As I Lay Dying: music to mosh by

Bloody axes scattered the hallways at my day job last week. Layoffs were going down. Over 70 people were canned. Colleagues who’d spent over a decade at the joint were cut off without warning. For some reason, I was spared…for now. I’m nervously waiting for the thud of an axe in my back. The e-mail from HR asking for a brief interview. The old pink slip in the locker letting me know that I’ve been cut. “You simply don’t throw with the same heat on the fastball anymore.” The reason for the layoffs: shitty post-Covid economy. The after-effects of the pandy are being felt. What better time to catch local metal act As I Lay Dying at Observatory North Park during yet another season of death? But with every death comes rebirth, as they say.

We were posted up at a table inside Black Plague, the fatally themed taproom connected to the Observatory. My brother-in-law Franky was already heavily buzzed as he switched his sneakers from expensive Jordans to pit-friendly Vans. “Are you gonna mosh tonight?” I asked him.

“Are you?” he clapped back. I told him I would if he did. We clinked our glasses together and pledged to put ourselves in the As I Lay Dying pit. Our witness: a prop skeleton laying in a coffin beneath a glass tabletop. “Bloodgood’s already in there,” Franky said as we filed ourselves in line to enter. “He wants to be in the front to get a good spot to record.” Bloodgood’s the eye behind the local music TikTok channel “Bleed for the Scene.” He’s also Franky’s co-worker inside the walls of the Naval hospital and wears one hell of a model American mustache.

I stood behind Bloodgood as Entheos took the stage, watching him record the set with his iPhone. Led by female vocalist Chaney Crabb, the progressive metal group out of Santa Cruz were crushing it. But Franky was a drunk, lost soul at that point. He could have been at the bar, in the pit, in the bathroom, or sleeping under somebody’s car. “He’ll be fine,” I told Bloodgood. Me, I remained clear from the pit and watched from the outside to see if Franky might be in there swinging.

Before Chelsea Grin’s set, I went to the bar for my second PBR. It was that kind of night. Pinching pennies just in case my head was guillotined at work on Monday. Then Chelsea Grin stepped up and lit the shit. I still couldn’t lay eyes on Franky. I scanned the pit from the front row. Where the fuck was the dude?

Between the Chelsea Grin set and As I Lay Dying, a young guy standing next to me asked me if I was going to chug my beer. Confused, I asked, “Why?” He wasn’t sure what to say. A look of mild embarrassment washed over his face. He told me it was his first concert. He was a 23-year-old farmer from Fresno. “You’re going to the pit!” I demanded. He resisted. “It’s your first concert; you’re definitely going to the pit!” I said again. “I’ll go with you.” He was eventually forced to agree.

During AILD’s first song, the pit had bled into all the surrounding areas. The kid from Fresno yelled out, “The pit came to us!” I pushed him into the heart of it, then jumped in myself. He got swallowed up. I never saw him again after that, but he looked happy as he was sucked into the swarm. The pit’s floor was sloped at an angle. It was slick from sweat and spilled beer. Comically, moshers slipped and fell on their asses like they would on banana peels. As I skipped around trying to keep my own footing, I suddenly felt a fist crack me in the face. Then took a blow to the ear from the same person’s elbow. What the hell, bro. After shaking it off, I searched for the culprit to give a “friendly” shove in return. I realized then that it was fuckin’ Franky. He had no idea he was punishing my face as he swung his arms wildly. I then slipped, scraped a knee, and watched as he got away.

When AILD finished their encore, I found Franky and asked him if he knew he’d battered me. He remained oblivious. I probably deserved the unintentional beating for throwing that friendly kid into the pit. No matter; we were still standing.