough to come to these shows, even if we didn't dance. There was plenty of dancing to be had without us, though. Both Left to Vanish and All Shall Perish were metal-core so every song they played sounded like Unearth. These bands don't even bother writing creative songs, they just create a soundtrack for the hardcore dancers. While one part of me felt like dancing it up, the other half was very disillusioned with heavy metal in general.

That's why I was there to see The Faceless. I had heard a couple tracks on their MySpace and was VERY impressed. They didn't submit to the social tendencies of metal/hardcore music. There were no "breakdowns"; there were no "two-steps"; just good schizophranic progressive death metal. They delivered it live too! I don't think I've been that impressed by a metal band in recent years. They only played 4-5 songs which was SUCH a bummer since they had come all the way from California without so much as a CD to hock. I bought a T-shirt just to show my support. I thought I had my only taste of real metal that night until Arsis took the stage. Let me just say that they must eat, sleep, and breathe metal. The lead singer looked like he was 40 and was somehow thrashing, singing, and finger tapping some of the sickest guitar licks I've ever seen all at the same time! Justin commented, "I'd say he was doing all of that without breaking a sweat but, well, look at him." He was pretty nasty. I bought an Arsis T-shirt as well.

All Shall Perish came on and brought the pit with them. There was plenty of kicking and flailing to force the sound guys to hold on to the light fixtures to keep them from toppling. Justin and I stayed for as long as we were interested. But we'd heard it all before and decided to leave early. As we were exiting, I thanked the woman who had admitted us. I figured that she had bitten off more than she could chew and wanted to let her know that her help was appreciated. She replied,
"Your welcome. You know, I think all this moshing is totally inappropriate."
I told her, "Nah. These kids know what to expect. It's fun."
"Tell that to the poor kid who gets sent to the hospital. You'd better hope he has a health plan. Moshing is so inappropriate."

Spoken like a true mother. I chose not to get into the unique social dynamic of hardcore dancing since I was miles from home and I wanted to get there. Justin and I both know that there is rarely ill-will and if someone gets hurt, everyone comes to the rescue. But that wasn't the part of the conversation that bothered me. I don't know if it was because she was a middle-aged woman or not but it sounded funny to hear what I had seen referred to as "moshing".

The following is my definitive summary of moshing:

I've been hearing the term "moshing" ever since I was twelve when a friend of mine went to enjoy the moshpits of an Offspring show at the Sony/Blockbuster East Center (now the Tweeter). My first glimpse of a moshpit was at the 1995 WDRE-fest when 311 took the stage and legions of stoners started kicking up a great big dust cloud on the lawn. I was both fascinated and semi-annoyed that I couldn't see the band through the dirty haze. But what was it that I was not seeing? What is moshing?

If you look up the word "mosh" in most online dictionaries, you'll get something like this:

"To knock against others intentionally while dancing at a rock concert; slam-dance. Perhaps an alteration of mash."

Now to many outsiders, this just about covers what they envision "moshing" to be. I am here to tell you that it doesn't even come close. Slam-dancing is slam-dancing. Only stupid people who have never been to shows go slam-dancing (and crowd-surfing for that matter). Slam-dancing is something you do to House of Pain, not heavy metal. So what is moshing all about?

There are many theories about where the word comes from. The consensus says that it is an English variant of the word "mash" or even "mishmash" (they turned twat to twot after all). There are accounts of this alternate spelling as far back as 1848. However, most early accounts of the slang version suggest that it is American-born. It was the N.Y. Village Voice that first cited the term (as we understand it) in 1983,
"...it is ‘violence within friendship’... Besides, ‘you're so into the music and dancing that you don't think about getting moshed.’"
Not to call them idiots, but are we really to beleive that punk kids and scene-sters are versed in British slang from the mid 19th century? Other theories developed saying that it's a recent mix of several words: mash, squash, smash, and even crush! This seems reasonable as they all seem to describe what goes on in there.
To me, moshing is just shaking things up with running, stomping, and pushing (occasionally punching). Once the spin-kicks and flailing come into play, that's when I consider it "dancing". Moshing doesn't do the art form of hardcore dancing justice.

I'm reminded of the Brazilian art of Capoeira. Capoeira is a martial art that was developed in Brazil by African slaves in the 16th and 17th century. Because they were forbidden to practice martial arts, they would pretend it was a dance and hold circles to practice the various arial kicks and flips that Capoeira employs with energetic and often varied native music. Even today, the tradition of the circle is the most accepted way of learning Capoeira. It helps to have a circle of people to make sure no one is hurt and it also helps everyone learn new moves as a group.

To me, that is the best way of describing hardcore pits. Anytime dancing is about to incur, one brazen youth pushes everyone out of the way to make room to dance safely. Everyone stands poised to catch out of control moves(often in the face)and in so doing, are exposed to new dances. Instead of berimbaus and atabaques and songs of Quilombo there are electric guitars and double-bass pedals to the strains of Sworn Enemy, but I think the dance is similarly spirited.
Compare:

I also think, that while it looks WAY more violent, hardcore dancing is much less harmful (socially) than moshing. The sole purpose of moshing is to shake people around and get the adrenaline flowing. That only breeds belligerence. Plus, it's not that much fun to watch. Dancing, while perhaps presenting more physical danger, does at least inspire others to learn moves. I still can't two-step with out looking completely homosexual so there is much to teach me.


Intructional resources are limited.

Jerry Springer's final thought: I doubt that woman at the door would have come from a Capoeira circle and said, "I think that Capoeira is very inappropriate." I hope she reads this and appreciates that hardcore has many unique dance forms and isn't just "moshing".

And now a word from our sponser:

Slush Gods, Thresholds, and a Free Piano

The annoying part about being a musician is that in order to be any good, you have to practice. This is all well and good for my guitar playing since it's barely audible and highly portable. I could literally whip it out anyplace and just start going to town. That last sentence should be quoted out of context in as many ways possible. But as a piano player living in a condominium, my ability to tickle the ivories has been greatly thwarted. I now no longer live near a piano and buying a new one isn't the most feasible option financially. So when my mother sent me a link to a blog offering a free piano, it seemed wise to jump at the opportunity.



My mother is very into the world of Fantasy/Sci-Fi writing. She isn't so much an escapist like the LARP's (live action role-players) featured in a previous post, but rather a hungry professional looking to network in the business. In her efforts to rub elbows with the right people, one of her stories was taken notice by an individual known only as " The Slush God"...well some people know him as John. His moniker is a bit confusing and does not do justice to the weight he carries in the realm of fantasy writing. You see he is the assistant editor of Fantasy & Science Fiction magazine ::fanfare::.

In a recent blog of his, he noted that he was giving up a few musical items. The advertisement itself was pretty long. It took half a sentence to tell everyone that he was giving away a piano while the rest of the post was devoted entirely to describing the Century Media Contamination compilation he was giving away. He even included a scanned copy of the jacket and a detailed account of which bands were any good. Of course he already had the albums of the good bands from that compilation because the Slush God is a metal head ::horns::. Being one myself, I had to admire his priorities in this advertisement .

He knows what people really want! Of course, after making fun of him, I realize that there was a prior blog advertising the piano. It still wasn't longer than the CD advertisement, though.

But having caught that small blurb, my mother sent me an e-mail offering to drive me up to Perth Amboy to check it out. That Saturday morning, the four Deals (sans Liz and Lindsay) trekked up to North Jersey to scope out the joint. We arrived at a very un-assuming house and were greeted at the door by a young man who was donning an In Flames: Colony t-shirt. I gave him props for the heavy metal jersey and passed through the Slush God's threshold.

In an interesting sidenote, I'd like to go into the etymology of that last phrase "Slush God's Threshold". You see the term "Slush" allegedly comes from a time when editors would literally have to wade through the pile of manuscripts that had been pushed either under their door or through the mail slot the weekend prior. This sensation was compared to wading through a bank of snow and so manuscripts awaiting approval are now known as "slush". In olden days (circa 1500 AD), those people fortunate enough to even have a floor had to use slate. Slate had a tendency to become wet and slippery during the winter and so straw, also known as "thresh", was laid down to maintain a footing. As the winter grew longer, more and more straw needed to be added and such a volume would often slide out the front door. A plank of wood was installed at the foot of the doorway creating a "thresh" hold. In conclusion, both "Slush" and "threshold" seem to refer to a pile of garbage behind the front door. There will be quiz on this at the end of class.

As I entered the Slush God's domain, I was immediately appreciative of just how much this guy loved reading. There were mountains upon piles of books. It was much like V's guest bedroom in V for Vendetta. I was a bit overwhelmed, but went to business as soon as possible to be both unintrusive and to increase the amount of time in the afternoon which I could play stupid games with Buddy. I inspected the piano, which other than a broken hammer and it being ridiculously neglected and out of tune, was a fine instrument.

Buddy, Dad and I spent the next 15 minutes giving ourselves a couple hernias and broken backs moving it down the front porch and into Dad's van. We drove it back south and when we arrived at my development, we continued the aggressive assault on our bodies as we carried it up to my second floor condominium. While shaking up this fine piece of craftmanship, we found that there were a couple loose coins within the body of the piano. Not only was it free, but it actually came with money! One has to wonder if the previous owners though it was a nickelodeon of some kind. Whatever it is, it now lives in my living room and in the words of Lebowsky, "it really tie[s] the room together". Other than the fact that it is obscenely out of tune, has a broken hammer, and is only 73 keys versus a full 88-key piano, it is a fine instrument to call my own. Well worth the effort.

I think I nearly got a hernia laughing at this next movie: