The Magic of a Hardcore Show

It already takes a specific kind of person to go to a live show. Live music isn’t a casual event for most people. It’s often expensive, it involves a commute, waiting in long lines, it often requires standing in place for hours at a time while smothered by hundreds of strangers all sipping their $20 beers. It, on paper, isn’t exactly a “good time” that I’d recommend to someone I just met.

Let’s take that calculation and add in the fact that it’s a hardcore show. Now you have all the above, plus a band screeching at you incoherently over blistering drums while some 17-year-old kid is trying to murder you with fake karate in the middle of the lamest gladiatorial circle you’ve ever seen. This isn’t exactly an experience which sells itself to normal, well-adjusted (sane) people. And if I tried to convince someone of this on the street, they’d look at me like I was in need of some very grippy socks.

Hardcore (and often Metal) shows fill a social void that is, if not ignored, outright cast aside as unnecessary. Call it bias or call it expertise, but there is a reason why there is such an overlap in martial arts practitioners and extreme music listeners. They provide a constructive outlet to humanity’s more ugly inclinations. As someone who participates in both, I can tell you that there is something about indulging in our chaotic and violent natures in a controlled and relatively safe environment that cannot be easily replaced or replicated. I can also tell you that it takes a lot less work to go to a hardcore show.

When you go to one of these shows, you’ve consented to, at the very least, watching grown ass adults run into each other like drunken bumper cars – and very probably get into fake fist-fights which would make Bruce Lee cover his face in shame. Now, you’re not obligated whatsoever to participate in these shenanigans, but it does set the scene.

Unlike going to the movies, or cocktail parties, or enjoying some pints while watching the game, hardcore shows are about discarding all pretense in favor of a more primal and visceral experience. Not too dissimilar to going to a theme park and hitting the thrill rides, these shows exist for those who want to safely indulge in intense, kinetic energy for a brief moment in time - letting “the zoomies” out, so-to-speak.

The music is loud. It’s fast. The vocalist is probably not even saying real words at this point. All you hear are guitars ripping like chainsaws, drums pounding like your impending hangover, and inhuman screeches reminiscent of your favorite horror movie. For three hours of your life you are allowed and encouraged to behave like a stupid animal. In a room surrounded by hundreds of your closest strangers, you collectively have the social understanding that everyone is allowed to go apeshit and still go home in one piece. If people fall, you pick them back up. If someone gets too rowdy, you correct them. This begets a sense of trust and community that is sorely lacking in modern times. Where else can you trust a room full of strangers to launch you across a sea of hands, carrying you across a rhythmic wave to the beat of unbridled anger, only to be let down gently into the arms of a burly 250lb man, sending you on your way back to the bar for another round?

This is an experience that we don’t often get access to in our day-to-day lives - especially for those who work “white collar” jobs, updating spreadsheets and sending emails to entitled and ungrateful superiors. The catharsis available to us through rough and ugly music allows us to tap into an aggression that we all feel but are unable to express in a socially acceptable way. Sure, it may be intimidating, but it is also honest. It’s pure. It’s freeing. And when it’s all said and done at the end of the night, with your ears ringing and muscles aching, you’ll leave more at peace than when you went in. That’s the magic.

You can also find this and other great articles here: Hardcore Shows Fill the Social Void | 305HxC