Quite Human

We missed Misyrion entirely - (play on words?)

By the time we got into the venue, grabbed a pair of ear plugs from the bar, and made our way toward the floor, Eternal was getting ready for their set. It felt good to be at a slightly bigger show again. Touring bands from the U.S. instead of mostly local acts. A denser room. More anticipation in the crowd. More pressure in the air before anything had even fully started.

But like most metal shows, the room still needed warming up.

That process is always interesting to watch because crowd energy is rarely spontaneous. It’s negotiated into existence. The band, especially the frontman, acts almost like a social conductor trying to pull people out of themselves and into something collective.

At first, most prompts were ignored.

Calls for movement got partial reactions at best. People nodded along. A few shuffled their feet. Most stayed planted exactly where they were, arms crossed, waiting for permission to fully engage.

But the groundwork was being laid anyway.

Maybe it was the repetition of those prompts. Maybe it was familiarity once the headliner Gatecreeper started playing songs more people recognized. Maybe crowds just need time to remember they’re allowed to let go in front of strangers.

Whatever the mechanism was, the room eventually tipped.

Standing near the front as things escalated revealed something strangely beautiful.

It always starts with a few people.

A couple runners circling the open space. Someone bouncing lightly off the perimeter of the forming pit. A playful shove into the shoulder of someone standing too still near the edge. That person stumbles forward into the row ahead of them.

Then suddenly the entire thing comes alive.

Everyone — genuinely everyone — starts smiling.

People begin pushing each other into the mass around them while laughing through it. Bodies colliding. Headbanging. Jumping. Sweat and movement replacing whatever version of themselves they carried into work earlier that day.

And underneath all the apparent chaos sits an almost invisible layer of collective awareness.

Every person is monitoring the people around them.

When someone loses balance, another body counters the fall automatically. If someone actually hits the ground, hands appear immediately to pull them back upright before the crowd can close over them.

The contact is physical, but it isn’t blind.

Everyone is paying attention.

That’s the contradiction that keeps reappearing in these environments:high aggression paired with high awareness.

From the outside, it looks dangerous.

From the inside, it feels strangely cooperative.

The details around the edges made it even better.

Foam swords from the earlier bands floated around the venue while occasional fencing matches broke out during songs. Full theatrical battles between strangers who would end up laughing and hugging afterward like old friends reunited after war.

The pit itself had no obvious demographic boundaries.

Skinny young girls throwing themselves into the fat old guys laughing as they bounce around in the crowd. Hardcore kids. Metalheads. First timers. Veterans. Everyone folding into the same rotating organism for a few minutes at a time.

No one was forced into it.

No one was pressured.

The invitation existed, but participation remained voluntary.

That matters.

Because so much of modern social life now feels heavily managed and emotionally restrained. Most people spend their days filtering themselves through professional expectations, screens, traffic, routines, and quiet social rules about “appropriate” behavior.

Then on a Tuesday night in a dark room somewhere, complete strangers begin shoving each other in circles to death metal while taking special care no one gets hurt. It’s the contrast that I love. The dichotomy. These elements that should be mutually exclusive, but they embrace each other to create something beautiful.

And everyone leaves happier.

That feels important.

Not because metal “solves” anything.

But because it temporarily creates an environment where participation overrides performance.

You are allowed to be physical.Allowed to laugh loudly.Allowed to collide with people.Allowed to become part of something larger than your isolated daily identity.

By the end of the night I was exhausted but energized at the same time. That strange post-show feeling where your body knows it should be tired but your nervous system is still lit up from shared intensity.

Walking back to the car, I kept talking about how much fun the night had been.

Amy agreed.

“I quite liked it too.”

Which, in Canadian terms, is nothing short of a spiritual revelation.