photo by Joel Desimone
On August 31, I left the Biltmore with blood dripping from a gash in my eyebrow, some more seeping from my nose, and my right eye was swelling. I’m no stranger to rowdy shows, but this was by far one of the most hectic frenzies I’ve ever been a part of.
I was submerged in a sea of slam dancers, crab walkers, and furious fist-swingers who let their inner demons loose on the dancefloor as if the pounding riffs of “Stick Tight” were conducting an exorcism.
photo by Joel Desimone
There was no security guarding the stage at the Biltmore, and Terror encouraged their fans to go fucking wild. The stage was as much ours as it was theirs, and people were invited to jump the stage, twirl their sweat-drenched heads like a possessed, young Linda Blair, and dive back into their pit of comrades. The stage-diving was consistent throughout the entirety of the show, men and women of all shapes and sizes took their spotlight which, at times, could be horrifying. Nothing says “watch out” like a 230+ pound man front flipping towards you like a cannonball. A highlight was seeing an older gentleman, who literally walked around the show with a cane, get on stage with the help of some friendly moshers and dive off.
photo by Joel Desimone
It was a room of affectionate aggression, and within the twirling circle pits, accidental kicks to the head, and occasional fists to the face, there was a great sense of community. People were picked up if they fell down, space was made if somebody dropped something like their glasses or cellphone, and there was a total comfort in talking to strangers.
photo by Joel Desimone
Overall, for the faint of heart, this show was dangerous. If you don’t want to have a sore body the next day, it’s recommended you chill in the back, although doing so kind of takes away from the full experience of seeing TERROR live. Wear your battle scars with pride.