The horror of Warped Tour

“Wanna go to Warped Tour?”

Excuse me while I laugh in your face.

I’d wanted to go to Warped Tour since eighth grade, when black nails marked the presence of an emo kid and it was cool to have a suicide note ready.

In the midst of my adolescent tragedy, I was led by my emotions (with the help of Hot Topic) to bands such as All Time Low and Panic! At the Disco.

Fast-forward to last summer, which I spent in Alabama with my cousin. My time there coincided with Warped’s visit. After weeks of begging and fake promises to do extra chores, we got permission to go.

Let the record show that I don’t think Warped is a bad idea. For the small bands looking for more publicity and show time, it’s a great concept. However, I don’t think it’s worth the trouble.

It’s during the summer, so it’s miserably hot. Everyone smells awful, sweatily rubbing up against you like a body odor potluck.

Warped encourages you to donate canned food with the incentive of getting in an express line, but you can’t find the express line because there are thousands of people milling about and no directions or signs. So you get stuck carrying pounds of green beans on your back, which starts to get heavy after 14 hours in 99-degree weather.

There’s the risk of two of your favorite bands getting scheduled to play at the same time — you won’t know the times until you get there.

There are no real rules at Warped, which potheads take as an open invitation to bring their bongs.

And worse, the bands encourage everyone to mosh. When Derek Saunders of Mayday Parade asked people to surf up and touch his hand, I wanted to throw one of my cans of green beans at him (probably as much as the security guards probably wanted to throw stones at all of the rowdy concertgoers).

I got kicked in the head 17 times. An evil ginger girl pushed me into a mosh pit, where I nearly met my end at the hands of an idiot with a Rambo headband. My cousin was kidnapped by a band of wild teenagers who pushed her over the “wall of death” into the pit with me.

And I don’t care if you’re an awesome guitar player — when a man in his 30s dressed as a vampire leans over and shakes his sweat into the crowd, it’s foul. I hope you fall and get popsicled by your guitar.

When I say that I will never go to Warped again, I’m often told that it’s about more than the music. Warped is “about the experience.” You go to Warped to get crazy, have fun and rock out.

But the truth is that you get dehydrated, sunburnt, injured and sweaty, and you end up smelling like weed.

For less than the price of admission to Warped Tour, you can probably get a ticket for your favorite band’s own individual tour. It usually includes two to three other similar artists and is likely inside, where air-conditioning exists. And the bands play longer sets.

At least where Warped Tour is concerned, Charmin Toilet Paper was right.

Less is more.

­— lnbanks@indiana.edu