“Where words fail, music speaks.” –Hans Christian Anderson
I’ve spent the last six months re-learning myself as I step into this new phase of my life, and a major part of that process has involved music. I listen to just about every type of music imaginable (except ska — it’s just not my cup of tea, but no judgment here), and it makes car rides very interesting for everyone present. One moment, we are listening to A Day to Remember and the next we are throwing it back with early 2000s Eminem. Fast forward to the next song and you have George Strait followed by Beethoven. Car rides usually turn into karaoke sessions, and I do not apologize for any of it.
One thing that seems to surprise people is my love and adoration for rock and metal music. I’ve enjoyed my fair share of concerts in the past, and in 2023, I went to my first metal concert. The environment was unlike any I’ve ever experienced and went against everything I stood for. I like my space. I do not like people touching me or breathing on me. The whole “6 feet apart” thing is the one thing I miss about the pandemic. I should also mention that I am a mom, so adapting is the name of the game — and adapt I did.
While waiting in line for one of my first rock concerts, I felt very out of place. I wore jean shorts and a black tank top. I did my makeup which lasted all of 2 seconds in the Florida heat, but hey, A for effort, right? I saw people in line doing yoga and stretching, preparing for what was to come. Some people were wearing corsets, full corsets, faces covered in the cutest makeup, and I have never seen more fishnets paired with heels in my life. It was a culture of fashion that I really hadn’t been introduced to before — but I was here for it.
Being on the floor and having the pit open next to you is mind-blowing. For those who are unaware of what I mean by a pit, please Google “mosh pit.” Words cannot accurately describe what you will see, but I will try. A mosh pit is a high-energy group of people who gather in the center of the concert venue floor. People form a wall, or a barrier to protect those outside of the pit. What occurs within the walls of the pit can only be described as pure and unrelenting chaos — and it is glorious.
From the outside looking in, you might think people are fighting — or actively looking for a fight. Between the lyrics, yelling, and screaming, the music evokes something absolutely feral in me, and so many others and our bodies respond. For some people, it is singing so loudly that it is borderline embarrassing to hear on a video replay the next morning. Others dance like the beat is a physical force, driving your body to movements. Then you have those in the pit. The music is loud, and it is heavy. There is shoving and pushing, and it can get really rough sometimes. But there is order in the chaos.
I’ve seen people leave the pit with blood pouring down their faces. I’ve seen women join in on the fun — it isn’t just for men. I’ve seen pits come to an immediate halt simply because someone fell or was shoved too hard. I’ve seen someone hold up a lost shoe and a phone, an obvious casualty of the pit. In the pit, there is no gender. There is no ill intent. There is nothing but people who want to feel the music and express themselves in ways they know how.
After experiencing one of my first rock concerts in 2023 (and then following it up with a few more), I decided that I had to keep going to more (cue Adam Driver screaming “More!” from Star Wars: The Force Awakens). Heavy rock and metal music is so much more than just anger and screaming — although that is probably what you first associate it with. It isn’t all “death and destruction” either. Some artists and bands, like Beartooth or Nothing More, take their life stories and struggles and turn them into melodic masterpieces that speak to so many of us. With music being a huge part of my own journey of growth, I decided to make 2024 my year of concerts. As it stands right now, I’ve gone to a concert every month and have at least one concert planned per month for the rest of the year. My husband so lovingly reminds me, “Britt, you have pit energy, but are too short for the pit.” He’s not wrong, but I’ll be damned if I let that stop me.
