My ears are ringing, my throat is scratchy, I can feel where the bruises are going to show up tomorrow, and I’m covered in other people’s sweat but oh my god was tonight’s show worth it.
It’s a punk band from England, though we’re mostly there for the lead singer who does solo stuff as well. He does heartwrenching songs about the life of a troubadour, anthems about friendship, anthems about the power of music. Songs about going to sea, songs about his hometown. The whole crowd sang along and moshed at the appropriate moments. I hopped into the pit a couple times; it’s sometimes nice to just thrash out against other people. If I got in too deep, Mexador (who hates me going into the pit, but loves it himself) would haul me out of the way. I've recently been missing going to ska shows, as I did all through undergrad, and leaping into the skank pits, but this helped scratch that itch.
And I’m sweaty and tired and he played some of my favorite songs and I feel young and brave and ready to take on the world. That's the beauty of punk, sometimes.