Cannibal Corpse might not seem like a show to take a kid to, but that didn’t stop people from doing it. Go try telling those homegrown Florida boys that they can’t see their hometown heroes play at home. Some might have brought the kid as a rite of passage, but you saw a tiny limp body dragged out the pit.
Gatecreeper started the debauchery. The crowd got rowdy. Stand by the massive pole for safety.
Of course, there’s no barricades at a show like this, so you have to bring a friend just for protection. Anchor him to one side of you to try to prevent any impact from shattering the camera and yourself. It’s time to start practicing those martial art techniques, guiding incoming body weight with deflection.
Try to hold the camera steady. People drench past you. Here comes another slamming body; get ready.
From the minute the music started, the crowd was more than ready to move into a massive mosh. Dripping sweat doesn’t take long to form on bodies, and people slime across you with a snail trail. Getting close to the stage allows others to take the most impact, but they push into you *squash.*
People tight like bees at honeycomb. They want to sting shit. Prepare to drag bodies to the catacomb.
Outside, under the dark cloak of night, precipitation gathers, darkening the sky, making it cloudy. Droplets of rain fall like the tears and heavy sweat of people as the open floor becomes the menagerie. The music starts, body parts fly, and it might be someone’s foot in your face as a way to say howdy.
Get surrounded like a continental shelf. Yet, there’s a disconnection. Elbows, knees: protect yourself.
A wave of energy incited the crowd as the next band took the stage; the crowd went bonkers cuckoo. People become flying objects as people flip off of the stage, and they don’t care if you’re unready. Divers jump even when you think they’d know better, making Power Trip an unexpected breakthrough.
Seemingly nobody watched the stage. Jump without looking into a pole. Doing flips was all the rage.
Feel so many different pieces of body parts next to you that you could be wrapped in a spring roll. Dallas boys on stage, bringing that cowboy rowdiness to FL, were surely a band that could engage. Something about their music inspired the rage that made all the people seemed to lose all self-control.
Get pissed enough to not care about jail. Vent bottled up hogwash. Hopefully, someone will bail.
By the time Cannibal Corpse takes the stage, things get a little more under control on lock down. There’s no more people jumping off of the stage, no more guys landing on the kids in the crowd. There’s a video of a lifeless kid being pulled out of the pit and onto the stage that will make a frown.
It’s a hometown show. Their friends brought their kids. Nobody wants a kid taking full force elbow.
Let alone a shoe to the face, as I had the pleasure of, which sent my glasses flying off of my face. Attempting to look on the ground amidst people moshing is not exactly an easy task to say the least. Luckily, the glasses were found many feet away, amazingly uncrushed, which was like a winning ace.
Put the glasses away. Hurry up and take as many pictures as possible. Put the camera up, so it’s okay.
Hold on tight, as drunk people have gotten a little too into the mosh, and there’s always those few. Those are the ones that keep trying to start a mosh where there’s not one; the families don’t want it. Still, they slosh around, kicking and elbowing into the small fries cowering, as they didn’t have a clue.
Those ones piss you off. They turn passiveness into aggressiveness. You finally go off like a molotov.
It doesn’t matter how hard you hit, they keep coming back, so you are ready to let them be plowed. There’s trying to be nice, having a friendly mosh, then there’s the bitch switch set for a touchdown. Don’t hold back, and let them have it with an epic explosion that is like an exploding mushroom cloud.
You have the will to beast. You’re ready to pounce and chase. This punk is going to be your feast.
Ping pongs back again, bouncing off someone else back to you, so you play football and leave skids. Drunkard starts looking woozy, like one too many spins while riding the nonstop ride of Calypso. Growing inside is that festering rage that makes you pissed, wanting this punk to see only eyelids.
Grind your teeth until they grit. This guy’s got no clue. You’re ready to pulverize him, you admit.
Your friend looks over you and notices that you’re more than ready to angrily launch mission impossible. Tapping on your arm, he tries to mumble something to you, and you’re not sure what he’s trying to say. He motions, pointing away from the mosh pit, towards the bar, as he knows that you are explosible.
Perhaps it’s time to split. It’s time; he knew. He wants to prevent any crimes you’re ready to commit.
Where else is a better place to vent out the frustrations of whatever it is that’s your oppressiveness? The show had the best mosh pit in Florida of 2017 that was more infectious than the whooping cough. Getting out that anger, having a good time, even if you’re bruised up the next day is impressiveness.