Main Street, Burlington, VT

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Tricky Nicky of Jumanji X's Riot Squad stands on the far side of the stage at 242 Main in Burlington, his sunburst guitar slung low as he fiddles with knobs on his buzzing amp. He strums a chunky chord and, satisfied with its distorted crunch, turns and nods to his band's lead singer, a string-bean teenager named Ethan. Ethan swipes a sweaty tangle of hair from his eyes and holds the mic close to his face with two hands.

"You guys should probably mosh to this one, " he says.

Ethan cocks his head back and brings the entirety of his gangly body violently forward. Taking his cue, the high school punk band from Woodstock launches into a frenetic, Misfits-style punk anthem. And the crowd of kids at 242 is all too happy to oblige Ethan's request. The concrete floor in front of the stage becomes a cyclone of knees and elbows.

It's been a while since this thirtysomething has set foot in 242 Main for a punk show. But the scene looks and feels almost exactly as I remember it from my teenage years, as it likely would to anyone who's spent time there since the venue opened in the mid-1980s.

In the pit, a guy is creating a windmill of fists to clear out space amid the madness. There's always a guy in the pit doing that. Just like there's always some oversize lug lumbering around the edges, looking for somebody smaller to push, as there is now. Those who don't want to get drawn into the fray — or trampled by it — form a loose circle around the mosh pit. Some step back when a wayward slam dancer careens out of orbit. Others, perhaps more accustomed to the delicate intricacies of pit etiquette, shove strays back into the swirling mass.