Bad Religion
New Maps Of Hell
Label: Epitaph Records
Released: 2007
Produced: Joe Barresi

Greg Graffin vocals
Brett Gurewitz guitar, background vocals
Greg Hetson guitar
Jay Bentley bass, background vocals
Brian Baker guitar
Brooks Wackerman drums

1. 52 Seconds
2. Heroes & Martyrs
3. Germs of Perfection
4. New Dark Ages
5. Requiem for Dissent
6. Before You Die
7. Honest Goodbye
8. Dearly Beloved
9. Grains of Wrath
10. Murder
11. Scrutiny
12. Prodigal Son
13. The Grand Delusion
14. Lost Pilgrim
15. Submission Complete
16. Fields of Mars

This by far their best album since How Could Hell Be Any Worse? Over the years they seem to have lost a bit of their grit.

It happens when you become better musicians. But I have always been a fan of their old sound, and this touches on it.

It was kind of like bumping into an old friend you haven’t seen in thirty years, things are different, but they jog certain memories.

If you get the chance to get a copy of this, go get it.

Rating: ** * two out of three stars

On to the story . . .

When I turned forty-three I started thinking allot about getting older. Then one day my brother suggested I sign-up with Facebook. I’ve always resisted all these social websites, doing graphic design; I’m already on the computer far more than I want to be. But my brother’s point was I could communicate with my daughter, who is out of state, more often. And reconnect with people I went to school with. I thought cool, more contact with my kid, but do I want to see people from my past?

My brother runs me through the sign-up, and asks me to find a picture for my profile, etc. In less than a week, I’ve had twenty people ask to be my “friend.” And various people started uploading pictures of me from different occasions over the last handful of years. So, I guess I’m a pretty popular dude.

The weird part of this site is when you log in you’re bombarded with everybody’s headlines (your “friends”) on your landing page. And I swear everybody is fat and sick. I page down, and here we are in our forties and everybody talks like they’re ninety. Hospital visits, colds, temperatures. It’s terrible.

The one interesting thing about Facebook is when someone comes on as your friend you can look at their pictures on their page. This one girl wrote me and asked to be my friend, she was in my homeroom back in high school, and I confirmed her and I was browsing through her photos and found a couple of recent pictures of a girl a I “went with” in ninth grade. We split when I got into punk. Well, what a freaking let down, she looks like a Mack truck hit her, then was forced to live on the streets. I was about 150 pounds then, and now I hover around 200, otherwise I look pretty much the same, but some of these people just gave up.

What do I know? They could be online looking at my pictures and quoting my dad’s favorite saying: “He looks like barbequed bear shit.”

LAST ONE TO DIE is officially out: You can order at: https://www.createspace.com/3669330.идея за подарък

The Dickies
The Incredible Shrinking Dickies
Label: A&M Records
Released: 1979
Produced: John Hewlett

Leonard – vocals
Stan – guitar
Chuck – keyboards
Billy – bass
Karlos – drums

01. Give It Back
02. Poodle Party
03. Paranoid
04. She
05. Shadow Man
06. Mental Ward
07. Eve Of Destruction
08. You Drive Me Ape (You Big Gorilla)
09. Waterslide
10. Walk Like An Egg
11. Curb Job
12. Shake And Bake
13. Rondo (The Midgets Revenge)

This is a really good album, a definite punk meets rock feel to it. Their cover of Paranoid is great, it’s too cool. This is the best Dickies album I have ever heard!

If you get the chance to get a copy of this, go get it.

Rating: *** three out of three stars

On to the review . . .

Punk rock, like any other genre of music means something different to every person. My wife for example, was not into punk growing up but she knows most of the key figures, and bands. She has always pointed out a snobbishness that exists amongst people that have stayed into punk their whole lives. She always points this out whenever we see Henry Rollins on TV. He will give his commentary about music or politics, and you start to see a bit of this condescending tone emerge, as if you don’t quite understand the world unless you were a punk. I never noticed this until I met my wife.

I don’t think it’s just punks that feel this way, I think anyone who has had the misfortune of being on the wrong of a cop’s Billy-club, or in the wrong end of a cop car, knows that things aren’t always what they seem, in other words, peel off a couple more layers off of this onion and get a better look at the core of this.

Friday, December 17, 1982, Long Beach: Once we got to the Galaxy Roller Rink, there were huge lines to get into the place. The Long Beach police were frisking everybody, and waving handheld metal detectors over everyone in line. They didn’t have female officers for the girls, same group of male cops for everybody. And standing to the side were a couple of officers holding back German Sheppard’s on leashes. Finally after fifteen or twenty minutes I got waved forward, immediately the metal detector goes off as the officer waved the metal detector over my leather jacket. The cop gets this look on his face, and my eyes bug, because I have no idea what set it off. One cop comes over to check my pockets as the other holds my shoulder. The officer pulls out a pocketknife with a razor blade tucked into the blade. I almost crapped. I became the very stereotype these cops were fighting. The other officer was now holding both of my shoulders. The first thing that came to mind was that I was going to be arrested and have to call my mom, and have her drive an hour to get me, and this was going to be all bad. So, I decided to bargain with them. I said, “Would you like to keep the knife, I don’t need it.” The officers look at each other for a minute, and told me to get moving. Whew, I was safe! Would you believe these items were part of an art project? I was supposed to draw the knife and blade and have it turned in after Christmas break.

March 15, 1984, two days after my 18th birthday: I cut school with a friend of mine named Doug. Doug invites me to breakfast. He says he missed his bus from Inglewood and says his Dad’s girlfriend loaned him her Mazda RX7. We pull out of the parking lot, turn left on Balboa, right of Vanowen. Doug runs the red light, and instantly sirens blare. A cop runs to my side of the car and pulls me out and slams me to the ground, pulls out my Velcro wallet to check ID. I hear the other cop, who was on Doug’s side ask him to tell him the name on the auto registration, Doug hem’s and haw’s, and can’t identify her. I’m lost, I can’t figure out why he won’t say her name. A second cop car arrives; they pop the hatch or the RX7 and start pulling out car stereos. I end up blurting out “Doug, tell them your Dad’s girlfriends name!” The cop closest to me yells “shut up!” and draws his gun. I’m thinking this is all pretty heavy for a red light ticket.

Doug is thrown into the back of one car, and I’m thrown into another. I’m taken to the Van Nuys station, with two pairs of cuffs I’m fastened to a bench for four hours, a revolving line of detectives I’m questioned about stealing

Finally I am released. Doug was seventeen; he did a year in YA. Turned out his friend stole the car, but where Doug grew-up you never snitch.

LAST ONE TO DIE is officially out: A discount code was added, when you order at: https://www.createspace.com/3669330 type in FGACJX53 and receive 10% off.

Punk History – Vol. 2
Various Artists
Liberula Barriguda Recordings
February 2007

1. Buzzcocks – What Do I Get (2:55)
2. The Lurkers – I’m On Heat (2:11)
3. UK Subs – Warhead (2:44)
4. Angelic Upstarts – Never Again (3:08)
5. The Rezillos – Somebody’s Gonna Get Their Head Kicked in Tonight (1:53)
6. 999 – Homicide (3:42)
7. The Adverts – One-Chord Wonders (2:36)
8. X-Ray Spex – The Day The World Turned Day-Glo (2:51)
9. The Dils – Mr. Big (1:44)
10. Generation X – Your Generation (3:17)
11. Stiff Little Fingers – Law And Order (3:16)
12. The Undertones – Teenage Kicks (2:26)
13. The Weirdos – We Got The Neutron Bomb (3:00)
14. D.O.A. – Smash The State (1:31)
15. The Dickies – You Drive Me Ape (You Big Gorilla) (1:53)
16. The Germs – Lexicon Devil (2:05)
17. The Members – The Sound Of The Suburbs (3:55)
18. Angry Samoans – Right Side of My Mind (2:08)
19. The Mekons – Where Were You (2:43)
20. Resistance 77 – Advance Factory Units (3:34)
21. GBH – Faster Faster (2:57)
22. Cock Sparrer – Riot Squad (3:08)
23. The Exploited – Dead Cities (1:54)
24. Circle Jerks – Wild In The Streets (1:34)
25. Peter And The Test Tube Babies – Maniac (2:40)
26. Minor Threat – Think Again (2:19)
27. The Business – Harry May (2:13)
28. Plasmatics – Tight Black Pants (1:46)
29. Cockney Rejects – Here We Go Again (3:48)
30. Hüsker Dü – Indecision Time (2:13)

This is a great starter package for somebody who is just getting into punk, or for us old guys to listen to on a road trip.

If you don’t own it, track it down and give it a listen.

Rating: ** * two out of three stars

On with the story . . .

Another story of a misspent youth . . .

I went to a private school for half of seventh grade (I attended with pro skater Bert LaMar), and then went to a public school for eighth grade, using a fake address (met Linda Daniels, and started my descent into punk). Finally, it was too hard dodging the bussing situation, so my mom had my hearing tested, and I was hearing impaired enough to attend a local junior high, then a local high school, which both had small deaf and hard of hearing programs. This was very new to me; I didn’t know sign language, or anything about this culture. But it kept me from spending four hours a day on a bus.

One Christmas, towards the end of my final year in junior high my dad bought my Brother and me our dream skateboards: Sims Lonnie Toft deck, Tracker Trucks, and green Kryptonite wheels. Mine was a ten-inch deck and my brother’s was eight and a half. Allot of us punk guys in late ‘70’s, early ‘80’s rode skateboards constantly, I kept board in the trunk of my car until I was twenty-one, in case I broke down.

Anyway, I used to ride my board to and from high school, our lockers were too small to store the board, and so I used to put mine in the coat cupboard in my health class, and come back at the end of school and go home. This worked six months without a problem, until one-day two guys, Eddie and John Bailey, both hearing impaired, snuck into the class, and stole my board without the teacher noticing.

I came into the class at the end of school, and I was devastated. I looked everywhere, and a couple of kids told me who did it, but no one seemed to know where the board was. I confronted them, but they denied it. I waited until almost 4:00, and they just sat on a stoop by their lockers, and my only way home was a bus, and it was about to leave, so I hopped on and never saw my board again.

For those who think I should of wrecked these guys . . . listen to how their lives turned out.

A couple years after graduation John Bailey showed up at a former classmate’s apartment, a girl named Theresa (she was profoundly deaf), looking for a booty-call, he was being a bit forceful, they scuffled, and she ran, and locked herself in the bathroom. A few minutes later, Theresa’s roommate Troy comes home and John, mistakes him for her boyfriend, and they start fighting, John starts getting the best of him, and Troy grabs a screwdriver off the counter and stabs him. John falls dead.

A year or two later Eddie and his brother Caesar are on a motorcycle on the 101 Freeway, Eddie is deaf, and so he and his Brother are looking back at each other doing sign language. Right at this time a truck full of white-boy gangsters are driving by, and mistake the sign language as gang signs, so they throw their neighborhood at them, and Eddie and Caesar look at the guys, and give them the finger. The white-boys pull out guns, and shoot and kill Caesar, and leave Eddie with two or three bullets in him.

Once the story hits the news the white-boys flee to New York to stay with some wealthy relatives. Eventually, they are caught. Due to poor medical coverage Eddie still has at least one bullet in him.

Now, what’s the moral to this story? Don’t ever steal my fucking skateboards, karma is a bitch.

LAST ONE TO DIE is officially out: A discount code was added, when you order at: https://www.createspace.com/3669330 type in FGACJX53 and receive 10% off.

Greg Graffin
Cold As The Clay
Released: July 11, 2006
Epitaph Records

Greg Graffin – Vocals, Piano, Harmonica
Various – Guitar
Various – Bass
Various – Drums

1. Don’t Be Afraid To Run
2. Omie Wise
3. Cold As The Clay
4. Little Sadie
5. Highway
6. Rebel’s Goodbye
7. Talk About Suffering
8. Willie Moore
9. California Cotton Fields
10. The Watchmakers Dial
11. One More Hill

Dear God what did Greg do to us? OK, it’s like this . . . if Johnny Cash was retarded, and spent some time freebasing Prozac.

I like the first two things Bad Religion released then parts of the new album, but this . . . oh shit.

If you don’t own it, track it down and destroy it.

Rating: * ** one out of three stars

On with the story . . .

Some time back my brother and I were talking the other day about how my mom is coping with the very recent passing of her father. And we were talking about how losing a relative . . . Well, the grief comes in waves. One day you’re crying your eyes out then the next day you want to go to a party, then a week later you’re overcome by grief. Anyway, we were talking about how we lost our dad about three and a half years ago, and we got to talking about my friend Ray.

My friend Ray was a six foot, four inch, weight-lifting black guy who was my best friend in the later part of high school. We double dated, hung out, you name it. Hell, our mom’s used to say they wanted to trade sons.

A little while after we graduated from school Ray’s family packed up, and moved to Virginia. Ray’s folks were originally from Richmond and wanted to return.

With a stolen calling card number I received from an Italian hoodlum that I knew, Ray and I talked almost everyday, and in 1986 he came to live with my family. It didn’t go so smooth, I had a girlfriend, and he wanted to hang out like we were still in school. I worked, and had the girlfriend to entertain. So, he got annoyed. He moved back to Richmond about six months later.

Shortly after Ray went back, I came home from work one night, and I see my mom on the phone, crying. I ask, “What’s wrong?” She said, “it’s Ray, just let him talk.” I pick up the phone in the kitchen, and say “what’s up, Ray?” And he says, “My dad, he did it.”

I didn’t know what this meant, but it creeped me out the way he said it. So, he tells me this story:

Ray and his family move to Virginia. His father can’t find work. His mom gets work as a bank manager; Ray gets work as a teller there. Her job keeps her late, they carpool, and therefore they are always the last to leave. Ray’s dad starts accusing her of an affair, and Ray of helping her with it.

Now, Ray’s mom was the most soft-spoken strict Catholic woman I ever meet. Never an unkind word to anyone, let alone consider an affair. So, these accusations went on for about two years.

One morning Ray and his mom were getting ready for work when Ray hears his folks arguing. The he heard three or four loud cracks, he didn’t know it at the time, but they were gunshots.

He ran in the room, and his dad was walking into the shower. Ray got his mom out of the room, called 911, heard two more cracks, he ran towards his dad with a baseball bat, his dad was dressed in a suit heading out the door.

Ray had to stop his dad, his dad turned and pointed he gun at Ray and pulled the trigger – nothing. He had already unloaded the gun on his wife. Ray, puts the phone down, and starts whipping his Dad with the Louisville Slugger. Then it pops in his head, that if he kills him, then the cops will show up and find two dead people, and Ray with a bloodied bat, and think he did all this.

So, he drags his dad into the bedroom, and locks the door. Runs outside to his mom, who collapsed, and died hugging a statue of the Virgin Mary.

Cops show up as Ray’s dad is hiding his guns inside the wheel-well of his car and was preparing to leave.

The next day, I got the call from Ray. Every one deals with death in a different way, Ray’s pet-peeve he kept mentioning was people that said “I know how you feel,” to which he would say, “Have you ever watched your mother get killed, and have to decide whether or not to kill your father?” That shut people right up.

Ray leads a very quiet life in Virginia, with the daughter of a Pastor, no kids. He’s done his best to find peace.

LAST ONE TO DIE is officially out: A discount code was added, when you order at: https://www.createspace.com/3669330 type in FGACJX53 and receive 10% off.

Symbol Six – EP
Label: Posh Boy
Producer: Robbie Fields, Jay Lansford
Released: 1981

A classic Posh Boy release. A little more rock, than punk. This record has all the elements you’ve come to expect from Posh Boy EP’s (thank god not a confetti sleeve). Catchy, anthem-based punk, much like the PB releases for Social Distortion and/or Shattered Faith, and with a smooth production.

If you don’t own it, track it down and give it a listen.

Rating: *** three out of three stars

On to the story . . .

Years ago my half sister got pregnant. I had never been ultra-close with her or her sister, my other half-sister, but for my father’s sake I would pop up at birthdays or try to remember them at Christmas.

So she gets pregnant, and my dad wants me to go to her baby shower that her mother arranges at a bowling alley. Yeah, I said bowling alley. What’s the term I’m looking for here? Oh yeah, white trash. For you upper class folks: Caucasian garbage.

I try blowing this thing off. First reason I’m not wild about his ex-wife, and secondly his ex is with an old co-worker of my dad’s named Bruce.

Bruce is a white trash piece of shit. I wish there was a nicer way of saying it, but there isn’t. Look in the dictionary under “white trash,” and you’ll see a longhaired, bearded piece of human waste named Bruce.

When my brother and I were kids Bruce would act like he dug us until my dad would look the other way. Once we were playing dodge ball with my dad against the garage. My dad would lob it so slow my brother and I would dart back and forth dodging the ball, thinking we were the fastest kids alive. Bruce shows up, raps with my dad for a bit and asks for a beer. My dad hands him the ball, goes to the kitchen. Bruce throws the ball at me with everything he’s got. Mind you, I’m eight, and he lays me the fuck out.

A few months later we’re invite to a barbeque, and guess who took a dump into a pair of Levi’s and named it Bruce? My brother and I are paddling around in the pool, I can’t swim well. I am doing an improvised dogpaddle. Bruce is working the grill when he says he needs to cool down, my dad takes over the grill, and Bruce decides it would be fun to throw me in the deep end to see if I’ll drown. He does this once, I tell my dad, and he says to “punch him.” I do, and then get tossed so far I almost hit the tiles inn the deep end. I yell for my dad again, and he just tells me to get out of the pool. WTF?

As I get older I see Bruce less and less. Then one night when I’m seventeen, he pops up at my dad’s. He seems a bit drunk, and I’m full-blown into my punk rock look. So he starts in on me, “Punk rockers are fags.” I flip; I start with the whole “Don’t talk shit, unless you’re ready to back it, old man.” We go around and around like this for a bit, until my dad loses it, and yells “Shut the fuck up.”

So when my dad insists that I go to this baby shower I can’t figure out why, but I know that if I go I’m going to beat Bruce’s ass. I arrive at the bowling alley, and low and behold my dad isn’t even there.

Since I don’t know what I’m walking into here, I decide to pack a police baton with me. If Bruce or any of his white trash people try to jump me, I will be breaking skulls on the way down. My wife and I arrive say “Hi” to everyone, and I’m looking for Bruce. Turns out he went on a beer run with his son. He comes back, and as he approaches I stretch my arms out like I’m leaning against the door jam, he takes one look at me, and goes around to the back of the building and comes in through the exit. Incredibly disappointing to me. So, I try to pick a fight with his twenty-three year old son, nothing. He keeps talking about how big I got. Six foot, 195 pounds. He asked about my boxing record, weird shit. So, finally I am so worked up, I’ve hated this prick for thirty years, I go into the reception hall, and see him off to the side, and come up behind him and say, fairly loud, “I don’t know how my sister got pregnant, all the guys in this place are faggots.” He took off again. Now, I’m not a homophobe, but I know this word terrifies white trash, so I used it. That was the last time I ever saw Bruce. I wanted him to say something, give me a look, hell even sneer. I’ve never been able to sucker punch people. I need to be riled up a bit. But now that I wasn’t a kid, this bastard didn’t want hassle me anymore. The whole event was much like being minutes away from having sex with Salma Hayek, and realizing you left your penis at home. In this case, Bruce is the penis. So, if you bump into a white trash guy named Bruce in Lancaster, kick his ass for me. Hell, I’ll send you some punk rock CD’s or something.

LAST ONE TO DIE is officially out: A discount code was added, when you order at: https://www.createspace.com/3669330 type in FGACJX53 and receive 10% off.

Misfits
Earth A.D.
December 1983
Plan 9 Records
Producer: Spot

Glenn Danzig – Vocals
Doyle – Guitars
Jerry Only – Bass
Robo – Drums

1. Earth A.D. – 2:09
2. Queen Wasp – 1:32
3. Devilock – 1:26
4. Death Comes Ripping – 1:53
5. Green Hell – 1:53
6. Mommy, Can I Go Out & Kill Tonight – 2:03
7. Wolf’s Blood – 1:13
8. Demonomania – 0:45
9. Bloodfeast – 2:29
10. Hellhound – 1:16
11. Die, Die My Darling – 3:11
12. We Bite – 1:15

Great Marc Rude cover, otherwise, terrible producing and mixing left them sounding like Black Flag imitating the Misfits.

The tracks Bloodfeast, and Death Comes Ripping were originally intended for Samhain’s first release, but were added in a last ditch effort to save the band.

Metallica covered Die, Die My Darling for their 1998 cover album Garage Inc, as well as Green Hell, which were originally covered for their 1987 album, Garage Days Re-Revisited, as part of a medley with Last Caress.

Earth A.D. was the last album The Misfits recorded with Glenn Danzig. It was released in December 1983, two months after they played their last concert with Danzig. It was noticeably harder, and faster than their previous releases. The themes were also quite darker than the previous releases, featuring often gory and demonic lyrics.

If you don’t own it, give it a listen.

Rating: ** * two out of three stars

On to the story . . .

Friday, March 13, 2009. Birthday number forty-three. Aren’t Friday the thirteens supposed to be bad luck? Looks like a full moon to boot. Anyway, it got me reminiscing.

In 1972 my world changed in a few ways. First my dad moved out of our house. I was six, my brother two, and my mom, a young Mother of twenty-four. I really didn’t know what was going on. There were arguments behind closed doors. I would knock and give them the rundown on what they were missing on an episode of Super-Friends.

Finally, one night my dad pulled me into their room and said that he was moving, and told me, “From now on you are going to be the man of the house.” I was very happy about this promotion. I never felt my mom liked it, but I did.

Anyway, this transition affected me. I didn’t think it did at first, but shortly after my dad moved I was put into what my brother calls the “Tard” class. My elementary school had a class for kids who were either slow or just plain had behavior problems. I guess after my parents split my mind was somewhere else.

I wasn’t aware that this class was a bad thing. It was a small class of kids, and I was smarter than most of them, so I became “King of the ‘tards.”

It was about this time that my uncle Rick first introduced my brother and me to the Planet of The Apes. I loved the movies, and a few years later we would be addicted to the Saturday Morning Cartoon, and the Thursday Night show. My love of this show would have a lasting affect on my “tard” class.

One day I came to class with a book I wanted the teacher to read to the class, in other classes this would be an easy task, but the teaching style used with us, “the den of tards” was to ignore any interuptions of noises. This didn’t fly with me. I, sometimes, had something to add to a story or a question.

To understand what I did next let me expalin a scene from one of my favorite Planet of The Apes movies. In Battle for The Planet of the Apes there was a war between the different breeds of monkeys and apes. One side ran out of ammunition, so they all played dead until the enemy came, then the ape general screams “now, fight like apes,” then they overpowered the enemy and won the war.

I played this scene out many times on the playground. The tards were my ape army. So, when the teacher was reading my book she wasn’t showing the pictures, all teachers should stop and show the pictures. I suggested she pause and show the related picture, she ignored me, so I put my hand up and said excuse me a few times. She continued to ignore me. At this point my ape army was getting restless. So, I tried one last time, the arm up, and the “Excuse me.” Nothing. The whole class was staring at me. I had no other choice I stood up and yelled “Now, fight like apes!”

Every desk was overturned, chairs thown. I sat back down and just took it all in. The teacher tried to continue, but finally yelled, “Make them stop.” My only reply was, “You could’ve shown us the pictures.”

This could have been the Genesis of the punk in me, or merely the inner asshole fighting to get out. Who knows.

LAST ONE TO DIE is officially out: A discount code was added, when you order at: https://www.createspace.com/3669330 type in FGACJX53 and receive 10% off.

Number 10
The Screamers

Gary Panter’s great illustration of the screaming punk is great. I knew the logo from the old Slash Magazine days, before I even knew of the band.

Number 9
Social Distortion

I always thought this was kind of cool. More so than the new swanky logo. It’s simple, but kind of encompassed the band.

Number 8
The Germs

Simple, but very cool. With the armbands it kind of came off third reichish. The tie-in with the “Germs Burns” was weird.

Number 7
Crass

Great look. You always knew who this logo belonged to.

Number 6
Circle Jerks

The great logo ripped-off from the late Shawn Kerri. Yes, she passed, but unfortunately there is one dude who has been writing to all the sites on the web trying to say they hung out a few years back. Hey, not everybody has a hobby. Shawn Kerri was a great cartoonist, RIP.

Number 5
45 Grave

Creepy, but memorable. 45 Grave used this “Satan” imagery a few years before Motley Crue and the rest of the bands jumped on board.

Number 4
Bad Religion

Simple, but catchy. The logo really translates to “No Religion,” but who am I to nitpick?

Number 3
Public Image, LTD.

Very corporate, and hip. Always reminded me of an aspirin, go figure.

Number 2
The Misfits

I wasn’t sure if I should include this one, the ghost was stolen from an old movie called The Crimson Ghost, and the font from the old Tales From The Crypt comic book, but together they create the most recognizable logo since the Nike swoosh.

Number 1
Black Flag

The genius of Raymond Pettibon’s logo is the concept of the “black flag” being the symbol of anarchy, the bars being the flag. Great stuff. This logo has been spray painted all over the world.

LAST ONE TO DIE is officially out: A discount code was added, when you order at: https://www.createspace.com/3669330 type in FGACJX53 and receive 10% off.

Social Distortion
New York; Request Video
1990 & 1992
Bootleg DVD

Mike Ness – vocals, guitar
John Maurer – bass
Christopher Reece – drums
Dennis Danell – guitar

New York 1992

1. Bye Bye Baby
2. Let It Be Me
3. Prison Bound
4. So Far Away
5. Ring Of Fire
6. 99 To Life
7. Cold Feelings
8. 1945
9. Bad Luck
10. Making Believe
11. Ball & Chain
12. Sick Girls
13. Born To Lose
14. Shame On Me
15. When She Begins

Request Video 1990

1. Prison Bound
2. It Coulda Been Me
3. Ball And Chain
4. Pretty Thing
5. Let It Be Me
6. When She Begins

I bought this DVD a couple of years back at the Pasadena Flea Market/Record Swap Meet. It’s fair. One camera is used, sitting in the audience focused on Mike Ness, and never moves. The audio is OK, kind of monotone. Unfortunately, nothing that exciting that you would want to watch it over and over again. I sold it on Craig’s List for what I bought it for.

If you don’t own it, watch it once.

Rating: * ** one out of three stars

On with the story . . .

I was talking to my friend Jay shortly after I wrote a piece about my stay at Camp Wayside, he said something very cool, and he said “a person with no secrets has no lies.” So, with that in mind here goes another tale of my misspent youth. In 1982, 1983, I was hanging out with a group of guys, there were five of us that went by the “club” name of The Time Square Boys. One of the guys, Mike R. came up with the name, he was from New York (he moved six months prior), and came up with the concept of a club, because all the preppie clubs on campus could leave class due to club business, so why not us?

After, about, a month or so one of the club members, Wes, and I met a couple of girls that we would split our time with, half the time with the Time Square Boys, and the other half with the girls. Everybody, except me, loved weed, if I messed with anything it would be a beer or two.

A funny thing about being a punk during this time, I would say 98% of the world hated you, and members of your own family would be somewhat distant. The people that got close to you, sometimes viewed you as a superhero of some sort. I remember when I used to hang out with these guys, and trouble would break out – they would all look over to me, as if I could demolish the world. Two of the guys in the Times Square Boys, Tim and Wes were about six foot, two inches. I was five foot, 10 inches and about one hundred and fifty pounds. I wasn’t big, but any situation, cops, fights or whatever – it was assumed I would handle it.

So, back to the weed situation, the guys, and the addition of the two girls all liked weed. No one knew how to get it. So, it was assumed that I, the guy who hung out with unrespectable people in Hollywood, would know where to get it. Unfortunately, I did. One Christmas, after dinner, my Uncle took me to a park in Reseda to score something or other. So, when these chicks asked me to get them weed I said OK. They parked at one end of Balboa Park, and I walked around until I found the people who were trying their hardest not to be noticed. So, after a few minutes I found some hippie-looking guy, long hair and a beard, playing chess on a blanket with some hippie girl. I asked them, in my hippest lingo, Hey, do you know where I can score some bud? They ignored me. So, I walked off, while mumbling “F” you guys. Then some chunky burn-out runs up to me and asks if I want sticks, I didn’t know what sticks were, but I played along. Yeah, man, some sticks. He took me back to the hippies, we swapped the money and weed, and I got pissed. I said if you had the weed, why in the fuck did you ignore me? They still said nothing. The chunky burnout tells me, they hold it, and I sell it. There was no way in the world I could have been confused with a narc. I had bleached white hair, spiked-up like Colin from GBH.

Anyway, I did these runs for months, after the first one, everyone who wanted the weed was too scared to go with me, they would loan me their cars or whatever. My last “run” was mid-1983. I was loaned a moped, which belonged to one of the guy’s sisters. During this year or so that I was buying for people the “dealers” sold at Balboa Park, then they were pushed out to Woodley Park, pushed out again, and finally back to Balboa Park. So, I was buzzing down Louise towards Balboa Park. I pull into the parking lot on Balboa, and immediately I see the chunky burnout. He waves me over. Same deal as hundred times before, give him money, he gives me a baggy. As soon as I take the baggy, I hear sirens from the far end of the park, I look over and a cop car that I didn’t see before comes ripping across the park, I take off on the moped in the opposite direction. The cops are burning out across the park, across the grass, I head down Balboa, right on Burbank, right on Louise, left on Oxnard, left on White Oak, left on Ventura and another left on Louise and into the security gate of my friend Wes’ house. I stayed inside the garage for close to twenty minutes. And when I heard no sirens, I came out. I felt like Kris Kristofferson in Cisco Pike. But in reality I was an idiot.

Inside the house I gave everybody his or her weed, and explained what happened. It took a good hour for everybody to believe it. They were all . . . that’s shit right out of a movie man. No movie, just stupid teenage adrenaline.

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Top 10 Punk Guitarists

I like doing these lists. I like pulling out old albums, and remembering the pieces of music that shaped my youth. The lyrics that made me think, the guitar riffs that I’d hum during class when I should’ve been taking a test, the logos I’d draw on my notebook. I love it all, but I loathe the snooty comments when I don’t include the D.C. bands. Sure Bad Brains are supposed to be worshiped, and any project Ian MacKaye worked with should be included in all new printings of the Bible, but since I didn’t really dig these bands as a kid it would be stupid to include them in my list. So, if after reading my list you find yourself reaching for your Prozac bottle, sorry.

My definition of punk has always been a bit different than a lot of these “authorities.” In the sense that punk was something, to me, that anyone could do, and it usually sounded like it. So, when I put Greg Ginn at number one, it doesn’t mean he was better than the dude from Bad Brains, it means he completely captured the “garage punk” sound. The incredible feedback, the screeching. It was nothing, but punk.

Number 10
Johnny Ramone

The mans band had some of the coolest sing-a-longs ever. More or less, the Godfather of punk guitar.

Number 9
Greg Hetson

The stuff he did on the Group Sex album is some of the best punk ever recorded. And the work on the first Bad Religion album was top notch, too.

Number 8
Joe Strummer

I don’t know how Joe ranked on a technical basis, but he was cool, and passionate about his craft. RIP.

Number 7
Taz Rudd

Whether it’s his blistering work on the Symbol Six Monster’s 11 album, or his stuff with Decry. Rudd is on top of his game and has been for over 30 years.

Number 6
Captain Sensible

He was fun, I remember watching his WOT video on MTV in the early ‘80’s.

Number 5
Pat Smear

He is the punk rock version of Robert Johnson. He sucked, made a deal with the devil, and made a brilliant album with the Germs.

Number 4
Steve Jones

Great guitarist, punk or rock. Dug him live and on vinyl. Taught Andy Taylor of Duran Duran to play with an attitude.

Number 3
Ron Emory

Dance With Me, do I need to say more?

Number 2
Rikk Agnew

Every band he’s been in has gone on to success. He doesn’t seem to stay around too long, but he’s great. I’m not including him just because of the crazy email I received, from the perturbed groupie.

Number 1
Greg Ginn

I loved the beginning of any Black Flag song, the sound of the guitar turning on, and the feedback, then Greg’s crunching notes, only to be matched by the howling vocals of whatever singer they had.

Honorable Mentions: Brian Baker, Steve Jones of The Stepmothers, Mick Jones, etc.

These are my choices, I’m sticking to them.

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