When Converge were on stage setting up before their set, tuning their instruments, the level of nervousness in the audience was palpable. This music incites a physical reaction, it compels movement, it forces chaos. It’s dangerous, in the literal sense of the word. And as the guitarists tuned up, the singer paced, stalked, and slunk around the edges of the stage like a caged animal. It was almost like he was tuning himself to explode when the first note was struck, and when it finally was he did, and Whelan’s erupted into a maelstrom of physicality.
It was incredible. This band exudes kinetic energy, they create energy, their musical assault is just so accomplished, so deep, so vicious, the frenzy they whip audiences into is unbelievable. Tonight was no different. You could divide the audience into two parts, those who threw themselves into the melee in the middle of the crowd with reckless abandon, and those who clung to the outskirts trying to avoid a boot to the face. I was in the former. I was compelled, the music compelled me. This is one of Metal’s most powerful attributes, when it’s so good that it incites the audience to mirror the force of the music, when it leaves them no choice. That’s what moshing is, it’s mirroring, communing, an attempt to fully engage with what the band are creating. And damn, this mosh pit was fucking intense.
Well, it was for the first half of the show. The unrelenting mayhem tailed off a little in the slightly more mellow second half with something of a lightening in tone, thanks in part to the umpteenth appearance up on stage of Dublin’s own Heavy Metal Methuselah a.k.a. the septuagenarian sound guy from Fibber’s (just kidding, he’s probably only 60 tops). Dude seemed to be on some heavy acid from the way he skittered around the floor on his hands and feet, his eyes shining with terror, when he got dropped during his 11th crowd surf attempt and seemed to momentarily completely forget where he was. Back up on his feet in a jif though and into the fray once more, so obviously an experienced psychonaut.
On the topic of crowd-surfing, there was a lot of it. And that’s fine. It’s cool. And once you get a boot to the back of the head once you’ll always keep a small lookout and be ready to catch a surfer when he comes. However, etiquette needs to be followed. Attention weedy kid in the denim jacket with the Bathory patch- you go up to the stage and then jump off onto the crowd, you don’t get your two friends to try and boost you up from the back. Even if they were strong enough to lift you, which they clearly aren’t, you have no momentum and no support and are going nowhere. This is why you were dropped directly on your skull. And maybe that was why you thought it would be a good idea to try the exact same thing nine more times before you finally clued in.
Also deserving of a spotlight was the 7 foot tall albino with straw-like waist-length hair who thought it was a great idea to tip backwards falling-tree style directly on to a burgeoning circle-pit, way to ruin it dumb-ass. Despite any blips though this show was ferocious. Converge’s sound is a brilliant mixture of sophisticated and complex structures combined with gut-churning impact and raw ferocity, it simultaneously crushes you and stokes your fire. The energy was electric, it’s wrenched out of you. It was completely exhausting physically and mentally. I was drenched in beer and got punched in the stomach in the violence of the mosh pit, and it felt totally appropriate. My pants were sodden with sweat (mostly my own) and my voice was hoarse. Coming out of the venue I felt completely drunk, even though I hadn’t touched a drop that night. It was the best metal gig of the year.
.
Marcus O’Sullivan
