Mosh Pits and Masterpieces

Contrary to popular belief, I did not get a kick out of getting kicked in the head.

I was 17 when I experienced my first mosh pit. Prior to that moment, I had only been exposed to the concept on TV, where it was often glorified with exciting imagery, a lively/responsible crowd, and a healthy dose of crowd-surfing. Going by the theory that

, I was convinced that mosh pits would be fun. In the right circumstance, I imagine they could be. If I were to attend a concert that just happened to be filmed – shall we say

? – with a picture-perfect mosh pit, I may very well enjoy being thrown into the center of it. But that is not the reality of the average moshing experience. When a mosh pit breaks out, mosh-seekers rush the stage, pushing everyone in their path to the front. If the venue is too small, you'll end up in the pit whether you like it or not. That is exactly what happened during my first and only Eve 6 show. The band was touring to promote its second album,

, which I was a huge fan of at the time. I drove more than two hours to Grand Rapids, MI, anticipating a wonderful show. But after getting kicked in the head three times, and after struggling to dodge a 350-pound ox as he fell on the crowd, I can't say I enjoyed the performance. In fact, I have only one positive memory from the entire night: to stop the crowd from chanting the words to “Promise,” lead singer Max Collins started singing the Wheatus one-hit wonder “Teenage Dirtbag.” After that, the crowd went silent. For some, this (a mosh pit) would be enough. For others, the concert is more about singing at the top of their lungs as the man or woman on stage points the mic to the audience. Still others wish to be a part of the performance through unique experiences, whether they are purely visceral, musical, or some other form altogether. But for me, it has never been about any of that. Sure, I sang along with Jimmy Eat World. I jumped up and down with Motion City Soundtrack. I cheered in awe as Blink-182 concluded one of its shows with pyrotechnics, confetti and other visual treats during the performance of “Roller Coaster.” These are experiences, no matter how trivial, that I am not likely to forget. They, however, cannot compare to the experience of being completely immersed in the music to the point where you almost forget where you are. Immersed to the point where you are taken to another time and place entirely. Immersed to the point where you are almost brought to tears, either because of the emotional impact of the music, the lyrics, or both. I first had this experience in 2005 while attending the More Friends: Music from Final Fantasy concert in Los Angeles. If you don't play video games, this might sound silly. But if you are at all familiar with the work of composer Nobuo Uematsu, then you know that he is the John Williams or Michael Giacchino of the video game world. His compositions helped define the Final Fantasy franchise, which has gone on to sell more than 50 million games worldwide. He is a masterful composer with several masterpieces under his belt, including “One Winged Angel.” If I had been an average listener without any prior experience with the Final Fantasy franchise, I imagine that the concert would have been rich, immersive, and entirely memorable. But to be there as a fan, someone who not only grew up with the games but cherished them (and often played through them just for the music), More Friends was beautiful, inspiring, and undeniably moving. The second time I had this experience – or rather, a different experience that was equally memorable and just as powerful – was in 2010 during a Switchfoot performance in Royal Oak, MI. When the band came out on stage, I didn't rush to shake lead singer Jon Foreman's hand. I could have; everyone else did. But that wasn't why I was there. I didn't buy a ticket to push and shove my way to the front of the stage. I wasn't there to sing as loud as the band. I

there because I genuinely wanted to hear the band perform live, with expectations somewhere in between “I think it will be a good show” and “I hope it doesn't suck.” And then it began. Switchfoot opened with “Needle and Haystack Life,” and from the moment the music started playing, I was breathless. It wasn't just the fact that the band played

song I wanted (even some that were old and obscure). It was mostly Foreman's vocals, which far exceeded my expectations, and the band's impeccable way of seamlessly blending songs together with unique and inspired interludes. While these two concert experiences are vastly different from each other, they have set my benchmark for live performances. But I will admit that when it comes to orchestral performances, More Friends has an unfair advantage. It's not that the Final Fantasy games have my

music, but their songs hold the greatest meaning. Not even a concert for Zelda or the TV series Lost could compare. (Though I'm betting that Michael Giacchino could put together a set with music from Lost, Up, Ratatouille, Partly Cloudy, and Medal of Honor that would blow More Friends out of the water.)