The volume and distortion of the guitar are making my teeth chatter, my eardrums are about to burst even with earplugs, a large man is barreling towards me, my movements are propelled by the mosh pit, the lead singer is growling chant-like lyrics while raising his hands towards the sky, yet, somehow, I feel incredibly safe. This is Boris, the Japanese sludge rock group famous for their experimental style and eccentric appearance. When I heard they were going on tour to the Twin Cities, I had no idea what to expect, but it’s safe to say that any expectations I could have had were completely surpassed.
In the days leading up to the concert, my friends and I wondered who the target audience was. With a relatively large cult following in the US (they have a little more than 100K monthly listeners on Spotify), there is no clear-cut age range for the Boris fandom. Boris has been releasing music since the 1990s – in fact, this tour was for the 25th anniversary of “Amplifier Worship,” their third album – and have increased in popularity ever since. We eagerly awaited to see who we’d find in the confines of Fine Line: Old skaters? Millennial thrash rock fiends? College-aged emos? Surprisingly, upon simply seeing the block-wrapping line, it became abundantly clear we were some of the youngest people there. And to be honest, I was kind of terrified. This was my first real “rock” show (don’t come at me in the comments, metalheads) and remembering stories from friends about broken noses, hearing damage and smelly concert-goers only amplified my anxiety. As a 5’5” young woman, and the only one in line not wearing all black, it was safe to say I entered the doors with a growing sense of dread.
However, from the opening act, it became apparent that this wasn’t the environment I expected at all; in fact, it would prove to be quite the opposite. Starcrawler opened for Boris, a rock band that leans more toward alternative than actual thrash metal, however, this didn’t stop many in the crowd from forming a mosh pit to some of the more energetic songs, and I quickly became very aware of my surroundings. At previous concerts, mosh pits were a nuisance and a danger to me, a slew of sixteen-year-old boys throwing out their limbs and crashing bowling ball style into the nearest person at any opportunity. People even moshed at the Panchiko concert I went to. Wrap it up, guys. They’re playing “Kicking Cars” and you’re moshing?
But the more I looked around, this one seemed different. Like some invisible button was pressed, an immediate formation took place, with larger people forming an outskirt around the pit, a literal wall of protection for those not moshing. Those in the pit were in contact with each other, but in a much more controlled way. There would be at least four pairs of hands to grab someone who fell down, the protectors shoved those who hit the sides back into the pit, and after the song was over, it immediately disbanded, even leading into ‘hell yeah, man!’s and hugs among those previously moshing. “Remember we love each other!” yelled Starcrawlers guitarist as a pit began to form, and the audience took it to heart. But clearly, not all were huge fans of Starcrawler – “Fine Line and the Curse of the Horrible Opener,” an audience member bemoaned next to us (I was inclined to agree – their music wasn’t really for me.)
The crowd’s energy seemed to nearly double as Boris began to take the stage, packing us like sardines into the tiny venue. The first chords to ring out were nearly deafening, shredded by the smallest middle-aged woman I’ve ever seen (Wata is truly an incredible guitarist, she had about 30 pedals at her feet!). The music was exactly what I wanted, incredibly long and loud experimental rock: they played eight songs (“Huge”, “Ganbou Ki”, “Hama”, “Scar Box”, “Mass Mercury”, “Kuruimizu”, “Vomitself” and “Loveless”) over an hour and a half.
Boris was still experimenting with sound while on stage. There was a fifteen-minute interval where the lead singer, Takeshi, clanged cymbals together and waved them around the stage, naturally reverberating the sound as the crowd stood still and silent. Distortion was added and taken away, the famous double guitar (seen on the “Akuma no Uta” album cover!) was brought out where notes crescendoed into a wall of sound and bass shook the floor. It was unlike anything I’ve ever heard before.
Still, I marveled the most at how genuinely kind the audience was in contrast to the harsh music. Someone lost their keys in the pit in the middle of a song, and it immediately cleared as one person held up the keys and yelled around for anyone who lost them. While my friend was in the pit and lost his shoe, three people formed a wall around him to allow him to slip it back on. It was a community unlike anything I’ve ever seen, united by the music and the desire to feed off of each other’s energy. As more and more older generations complain about Gen Z lacking concert etiquette, for me, it’s been easy to see how true this is. At more Gen Z-oriented concerts (TV Girl was by far the worst), it’s claustrophobic and uncomfortable; everyone is pushing and shoving, and there’s very little concern for safety. But at Boris, I felt true compassion from everyone there. I knew if I somehow got pushed or shoved more than I could handle, there’d be people there to take care of me. It was honestly one of the most fun concert experiences I’ve ever had, not just because of the music.
So, although this experience will have negative effects on my bank account (as it will encourage me to go to even more concerts!), it was such a positive environment. For a few hours, I got to be in a community I had never been in before, a community that is brought together by a love of rock and each other.
