Quicksand

Quicksand

Like quicksand it rapidly grows, spreading to different corners getting messier as its surface area increases. A slosh of bodies mix, a stench of beer and sweat engulfs the area while cigarette smoke creates a foggy haze. Heat radiates out of the epicenter and the stench intensifies.

As each minute passes more bodies are swallowed, dragged in effortlessly as they struggle to maintain balance and are powerless to the moshpit's suction power and strength. Heads bang, bodies smash, backs collide as limps tangle and digits tumble on each other. The world spins in motion creating a washing machine effect as more bodies tumble and spin, getting more soaked as each revolution is completed.

As confusion sets in, the guitarist still strokes his chords and yells rhyming lyrics through the microphone, pumping our brains with all sorts of indie and ska tunes. Our feet lose control as we move to the ever hanging beat. Some call it dancing; others simply call it muckin’ about. Each song pumps more energy into our veins and increases the levels of adrenaline running through our sweaty bodies.

The brief pauses only serve as a pit stop to refuel our engines and find our place on the grid. More chords are struck and drums are beat, and more bodies fly in the quicksand, gaining velocity with each beat and verse. The moshpit spares no victims, as beer cans serve as fountain bases showering everyone in warm, sticky lager. Our bodies are coated in a layer of thick glue and our surviving clothes stick themselves to our backs.

The rifffs, dolls for idols and no snow also are at fault. One amazing song after the other, maintaining a unique vibe that can only be enjoyed by a select few. Despite being surrounded by strangers one is not alone as each soul is tuned into the same wave and each brain is in sync with the beat and music created by the masters on stage. And what masters, we idolize them for one evening wishing each song would never end and the night can last forever.

The rain of beer is ever continuous and re hydrates us in every ironic way possible. The group is in harmony, and any fallen soldier is quickly hoisted back to his feet to carry on his round of spinning and charging. Each cell is re charged after each wave and in this world is every man to himself. Survival of the fittest at its best, the power of local indie music.