Local blogger Cheek reports on some music enthusiasts enjoying a concert earlier this week at the newly opened punk rock venue, the Triple Rock Social Club in Minneapolis:
The mosh pit was simmering with gender politics. One slippery shirtless mohawk boy was repeatedly thrust out before sliding back in. And me, I was plucked out by an odd nose-ring quasi-dyke who thereupon explained to me that "she wants only her sisters" in the pit.
Maggie, bravest of us all, was wearing sandals in the pit. Her toes were soaked in blood, and two of her toenails were black and purple. After it ended, she asked, "Are these shows always this short?". I was a wet slouching corpse; she strode forward confidently on hemorrhaged feet.
We spasmed and collapsed upon our own electric pulses, the band just gave us an excuse. It was a different vibe: the crowd has taken control, and Beth gave it over to us. I don't know what to make of it, though it is good to see that we, the audience, are taking back the revolution. This was particularly evident as several dykes took off their shirts, put their arms in the air, and laughed at the empty stage when the final encore ended.
Since there was no reports of compound fractures, synchronized on stage defecation, or audience members inspired to start clawing at the own faces with rage, I suspect this event was considered only a moderate artistic success by local scenester standards. Well kids, there's always next week. Break a leg.
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