Moulin rouge download.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/11/31.jpg”>When I signed on to follow the World/Inferno Friendship Society through the Halloween parade and into their annual Hallowmas concert, I had no idea of the fanaticism—bordering on mania—that I would encounter. No. Idea. The World/Inferno fans trump all.

About fifty devotees of all ages gathered in costume at the Webster Hall float, some arriving hours before the Halloween parade began. The day before, several hardcore supporters, led by the band’s web designer Brian Carter, had painted a giant banner, proudly displayed on the side of the float and proclaiming, “WORLD/INFERNO F.S. HALLOWMAS”.

As the band trickled in, rather than rush their idols, the Infernites continued to coolly chat amongst themselves. They shared covert swigs of rum. They smoked cigarettes. They seemed totally normal. I was naive.

The float took a long time to get rolling. We rounded a corner, stopped, and then waited. For an hour and forty-five minutes. Did the fans complain? Bail out? Riot? No. None of the above. Until the music began. And then, so did the riots.

As the band—still waiting for the float to progress—started to play, a mosh pit formed around lead singer Jack Terricloth. Sandwiched between the Inferno float and the Dreamland float staffed by house DJs and drag queens, the Infernites crowd-surfed in the street. They yelled, rather than sang, the song lyrics. Within nanoseconds, they went from calm, nonchalant float attachés to feral, euphoric, musically possessed maniacs.

At one point, a cheer broke out: “Tonight, we’re gonna, fuck shit up!” This is one of the anthem-like chants that Infernites know by heart. Another: “World Inferno, fuck shit up!” When repeated in combination with rampant moshing, the “fuck shit up” part becomes disturbingly believable.

At about 11:30 p.m., thinking I would be late to the show, I ran into drummer Brian Viglione and a small Infernite entourage exiting the A train in Brooklyn. I was relieved; clearly, a concert cannot start without the drummer. Brian, however, was jogging in a half-frenzy—understandably so—with fans trailing behind. Everyone shouted different opinions about which exit was correct, so getting out of the tunnel took a few minutes of trial-and-error. Upon reaching the street, the motley crew charged ahead, led by Viglione in his zoot suit and skeleton makeup.

And the concert? The eight-piece band took the stage. The audience became a writhing, swirling amoeba of madness. Vocalist Terricloth projected a friendly swagger that seemed to infect fans with worship. He was unafraid of standing on the edge of the stage, being constantly petted by adoring hands. Fans climbed onto the stage and dove back into the masses. No one tried to stop them. Over time, this took on the appearance of trust falls. There was simply no doubt that the jumping fan would be safely caught, welcomed back into the throng. Even Terricloth joined in the ritual.

I could say more in an attempt to further document the chaos, but instead I will end with an honest confession: I did not have the stamina or the courage to last through the entire show. Near the restroom, I overheard a young man complaining that he had lost his eyeglasses in the crowd. Moments later, in the hallway, I glimpsed another guy crying and holding one-half of a pair of glasses in one hand, the second half in the other.

I am a glasses-wearer myself. And so, taking my cue from the misfortunes of others, I left. However, I am not implying that the music of World/Inferno is not worth hearing. It crosses genres at every turn, and when the lyrics aren’t obscured by screaming fans, they are remarkably smart. If you’re curious, check out the band’s MySpace page. If you live dangerously, go to their concerts. If you survive, consider yourself blessed.