To Mosh or Not to Mosh – a gigging guide from a girl.

I go to a lot of gigs—at least compared to most of my friends—in Brighton, where I live, and in London. A lot of them are rock or post-punk. Some hip hop, some dance, some at festivals.  Some highlights this year for me have been Jamie XX at Primavera Sound and TRAAMS at The Great Escape. Most of the time, I love it, I don’t care too much about waiting in line for the coat check or the £9 pints at Brixton Academy, because it is always worth it. However, there is just one element of gigging I still can’t get my head around, and that is moshing. 

Oxford Languages defines moshing as ‘Dancing to rock music in a violent manner involving jumping up and down and deliberately colliding with other dancers.’ Although not always rock—and some might argue that violence is never intended—this is a pretty accurate definition in my view. The crowd in a mosh pit, like the music, is angry. It’s carnal and kinetic. People (only men) have told me how they feel in a mosh pit. Like they can be completely themselves without judgment, it’s beautiful in a way, seeing people feel as though they can be free, expressing themselves among like-minded people. It’s sweaty and sticky, but nobody cares; everybody loves the artist, it’s joyous. 

I am a woman in my twenties and I stand at six feet tall, making me ironically taller than many people in the mosh pit. I’ve had a few people insult me for it because I restrict their view, as if I can do anything about it. A lot of the time, I loom over and watch the pit. Every time I see the euphoric, animalistic dancing, I want to be a part of it. The artist wants me to be a part of it. Sometimes I go in and have a brilliant time, jumping in sync in the school of malodorous fans. But, more often than not, I spend my time standing slightly before the pit, staring at it, assessing its safety. It’s hard to think of a mosh pit I have seen where I have seen more than one woman in it. Most of them have none. Some rare ones have one or two. A lot of the time, when I look at it, I see a lot of men releasing their wrath, and I think it’s best not to be present for that.

When I do go in, it’s sometimes because it’s actually safer than standing in a crowd that pushes you back and forth, giving you seasickness. I recall seeing Snooper at Dust in Brighton, who played relentlessly for twenty minutes. Maybe it was the few beers I had beforehand, but I don’t remember much of that mosh experience at all. They played the same 20 minutes again, and I watched from the bar at the back; this memory is sharp. 

I recently saw Amyl and the Sniffers at Finsbury Park, another highlight from this year. I spontaneously went into the pit for this one with my younger sister when ‘Knifey’ played, an excellent track about women wanting to feel safe walking home at night. I love and relate to this song, and I had been looking forward to hearing it since I knew I was going. I screamed my lungs out with rage, and I even shed a tear. I felt very safe in this crowd during this song and felt as though I had been allowed to have my moment. As the gig continued, my sister and I had a brilliant time jumping together. She was more confident than I was, which made me happy and proud. But it doesn’t take long for me to go into older sister mode. After the tenth shirtless man elbows my head, and my vision is blurred by Punk IPA, I am overstimulated, stressed and searching for my sister. A man is knocked down, and the pit clears. Amy Taylor spots him as everyone points, and paramedics come to save the day. It leaves me questioning how I can enjoy this long-term if I don’t feel safe. In this case, it wasn’t the people making me feel this way, just that at every corner, my safety seemed provisional.

“Out comes the night, out comes my knifey

This is how I get home nicely

I turn around and backtrack because I ain’t that tough

But you still fuck me up”

On other occasions, it has been the people who have made me feel unsafe. I don’t want to generalise, but in all my experiences, this has been men, usually older than me, who have had a few too many. Too many times have I been shoved by a man who thinks I wouldn’t mind being shoved, because that’s just what you do at gigs, despite my standing far away from a pit for this exact reason. On a few other sad occasions, men have assaulted and humiliated me, usually when I’m not even near the front, just minding my own business. I think a lot of men don’t realise that this is why they don’t see women in the pit. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had some fantastic experiences with some brilliant crowds, but how can I, as a woman, enjoy a gig like a man, without the apprehension of being shoved to the floor, or worse?

The 1990s saw the Riot Grrrl movement, fronted by Kathleen Hanna of Bikini Kill. They included other feminist punk bands such as Bratmobile, 7 Year Bitch, and Heavens to Betsy. In the early stages of Bikini Kill’s prominence, Hanna would chant “Girls to the Front” at their gigs, over the male-dominated mosh pit and to the front. The band wanted to play to these girls, who could not see over the androcentric circle of the gig. Despite the movement and their music being focused on feminism and girls, Hanna still received backlash from this, facing accusations of misandry, all for wanting to play to the audience she tailored her lyrics to. Today, the “Girls to the Front” movement has died out, so how can girls ensure their safety and make themselves known in a mosh pit when Hanna’s principles are collecting dust?

A few bands here and there have done female-only mosh pits, such as Frank Carter & The Rattlesnakes, and this is something I’m sure many women like me would appreciate, colliding with some people our own size, getting to see the band play, just for one song. As I said earlier, I‘m pretty tall, and every time somebody shoves me when I don’t want to be shoved, I shove them back; that’s just protocol, but not every woman has this advantage. I always appreciate the acts that tell an audience not to push somebody who evidently doesn’t want to be involved, as if this isn’t something people can’t read themselves. More often than not, however, I personally find that if you are swallowed into a bottomless pit, you’re better off surrendering to it; it’s actually safer than standing in the middle, where people will practically jump on you to get through like you’re a step ladder. The biggest piece of advice I can give is to bend your knees and be prepared for anything. You will almost certainly have a great time if you have the right attitude, but if you don’t, stand back, it’s hell in there if you don’t fancy it.

I wanted to have a bolder conclusion for this piece—a resolution to all these negative experiences that women face far too much at events they’re there to enjoy just as much as anyone. I’d like to see more women-only mosh pits, more “Girls to the Front”, and less pointless shoving. Punk rock is a predominantly left-wing music scene that rejoices in togetherness; therefore, it’s pretty shocking that this is an issue ignored by so many audience members who thrive on these topics. Generally, people need to be kinder and remember that sometimes we aren’t as tough. Still, women want the same experience, and we need their help to do so.

Words by Tallulah Denyer

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