Rock ‘n’ Roll Baptisms: Living and dying at my first Inkcarceration & Sonic Temple

MANSFIELD — They say not all those who wander are lost.

But when I wandered into my first Sonic Temple Art and Music Festival back in May, and first Inkcarceration Music and Tattoo Festival this weekend, I was a little lost in the moment.

Something helps you find yourself real fast, though. That first rip of the guitar, bash of the drum or bass line reverberating through your ribs is like a guiding light in a sea of sweaty black t-shirts.

Although these festivals, or modern-day gladiator pits in my mind, may appear similar from the outside and evoke common feelings, each arena attracts a different tribe of metalheads.

Sonic showed me my childhood. Sets from Staind, Daughtry, Megadeth, Shinedown, Black Label Society and so many more are burned into my skull — the emotion I felt from all of them.

I couldn’t escape memories of, and didn’t want to, those drives to soccer and baseball games with my dad.

These bands’ lyrics, melodic riffs, bass lines and double kick-drum beats rang through the speakers of his maroon mid-2010s Jeep Wrangler.

And other songs immediately transported me back to when I got my first iPod Shuffle — a time when I would put my headphones in during those drives and thought I was past his CD collection.

Sonic brought that angsty, psychedelic and raw rock and roll baptism back to me. I was never past, and never will be past, Dad’s CD collection and my old iPod playlist. A young life of rock-and-roll, with so much more to experience and listen to, washed over me in Historic Crew Stadium. I felt that energy from the people who came to Sonic, too.

Ink wasn’t as nostalgic and memory-inducing as Sonic for me. Instead, it inflicted controlled chaos with the old Ohio State Reformatory serving as one of the best possible backdrops for a metal festival imaginable.

I’ll admit, I didn’t know as many of the bands at Ink as I did Sonic. But, the Ink experience, beyond the music, with the rampant punching, kicking and moshing that turned into puking, bleeding and accepting left me itching for more.

The people who came to Ink were different than those at Sonic in all the right ways. My Sonic journey was driven by what was happening on stage. My time at Ink was driven by the people waging war around the stage.

Ink’s massive circle pits ran on blood-curdling shrieks and lyrics you couldn’t make out. The walls of death were riddled with metalhead-soldiers donning larger-than-life get-ups and facial expressions.

The fact that the already battlefield-like space featured another hazard in Canadian smoke-plumed air only added to the welcome danger for me and most.

I couldn’t take my eyes off the crowds. Fighting the wave of zoning out in awe of those around me and zoning back in to defend myself from those same people was a beautiful struggle.

One was a baptism of things remembered. The other was a baptism by fire featuring a cross between a corpse and Ronald McDonald as the presider.

Long live Rock ‘n’ Roll. Long live Ink and Sonic.

People watching at Ink | Jack Slemenda