I was so enamored with Hank -- who, for the Assjack set, stripped down to a Misfits tank top and drooped his long, previously braided hair over his face -- that I made straight for the mosh pit, the seeds of which, oddly enough, were originally planted by Yahoo A, who, as luck would have it, was still there! Merrily we slammed -- me, Yahoo A, and maybe a dozen other meatballs -- as the gorilla flung hither and yon and Hank III, who, make no mistake, yodels and looks uncannily like his grandpappy, chanted foul incantations while shredding. At some point I swung around violently, as one is wont to do under such circumstances, and shoved Yahoo A right down on his ass. Hitting the floor, he looked stunned. I helped him up, because that's what you do in a pit, and he headed to the sidelines to take a breather. Later I got into a fun 'n' games shoving match with another guy. We pushed and pushed back and pushed again until the concussive song stopped. We then did one of those bro-embraces (closed fists, hitting of the back) and the dude exclaimed, "I'm not afraid of anything! I'm not afraid of anything!" This is the kind of sentiment Hank inspires.
Now some of you may be thinking, as I was when I arrived, that this sounds like a bunch of hicks getting drunk and acting stupid. That's part of it, sure. But another undeniable part is Hank III, that nucleus around which all these rich, diverse genres swirl. Hank's insistence on -- not to mention the joy he so clearly gets from -- including Hank Williams Sr., Merle Haggard, Johnny Cash, and others in the same performance as this perfectly awesome hardcore metal is a very simple form of genius that even the most retarded musicians, like those knobs in the Kaiser Chiefs, will never understand.
Yahoo B, I do not condone your answering your phone in the middle of a concert. Still, I'm kind of glad you did.