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I’d like to share a story about rocking out so hard I shattered my bones and went to the hospital.
It was the summer after our senior year in high school and a group of friends and I were in line getting ready to go into a nightclub in Santa Cruz to see Slightly Stoopid, The Expendables and Ribsey’s Nickle. It was a line up we were all pumped about and had planned ahead for by getting friends of the appropriate age to buy us plenty of whisky.
Pacific Avenue was packed with people, the show was sold out and seven shots of Jack Daniels made me feel like back flips could be easy.
Ribsey’s Nickle, a Santa Cruz Band that opened the show, got the mosh pit churning with bodies and flailing limbs in a circle up at the front of the crowd.
The stage was turned over to The Expendables, who triggered an explosion of human torpedoes, flying in every direction.
Slightly Stooped took the stage and sedated the crowd with hits like “Collie Man” and “Everything You Need,” but then snapped us out of our eerie stupor when The Expendables came back on stage and performed a handful of hard-rock songs with Slightly Stooped’s lead guitarist Kyle McDonald doing a kind of Rasta-rap. Moshing ensued- again.
My friends and I crashed into each other and bounced around the pit. One of us would occasionally be thrown to the ground only to be hurled to our feet again by helping hands. There was something about the violently fast, electric guitar-fueled moshing that made me think later about what music does to us, especially when we’re young. It can be the lifeblood that makes you feel unstoppable and even ecstatic.
The show was almost over when I was slammed to the ground and felt my world explode like fire crackers in a closed fist. I looked up at a big guy with his shirt off, holding his hand out to me. He had an open gash above his right eye with a thick stream of blood flowing down it, swooping down into the corner of a twisted looking grin. He launched me back to my feet.
I hobbled away from the stage where I could sit and clear my head of the fiery prickles that were burning my right leg. I stood after a few moments, willing myself to be ok.
Some friends finally got me to the hospital. I would later go into surgery for a shattered patella. When I hit the ground, my kneecap had dislocated and when I was launched back to my feet, the kneecap had struck my patella, breaking it into several little slivers.
Music will grab a hold and push to the breaking point. That was my breaking point. I still like mosh pits, I’m just not the one inside them anymore.
To all those who are new to Chico and college, mosh your asses off — you are going to have a great time here. If you can avoid breaking any bones, more power to you.
Joel Hersch can be reached at
entertainmenteditor@theorion.com
