I Need Someone To Shove

This was no Verizon Wireless frat-boy mosh, where overly stimulated American Eagle rejects swill beer and plunge themselves into each other to the likes of Dave Mathews (thank you so much MTV). Nor was this the nu-hardcore kung-fu chaos of windmills and kicking air. This is wasn't even the metal-mosh of old, where the lazy skank erupts into running in a circle endlessly.

This is is how it was done at punk shows in the '80s.

Mass confusion - a pulsating throng of bodies - crammed togther and buffeted by an unseen energy. A tidal crest of sweat, beer, spit and whatever else might be wet. Leaning, pushing, shoving, jumping, giving, taking, rebounding and recoiling.

Imagine being touched. In an elevator. In a mall. Someone comes too close to your personal space and instantly you're on the defensive. Even worse - imagine that they lay a hand on you - a shove, a push, a quick grapple. Imagine that they put a shoulder into you, knocking you off balance and into the person behind you, and they in turn propel you forward, stumbling, into a mad rush to get to nowhere.

Guys, girls, young, old - all attempting to occupy much of the same space. Forget the social rules. Hands are always on you. You get grabbed, felt up, leaned on, sweated on, knocked down, picked up, as you bend like a reed in the wind of bodies, because if you don't, you will get hurt.

There's something therapuetic about simply letting go and allowing the pit to move you where it will. You're really never in danger. You can close your eyes and just "go with the flow" and never fear. The zen of slamdancing.

This is how it was done in the '80s. And it was oh so very good.

Some context for you.