Our Holy Ritual

First, please consult Jeph Jacques for a few seconds of pre-reading.

There is a ritual I know of that takes place in the weeks preceding an anticipated gig. It is not consciously exercised nor is it established in music discourse, but nonetheless it is present.

I attended my first gig when I was fifteen. It was Shihad, then under the name Pacifier, with Grinspoon and Ejector at the James Cabaret. Since then the venue has become holy turf for me. It was the first time I ever experienced the cold-huddle of smokers outside, the fashionably-late start, the moshers vs. the dancers, and of course it was the first time I got to see experienced gig-goers in action.

Despite common assumption, the mana of the gig-goer is not just some sort of bullshit music cred. Oh no. For there is a gig etiquette floating around a concert like cigarette smoke. It is what seperates the amateurs from the elites. But, happily, it makes the amateurs want to be elites. I for one attended this particular gig with my brother, nine years my senior, who knew and adored Shihad probably more than I ever will. I had a role model, someone to watch, someone to want to be like amongst the the gloomy edges of the mosh pit. As a fifteen year old I got a the best introduction to live music: an example of something to aspire to.

Gigs take experience. You must know when to talk, when to shut up, when to be polite, when you can thrash about, and all while protecting and ensuring the enjoyment of those around you. There have been so many times when I've had to explain to people both 'it's a fucking rock gig, jump around!' and 'it's a fucking rock gig, chill out!'. For example, while I watched Muse amongst an incredibly tight and rowdy audience at the 2007 Big Day Out, the gentleman directly behind me got quite aggresive when I kept standing on his feet. We know the cliche if you can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen. If you love music enough to want to stand in the front or middle during a gig, then please be prepared to be pushed around by the chain-reactive movements of the crowd. Otherwise, everyone will hate you more than that over-talkative douchebag in your media 201 lecture.

The walk to the venue can be a pilgrimage. The gig can be a holy ritual. The bruises, strains, and smell afterwards, the evidence of human dedication and sacrifice for what one believes in. I believe this to be the sign of an experienced gig-goer: someone who doesn't give a shit about coming out of the crowd as beautiful looking as when they went in. Kia ora to you my good fellow.

But there is one very cool element I thought about on the bus home tonight: the pre-show preparation. The subconscious ritual I referred to earlier. There are many of us - including a very large proportion of my friends - who express a dedication to a band by making themselves worthy before entering the holy temple of the San Francisco Bathhouse. Daily, they turn to their stereo, fall to their knees and commit themselves to repeat listenings of Explosions in the Sky, Trail of Dead, Metronomy, and recently Handsome Furs. The lyrics must be known so we can mouth them in the moments of intense emotion. Our library must be extended so we are familiar with the bands earlier or more recent albums. The pressure around this aspect of the live experience, I find, is absurd. In the same respect, there is a feeling of disappointment - the kind you feel when you hand in a late essay - at yourself when you go to a gig unprepared. I know I sometimes feel unworthy, but happily it is an isolated emotion than can not be projected onto others in the audience. You alone have your fathers voice in your head saying 'well, now this was your responsibility, so you'll have to organise yourself better in the future'.

Sometimes I feel that Radiohead sells millions upon millions of CDs and holds the 'most listens' spot on last.fm because a world of adoring fans are preparing themselves for the day the Mona Lisa of alternative music finally arrives in their town.

The above are by no means universal attributes to all of those who attend gigs and love music. People come in all shapes and sizes and express their love of music in many different ways. Regardless, I believe what I say about the ritualistic prepartion and participation of gigs.

And I think I kinda like it.