Heartagrams: “ I did a bad, bad thing….”

by Andrea Costanzo aka @TheJunkenstein

Well, ignoring my recently saddened financial situation, lately I decided to act like an irresponsible 18 year old and buy a ticket for a big, costly concert. In this case, it’s the italian “One date only” (as it seems, a lot of recent shows are, in Italy) stop of The Big Four, namely Metallica, Slayer, Megadeth and Anthrax. So not only its a show, its a Metal Show.

I’ve treated myself to a bunch of musical happenings in the past, maybe more than what i can afford. Seen The Rolling Stones jam in an auditorium with botched sounds, Keith Richards stammering with maybe the last legal public cigarette of that age. Watched Bruce Springsteen replay his classic tunes for the millionth time while still acting like a jacked up teen in front of an audience that mixed youngsters with old crotchety dudes that still wanted to Rock before the night fell down, and their dayjob ate their soul.

Still, Metalheads know that a Metal Show, especially one where you’re seeing a band that helped you grow up sane and balanced, has the force of a shamanic ritual. Metallica fit the description pretty well. Still everyone has its own guardian set of guitar slingers. Contrary to the public clichée, most of metal audiences are lovely, nice hearted and safe individuals. Yes Moshpit can be harsh, if you’re dealing with elbowing amateurs, but in general they’ll be like a family of caring teddy bears to you, whether you’re a newbie or a timid girl, or a seasoned professional.

They are friendly and chatty. Sometimes you just need to have a shirt they like to start a conversation. They’ll offer you beers, hug you and treat you as a brother, no matter where you’re from. Their family is even warmer than a real one. I never felt alone at a Metal Show. It was more than music, it was a gathering of equals.

Lately, things have gotten harsher. The new generation is more aggressive, drunker and meaner. They don’t know how to react, they start fights, they get obnoxious. Although I’m pretty sure that the seasoned forty year old metal pro, with an old leather jacked with crusty hand made logos, a balding head of hair and a toddler with tiny Slayer pyjamas will put those whippersnappers in their place.

I’ll meet you there dad. Devil Horns.

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