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The Savage Empathy of the Mosh Pit - The Atlantic

theatlantic.com · 1,772 words · saved by 1 readers

Breaking:The U.S. has attacked Venezuela and captured its leader, Nicolás Maduro. Read our full coverage. The frontmen are demagogues, the crowds are fanatical, and yet a rugged compassion abides “Open it the fuck back up!” the muscular Matt Honeycutt commands, mic gripped in his left fist, mustache prickling with indignation. He is balefully slash lovingly surveying the crowd and finding it a little sluggish and closely packed for his taste. “I need all my primitive, low-IQ motherfuckers!” Behind him, his band, Kublai Khan TX, rears and slumps into its next song. And the crowd lurches; the crowd flexes; the crowd feels its core, which is both a sucking emptiness and a site of repellent energy, like the space cleared by a fistfight. “Build myself in the dirt!” Honeycutt roars. “Sacred right, sacred curse.” “I’d hate to be in that pit right now,” someone says behind me. Hot autumn night has fallen over Worcester, Massachusetts, over the huge, baked asphalt lot behind the Palladium, the

Listen − 1.0 x + Seek 0:00 11:30 “Open it the fuck back up!” the muscular Matt Honeycutt commands, mic gripped in his left fist, mustache prickling with indignation. He is balefully slash lovingly surveying the crowd and finding it a little sluggish and closely packed for his taste. “I need all my primitive, low-IQ motherfuckers!” Behind him, his band, Kublai Khan TX, rears and slumps into its next song. And the crowd lurches; the crowd flexes; the crowd feels its core, which is both a sucking emptiness and a site of repellent energy, like the space cleared by a fistfight. “Build myself in the

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