No matter how you feel about moshing -- whether you gawk from the civilian sidelines, or are guaranteed to tear your shirt off like a Hulkamaniac, scream "Let's tear this place apart!" and plunge headfirst into the melee -- there's no denying it is an integral (see also: unavoidable) component of the live music experience.
People can -- and will! -- mosh to anything!
Even today, right now, at this very moment, someone somewhere is moshing to Dubstep.
I have wasted a shameful amount of my life on live music. And as a young male in North America (not to mention the freak incubator that is Florida) with an interest in rock music, I must admit that I found myself, on more than one occasion, caught in a mosh.
Later, I would go on to write emo-anarchist zine articles about why the practice was part of hegemonic power structures and blahlahblah. These days, I still abstain, but have a thorough appreciation for the group theatrics and intense displays of physicality underlying the pit.
In keeping with this ability to appreciate Da Mosh from a distance, here are a bruised gaggle of entertaining memories from when I used to count being bashed and thrashed during live music exhibitions as a hobby.