A few years ago, I had an experience that turned me against much of the mainstream heavy metal genre forever and sparked a deep-seeded loathing for a certain radio shock jock.

Out of boredom, a friend and I decided to check out what was supposed to be the biggest Iowa concert event of the summer: Mancow’s Lazer Luau. The only band on the bill we recognized was Orgy, but it was something to do and we both kind of liked that “Blue Monday” cover. (Everyone has had some musical skeletons in their closet, right? Well, I cringe to admit that Orgy was one of mine.)

As soon as we got through the gates, we noticed that the crowd was almost entirely white and male. They were all huddled around the main stage chanting “Mancow! Mancow!” Not being from Des Moines, we had never listened to Lazer 103.3 and had no idea who this half-bovine, half-human disc jockey could be. But judging by all of the fanfare before this creature even stepped on the stage, we figured he must have been either a circus side-show reject or some sort of huge celebrity.

Mancow took the stage with a young woman. Quicker than you could say “third-degree sexual assault” he ripped off her shirt, leaving nothing but pasties to the imagination, all to the wild applause of the hundreds of metal-headed dolts in the audience. My friend and I looked at each other in amazement. What was going on? What was wrong with this girl? Why was everyone cheering?

And it only got worse.

The bulk of Mancow and his entourage’s statements to the audience were centered around degrading remarks about women. At one point, he chided the males in the audience because too many females in the crowd were coming out of the pit fully clothed. And he encouraged males to grope women under their shirts and up their shorts – in more explicit terms – as they tried to body surf.

I had never encountered anyone as blatantly misogynistic as this Mancow character. And the worst part was that droves of people my own age not only accepted this female-bashing, but saluted and imitated it.

It wasn’t just appalling, it was scary as well. The fact that so many people, males and females, saw nothing wrong with what was happening was a frightening commentary of the genre’s attitude towards women.

Since then I have been to other concerts where females have been objectified. It usually takes the form of the unwitting girl climbing onto her boyfriend’s shoulders for a better view, only to have every male in the audience yelling “show us your tits,” until she either obliges, dismounts or gets her shirt ripped off.

And it isn’t just young, horny teen-to-twenty somethings that seem to have a problem with this.

For Father’s Day last summer I bought my dad tickets to see Creedence Clearwater and Foreigner, two of his favorite bands from glory days long-gone by. Before the washed-up rock icons started playing, radio station personalities, flanked by strippers from a local club, took the stage. But for what reason? The strippers just stood there, looking rather out of place. Try as we might, my mother and I could not figure out what these scantily-clad women added to a classic rock show.

Now before I wrote this column, I thought I had better look at both sides of the issue to be fair.

So I thought to myself, “Would seeing some random guy’s penis at a rock concert heighten my overall musical experience? And would grabbing that penis make the show even better?”

I can’t say that it would.

And there’s a good chance that if a guy climbed up on someone’s shoulders, my first instinct would not be to yell “show me your testicles!” while high-fiving my female friends.

Although women can do their best to combat these situations, the real change has to be with men.

A word of advice to all of you breast-obsessed, testosterone-charged males: Start thinking with your other head for once and consider the ramifications of your actions. Would you want your little sister or girlfriend getting felt up by drunk, farmer-tanned metal-heads whose idol is named after a stable animal?

Support music that supports women. I doubt you’ll hear Elliott Smith or R.E.M. requesting that all the bosoms in the audience come out and play between ballads.

And women, next time Mancow or any other barnyard beast asks you to expose your chest, kindly ask them to drop their pants and reply with a swift kick in the groin.

Bethany Kohoutek is a junior in journalism and mass communication from Shueyville, Iowa. She is assistant arts and entertainment editor and you won’t find her copping a feel below the belt at a Limp Bizkit concert.