Tales From The Pit: Why I Have Trust Issues
To begin I need to give you a small lesson in New York geography and vernacular and briefly discuss the concept of a home venue. Suffolk is the most eastern county in New York it is one of two counties on what you would consider Long Island. Brooklyn and Queens are on the island but are considered New York City not Long Island. Yes, it is ON Long Island not IN Long Island, one does not live in an island unless they own a bunker. If you say “I’m going into the city” that means you’re going to Manhattan, if you’re going to the other boroughs you say them by name. That’s all you need to know about New York for now.
If, like me, one were to live in Suffolk County and wanted to go to a concert in the punk/hardcore/metal scenes you could either take a train into the city and go to one of the numerous venues therein or drive to one of three main places: the Paramount in Huntington, The Amityville Music Hall, or Revolution Bar and Music Hall both in Amityville (yes, that one). Once I was able to drive a car, these became the preferred options. Revolution was the most frequented venue by Jax and I. I will write a long-form retrospective about it because it was permanently closed during covid and I miss it dearly. What is a home venue? It is the place where you go to the most shows, feel the most comfortable, are most familiar with the nooks and crannies, where you can remember all the stickers on the bathroom walls. Revolution was where I felt at home, where I felt the most safe.
June 2nd, 2019, I went to see the Eternal Nightmares Tour headlined by Chelsea Grin with a group of friends. I was happy, I was coming home. I had been away at college and hadn’t been able to go to a show since winter break so my excitement was palpable. We had brought a couple of friends who hadn’t been to a heavy show before and we were excited to let them into our little community and show them how much fun something that appears scary from the outside could be. It was fun, at first. I enjoyed banging my head along with Traitors playing songs from the stellar Anger Issues and their, at the time, newly released album Repent. I didn’t have particular emotional connections to the next couple of bands before Chelsea Grin went on. I decided to stand off the left side of the crowd on the edge of the circle that opens up at these kinds of shows, content to nod along and sway to the music. Life had other plans.
Looking back now, if I had to do it differently, I don’t know if I would’ve stood so close to the pole. I’d like to say I would’ve still stood there and not run away from it. I would at least consider it, but I was young I didn’t consider my proximity to the pole, none of us do at that age. Wood boards wrapped perpendicularly around the pole at roughly waist height providing a place to lay your phone or drinks, a table I suppose one would call it. I knew that people could stand on tables and I knew that people sometimes leaped from tables, how naive I was to assume that the same wouldn’t happen with this table. A young man did just that, before a breakdown, he got up onto the table and timed it just so that when the breakdown hit he would be flying through the air doing a front-flip and landing onto the assembled masses below, of which I was one.
I’ve spoken about this before but it bears repeating, we who go to gigs and listen to the same music are a community, a community that supports each other and cares for one another as if they were our own. I caught him, of course, I caught him. It was my responsibility, he put his body in my hands and I was going to protect my brother the best I could. He landed cheeks-first on my shoulder so I was able to easily arrest his descent and lower him safely to the ground in front of me on his feet in one fluid motion. I waited. Standard protocol for such an interaction usually calls for a thank you, a smile and nod, and a hug. I readied myself for the embrace as I began to rise from my hunched-over state. No hug was forthcoming, instead, he took advantage of my vulnerability, the same vulnerability he had trusted me with mere seconds ago. With his right hand, he grabbed the left sleeve of my Hawthorne Heights T-shirt and pulled me toward him, ripping the sleeve. With his left hand, he delivered a punch directly to my exposed jaw as I did not have time to brace myself or get my hands up. He turned then, running to return to the pit to continue flailing his arms around like an idiot with his cohorts while I stood there dumbfounded and in pain.
The pain was more emotional than it was physical though I did feel it while chewing for the next couple of days. I felt betrayed, I felt like Tyrian Lannister on trial, “I saved you!” How could one be so cruel? The cruelty of the punch was nothing compared to the cruelty of not showing gratitude. You never think something like this will happen to you at home. I was surrounded by peers and friends in the place that I came to most often to be myself and express my love for music. I thought in this of all places I could allow myself to trust another human being, one who was just like me in thinking Chelsea Grin had bangers. Though I can remember that moment as clearly as if it had just happened, I don’t remember the rest of the show. Summer passed and I did not have occasion to return to Revolution. Eventually, I had to go back to school, and not long after Revolution was no more. That was the last time I was there. The last time I was able to feel that special kind of excitement and comfort walking through a venue’s doors. I don’t have any resolution or closure here because I was never able to have one myself. But I will leave you with one message to remember.
Always consider your proximity to the pole.
