In The Elementary Forms of the Religious Life (1912), the sociologist Émile Durkheim argues that religion has its origin in a feeling he calls collective effervescence. This refers to the heightened feeling of energy, euphoria, harmony, and unity that arises when we’re engaged in certain group activities, rituals, and ceremonies. This was a feeling that Durkheim claimed to have observed in Australian Aboriginal rituals. He noticed that collective dancing and music – if sustained for long enough – would work the tribe members up into a kind of ecstatic frenzy, full of wild movements and shouts.
This state of collective effervescence is often synonymous with states of ecstasy (although the latter can occur when one is alone, triggered by practices such as individual meditation, breathwork, or psychedelic use). Collective effervescence, or collective ecstasy, has traditionally been tied to religious traditions. However, Durkheim claims that this feeling emerged first, with religion emerging later to structure – and remind group members of – this feeling. He posits that the totem was invented as a reminder of this feeling, and the group unity that the feeling engendered; thus the totem further helps to sustain group cohesion.
Modern, Western, and secular cultures, however, are ritual-deprived. This also makes us ecstasy-deprived. While increasing numbers of people are seeking (and achieving) ecstatic states through solo psychedelic use, group rituals have always been a reliable way to reach these states, too. So long as these states of communal excitement and exhilaration aren’t funnelled into a harmful ideology, which is possible, as Jules Evans has underlined – these states can offer benefits and fewer risks compared to solo ecstasy. This is because they tend to involve a normative (typically religious) framework that helps to give meaning and purpose to the ritual. There is a shared meaning and purpose that spiritually enriches the experience and binds the group together. Furthermore, group psychedelic rituals, for instance, tend to involve structure, guidance, support, and connectedness that can reduce the risks associated with psychedelics.
On the other hand, Western, secularised countries aren’t completely devoid of collective effervescence. There is perhaps a natural draw to seek out these states. Indeed, even in the most irreligious, ecstasy-resistant cultures, activities leading to collective effervescence remain strong. Music events are exemplary of this. Listening to a band/producer on your own is not the same as seeing them play live, with others. I recognise that many people with high levels of sensitivity or who are neurodivergent may not find this rings true for them – as the noise levels and amount of people may feel overwhelming. Some people also can’t imagine joining a state of collective effervescence at a concert or festival (I’m reminded here of this relatable clip from YouTuber Limmy: careful, it may induce an existential crisis if you also find it relatable).
At the same time, it’s also normal for people to lose their inhibitions at live music events and get swept away by the collective buzz. This can be a rare and underappreciated occasion for collective effervescence. But it’s something I’ve been thinking about more lately – how ecstasy is (and can further be) integrated into secular society. Music festivals, gigs, and raves are one way: like other forms of ecstatic experience, they can lead to a surge in endorphins, which intensifies positive emotions. Some types of music can also foster the feeling of collective effervescence through other means. Moshing at rock, punk, and metal gigs is one way. It’s a form of movement that, like the energetic dancing seen in some traditional rituals, is a way to achieve catharsis and ‘blow off steam’. This release of energy is common to ecstatic states. Combined with the music, moshing can lead to the shared euphoria and feeling of intense energy that characterises collective effervescence.
Thinking about collective effervescence and its expression at live music events made me reminisce about one particularly memorable gig: seeing Mineral, an influential Texas emo band from the 90s, play at The Dome in Tufnell Park, London, as part of their 25th-anniversary tour. It may seem odd that seeing an emo band live would be a euphoric experience. But this was an intimate gig full of passionate fans. And the collective energy was undeniable, particularly during Mineral’s higher-energy tracks, such as ‘Five, Eight and Ten’ and ‘Gloria’ from their 1997 album The Power of Failing, and during the crescendos of ‘Parking Lot’ (also from The Power of Failing), ‘Unfinished’ (from the 1998 album EndSerenading), and the single ‘February’.
This is evident from Mia Hughes’ review of the gig for NME, titled ‘Mineral create something holy at 25th anniversary reunion show’ (in the review is embedded a video from the gig – where you can spot me – recorded during the track ‘Gloria’). Hughes writes that “when Mineral tear into fan favourites ‘Five, Eight and Ten’ and then without pause ‘Gloria’, two tracks from their debut ‘The Power of Failing’, it’s greeted with rapture. The crowd’s singing is audible through earplugs, the pit surging as hands are thrown up in passion from the depths of it.”
She says that the gig was “an exchange of something deeper than theatrics: Emo, as it was in its golden age of the 90s. It’s about connection and when people connect to bands like Mineral, it goes deep.” And this is why the crowd was so “reverential”, as she puts it. Hughes indeed emphasises the sacred quality of collective effervescence at concerts when she writes, “As [Chris] Simpson wails the closing lines of their final song ‘Parking Lot’ and the band walk off to feedback screech, there’s a feeling that everyone here, band and fan alike, has just been a part of something holy.”
I can relate to that. At the end of the gig, a feeling remained in the atmosphere. As the writer Mark Vernon states in an article for Aeon, collective effervescence is “an experience that lingers when the ceremonies are over.” 90s emo music may not typically be associated with this state. It tends to be observed more in concerts by bigger rock bands and artists, such as Queen at Live Aid in 1985 or AC/DC’s 2009 show in Buenos Aires, Argentina. Nonetheless, the Mineral gig stands out to me as a memorable experience of collective effervescence. Like Hughes, I’d go so far as to call it special enough – unlike ordinary emotional life – in a way that makes it a ‘sacred’ experience.
So perhaps the true benefits of seeing bands live are understated (indeed, 2024 research in Personality and Social Psychology Bulletin found that the collective effervescence fostered at live music events leads to lasting positive outcomes). These experiences often go beyond mere enjoyment and ticking off experiences from a bucket list. They can also offer opportunities for emotional catharsis, tension relief, synchronised activity, and social cohesion, which are experiences we need when life feels stuffy, stressful, and lonely. In a society that is becoming increasingly secular, online, and lacking in ‘third places’ – places where we gather outside of the home and workplace – live music events remain an important source of connectedness to others.
