Disclaimer: I am fully aware that Blink-182 is old now and not really a "hardcore" band like some other punk bands or metal bands or whatever. Like, they're not as angry as they could be. I am aware that there's other bands out there who smash glass into their heads and spit on people and are wild beyond any and all belief. But understand that I am merely a naive and innocent child who listens to a healthy medley of classic, garage, and folk rock, and spends my evenings watching Food Network and binge drinking Moscato wine. I'm not hardcore in the slightest. So, with that being said, let me set the stage:
Two months ago my best friend approached me and said, "Hey, I heard Blink-182 is playing at the Sands Casino in Bethlehem and I really want to see them." I, being a fan of rock 'n roll, casinos, and spending money frivolously and irresponsibly, immediately agreed that we should definitely go. After all, I knew a few of their songs and didn't hate them and tickets were only fifty dollars. I was, however, a little perplexed that my typically country lovin' best friend was interested in going to a Blink-182 concert, but I didn't think anything of it because people, like onions, have multiple layers. So, within 10 minutes of the idea first being brought up, we had tickets to go see Blink-182 in June. We spent the next hour planning out what we would do at the casino after the show and how cool it was going to be to see Blink-182 live, and then completely forgot about the concert for a month and a half.
Fast forward to two weeks ago, when me and my best friend are driving home after a night of shopping in King of Prussia. She mentions that we have the Blink-182 concert coming up and maybe we should listen to some of their songs to get amped for the performance. I agree, open Spotify, play their most popular song, "All the Small Things" and start singing along. My friend, however, sits in the passenger seat, silent and confused.
"What is this?" She asks.
"Um, this is Blink-182."
"Oh," A moment of silence passes between us before she reveals, "This isn't the band I thought it was. I've never heard any of their music."
So we now have two tickets to go see a punk rock band that neither of us are truly fans of. Perfect.
So the night of the concert arrives. We both wear black, because we decide that we need to try and blend in as much as possible with the cool punk kids. I line both my eyelid and water line heavy with a dark, cheap drugstore eyeliner to try and harness my inner angsty high schooler. It works; between the black outfit, the eyeliner, and the fact that Pennsylvania has the worst highways in the United States, I am both ready to fight and cry by the time we get to the venue 15 minutes late.
On our way in I notice a sign that says, "No moshing allowed. Please respect the safety of others." I vividly remember scoffing at this sign and thinking to myself, "Ha! No one moshes anymore. What are we? 16?" Again, I am a naive, innocent child. We meet up with friends, buy 24 oz beers, and catch the ending set of Hawthorne Heights, the opener.
This was a general admission concert so we pushed our way to the middle of a giant crowd of very intimidating looking punks. I was cool with that, I wanted to get the full experience, y'know? So, Hawthorne Heights finished, the lights dimmed, Blink-182 emerged on stage... and there's a goddamn stampede. Everyone from the back swarmed to the front, mowing down anyone who didn't react quick enough to follow the crowd. Me and my friends, left with no other options, followed along, confused, disoriented, and overwhelmed by the sudden hostility of the crowd. But, like all scary things, it passed. Blink launches into their first song ("What's My Age Again", one of four that I know) and everything is fine. I'm enjoying myself, pretending like I belong in this crowd of punk rockers. And then, it happens:
A large, empty circle emerged right in front of us. My first thought, because I am so ignorant to the world and youth culture, is that a dance battle was about to transpire. I got momentarily excited for some weird punk rock dance off but then, out of nowhere, a bunch of abnormally sweaty boys started slamming into each other like psychotic chickens. My mind flickers to the warning sign I had seen earlier, a clever piece of foreshadowing, and a dreaded oh no rumbles through my head. A mosh pit. More sweaty boys forcefully push their way from the back to get to this out of control circle of moshers, pushing back the crowd in violent waves.
It. Was. Chaos. And it only got more out of control from there.
As Blink-182 continued to play, people started throwing half-full beer cans through the air, drenching the crowd in warm, overpriced beer. The stench of body odor, beer, and adrenaline filled the arena. I made the awful decision to wear open-toed sandals, so I spent 80 percent of the concert trying not to think about the disgusting germs crawling from the beer and sweat soaked floor to the areas between my toes. The mosh pit kept growing with every song, every now and again causing a ripple of stumbles throughout the crowd as they slammed up against us. People around me tried (and failed) to crowd surf, instead falling to their doom on the disgusting, slippery floor.
By the end of the concert I was covered in so many mystery liquids that all I wanted to do was get home and shower. I was exhausted from standing the whole time and from fighting off the waves of moshers. I was starving. I was filled with confusing adrenaline and even more angst. I felt like I had been through a battle. Nay, a war.
But, despite how under-prepared we were for a punk concert and how absolutely lawless the whole affair was, me and my best friend both agreed that it was one hell of a good time. Blink-182 did this awesome thing where they didn't talk or bother with long monologues at all; they just played music, song after song, no breaks or transitions. I really liked that, because the concert felt like one long playlist, not a drawn out event with needless anecdotes and talking. But what made it really fun was the diverse and *interesting* crowd of people. I had never been to a "punk" concert before, and I had never witnessed that moshing phenomena, so seeing that first hand was the most interesting and terrifying thing ever. I honestly could have watched those boys ram into each other all night; their sub-culture of moshing was as intriguing as it was reckless and irresponsible.
So would I go to a concert like that again? For sure. I love new experiences and putting myself in weird situations that I clearly don't belong in. It's basically how I live my entire life. It makes for good stories down the road.
But next time I would definitely wear closed-toed shoes.
