When I was a teen, I lived too far from venues to see my favorite punk bands. So now, as a twenty-something, I'm catching up on my mosh quota. I was 19 when one of my best friends introduced me to bands like PUP, Jeff Rosenstock and Joyce Manor, and opened the doors to a three-year bender of punk bliss.
In 2022, he invited me along to a PUP show, and that's the first time I jumped into a pit. For those who aren't super engaged with the punk scene, a pit may seem like something to be wary of. I get it.
It's messy. It smells like sweat and soda and shoulder bruises. But the camaraderie in there is unmatched.
If someone wants to crowd surf, you carry them high and set them down gently. When somebody falls over, the violent movements hang like a comma, and a half-dozen helping hands lean over to help the person up. It's a beautiful thing.
Sure, moshing is an outlet for angst and frustration. But it's also a communal reprieve from the hateful discourse of life online. And it helps that the music rocks.
Take Joyce Manor's seminal punk classic "Never Hungover Again," which celebrated its 10th anniversary this week. The whole record is 19 minutes long and moves like a gatling gun, with the 100-meter dash drums giving contrast to the 100-degree guitar tones. "Catalina Fight Song" is the obvious hit, a 65-second nostalgia bomb that conjures memories of hot Gatorade in a car baking in the California sun.
This last weekend, I drove to Iowa City to see Joyce Manor's frequent tourmate, ska.