It´s the night before Franz Ferdidand come to town and so, understandably, there´s a good lot of excitement running through Santiago´s streets.


One might be prone to say that the place was electric (which would become ironic, what with there being a blackout throughout half the country of Chile the next day). As a fitting pre-cursor to the whole affair, my girlfriend, her sister and I go to watch one of the city´s most fun-filled, action-packed bands; Banda Conmoción.

It´s a beneficiary gig to provide relief for the southern parts of Chile that have been either damaged or completely destroyed by the 8.8 richter earthquake and so there are a whole lot of people waiting to get in and show their support.

Without tickets nor the means to buy them (being totally sold out), we are forced to secretly sneak in through the side door, along with a huge, obvious crowd of gig-goers. We enter into the one of the largest seas of people ever received by venue Galpón Victor Jara and very quickly start to boogie.

After a jolly, gypsy outfit, come a traditional cueca/cumbia band that can only really be described as Chile´s answer to The Wurzels. With accordian in hand, the lead singer and his band of merry farm lads got the jigging up to full speed, perfectly whetting the appetite of those awaiting Conmoción. I couldn´t help but notice mid-jig - since I´d got lost in it many a time, disconnecting myself from my shoe in the process - that a mosh pit had developed. Now, I´m not one to go against mosh pits. I may a bit older, but I´m not a cunt just yet. I love to get a good skank on as much as the next guy; bumping and bashing into folks as I give it some.

However, some people´s pit-mentality doesn´t half get on my tits. Why is it, for example, while most people are trying to get their groove on, that a minority of arseholes take pleasure in throwing their fists out in front of them for people to run into or be run into? Is it a dance? Because it certainly doesn´t look like one and when you receive the gift of a knuckle in the side it doesn´t feel like one either. They punch, flail and hit almost everyone in their wake and then wonder why people turn on them halfway through a boogie. What happened to just having a good, old-fashioned hoe-down?


As I lost my shoe for the third time, I began to devise a plan for those pesky pit pricks (you may find the following more effective as a bloke, but all genders are welcome to try). As you´re giving it some in or around the pit area, spy for any oncoming fists of fury. Once you catch a glimpse of a specimen (they´re quite easy to spot with their patented face-of-dickhead), before they even have time to raise a knuckle, slip yourself right in front of them - with their hands on either side of you, preventing any throwing of punches - swing your arms round either side of them and give them a gigantic hug. Stop moving and squeeze hard. Don´t let go immediately or they´ll think you don´t mean it. Say you love them, if you think it´s necessary. Keep hold, calming the specimen and extracting it´s violent nature. Concentrate on transforming all those hateful - and, quite frankly, annoying - vibes into clean, positive energy.


With any luck, the dickhead will (a) push you away (most likely if you´re a bloke doing this) and leave the premises (or give you a smack to the face), calling you a gaylord as they do so, (b) fall to the floor as his knees buckle from an overload of hippy positivity, or (c) change his tune, untuck his trousers from his sports socks and start skanking along with the rest of you.


The next time you see - as David Attenborough would now be labelling - a dickheadious moronicus at a gig, even if it´s a hardcore band playing, simply stop, give them a love-filled hug and see what happens. For short - and to help memory - keep it in your head as STOP, HUG and SKANK. They might get confused. They may even get the wrong idea but, one thing´s certain: they´ll quickly learn that violence has no place on the dance floor.

Posted In Comment, Mar 17 2010. Words - Rich