Not content to merely ruin the visual, the concert hall also provided the worst possible acoustics. The beat is supposed to pound, the vocals are supposed to thrash, and the ground is supposed to shake. At no point should you feel like you stumbled in on a mini-mall Battle of the Bands.
Undoubtedly The National’s most toxic element, though, was their ban on moshing. You book a hardcore band, your website claims that you “showcase the nation’s best punk groups,” and you ban moshing?! That’s like booking Jack Johnson and banning golf claps – or booking The Jonas Brothers and banning all high-pitched shrieks. This no-moshing pronouncement was made more ridiculous by the fact that there had been more than an hour of moshing at the National concert I had been to the previous year. There had not been a ban because there was no need for one. It was high energy, but under control.
After listening to seven songs in this environment, I needed to get out. I preferred to leave and declare the show a failure than stay and have my opinion poisoned further.
And yet…I stayed for “Give It All.” In that moment, in that song, everything changed. During the first few relatively slow seconds of the song, audience members glanced at one another. There seemed to be this recognition that, a few notes later, if they were being true to the song and the band, all hell should break loose. No one would do anything intentionally harmful, of course, but they would need to amp up the energy. It started with a few people jumping. A couple others bounced back and forth. Then there were a few brief thrusts. Before you knew it, by the time they hit the chorus, multiple mosh pits had sprung up throughout the crowd! All this occurred as the band sang these words: “For far too long, these voices muffled by distances / It’s time to come to our senses / And from the dark we give it all / This is the reason why I sing / So give it all.” This was not some Good Charlotte single; this was not some Simple Plan ballad. This was a punk anthem made REAL – an incredible flash-bulb memory.
The crowd remained united the rest of the concert. The Man’s mindless rule had been struck down, and all had become an “Audience of One.” Sound and lighting issues could not stop anyone from pouring his or her soul into “Paper Wings,” “Prayer of the Refugee,” “Chamber the Cartridge,” “Ready to Fall,” and ten other songs.
The final song I’ll mention is “Savior.” Halfway through the song, I got knocked down. It was inadvertent and I wasn’t hurt, but I did fall to the floor. Seconds after I fell, this hulking 6’5’’ football player, who had been among the most active on the floor, stopped moshing, reached down, and asked, “Are you ok?” It was moving. It did not occur to me until later that it was also freaky: what are the odds that that would occur during a song called “Savior”?!
The culmination of the bizarre, unforgettable night occurred right after “Savior,” when frontman Tim McIllrath commended the crowd for “looking out for each together, for keeping your kick-a** circle pits safe.” Had he actually seen me? Had he seen what the guy had done?! Who knows. All I know is…I’m glad I stayed.
Grade: A+
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