Punks

Why are you still banging on about punk rock? someone asked me recently. That stuff’s been dead for over forty years, hasn’t it?

Dead? Really? Well, maybe dead in the sense that a vampire is dead, i.e., it’s a creature of the night and shuns the sunshine.

But – leaving aside the fact that The Damned are still alive and performing – the strain of rebellion that characterized much of the movement is still with us. It has simply evolved, in much the same way that punk itself had its roots in garage rock (and the availability of cheap guitars!). One only has to watch the news to see that the spirit of anarchy and struggle against the System continues.

So maybe it’s time to re-visit those days of stripped-down, anti-establishment music. Though, for some of us, we’re not really paying a visit to the past: a part of us never really left it to begin with.

Atomic Cafe

Los Angeles

Atomic

Brenda Perlin

© 2023

Atomic Cafe was a diner, a dive in a bad section of L.A. (was there ever a good section? I don’t think so). The service was slow, the waiters didn’t speak much English (or any), and they served funky Chinese cuisine that wasn’t like any food I had ever eaten. The chicken parts were unrecognizable, and the sauces were thick and messy. Still, we ate there every time we went Downtown to Hong Kong Cafe for punk shows. We’d drink sake well into the night, talking about nothing and everything.

The big attraction to the Atomic Cafe was the jukebox, which had all our favorite tunes. The staff was far from punk, but they catered to us street kids with our own music, from the Ramones, The Clash, The Damned, Siouxsie and the Banshees, Iggy Pop to David Bowie. It became our stomping ground when we weren’t in Hollywood hanging out at the Whisky, Starwood, Oki Dog, or wherever a homemade flyer would direct us.

Bad Religion

Brenda Perlin

© 2023

Being a punk in the old days meant something a hell of a lot different than it does today. At this moment, punk is praised, and we ‘old school punks’ are almost treated like royalty because WE WERE THERE! That is such a joke because we were the rejects. We didn’t fit in with the kids that were considered cool, and we definitely didn’t follow what society was prepping everyone to look and act like. We couldn’t walk on the street without being called names or trashed for our DIY stylings.

Back then, we were just a bunch of bored teenagers, outcasts trying to find our way in the world and seeking to find something more interesting than what we were seeing on TV or hearing on the popular radio stations.

Bad Religion, guys we hung out with, were a little late to the scene (like us) because they weren’t quite old enough to be a band in the late seventies, so they were considered poseurs (like us). Not to mention they were from the valley (like us). Another strike against them and us. And yet, (unlike many) they persevered and kept going, creating their own thing. And somehow, it worked. From their lyrics, angst, look, and sound.

In the early eighties, we were young and trying to figure it all out. Some of us survived, and many, so many, sadly, did not.

Nancy Hunt

Photo Credit: @laykinphoto

Bobbi Brat

Nancy Hunt

© 2023

When it comes to the punk rock scene in L.A., one name inevitably shows up, Bobbi Brat. She was the very thing that long ago ballads and legends were written about. She had every single box checked, from having creamy white skin, dark, dark hair, eyes of emerald green, a personality that made every man she encountered weak in the knees with desire, and women either running in fear or holding on to their men for dear life.

Then there was her voice. Out of such a small woman, this booming singing voice could fill a room all on its own and sometimes, in the case of the Red Scare, could cause complete chaos and destruction. She was the poster girl of the punk rock era, and she not only knew the extent of her power but also embraced it completely until the day she died of cancer.

Who was Bobbi Brat? She left an impression on everyone who met her and many who never did. To this day, we can still find her in the punk spirit of the '80s.

I was the owner of Na Na in Santa Monica, one of the country's first full-tilt punk rock department stores. I first met Bobbi while interviewing for new workers. Her uniform was typically black jeans, a studded belt, cowboy-type boots, and a cut-off tee shirt. Her look was considered cowpunk. She was not tall but had this killer body and a penetrating stare and smile that made you want to know more about her. Her black hair was short and slicked back like young Elvis. And very androgynous.

The easiest way to get a job at Na Na was through someone already working there. I wish I could remember who brought in Bobbi, but she sure had the right stuff right off the bat. Our interview questions were brief but essential. I asked Bobbi if she had ever worked with the public before and about her ability to handle money and make change. Her reply was swift and very serious. Yes, and yes! she chuckled. I used to be a stripper, so I know how to handle people, okay? And sure, I know how to handle cash! It was here she stopped to let out the famous Bobbi cackle that we all grew to love… but I NEVER gave back change!

Yup, she was perfect for the job and started that day. My company gave employees paid health insurance, which was unheard of at the time for a small business but seemed like the thing to do. Sadly, it was just the blessing that Bobbi needed, as she battled cancer for several years, and without it, she could never have gotten the care she needed.

Bobbi's singing career was her passion. Na Na always allowed our staff to go on tour or provided a place to rehearse. Bobbi had several bands over the years she worked for us, including the Voodoo Gaters, which had a little bit of a bayou Cajun touch, and eventually the Bobbi Brat band. She could easily handle covers of Patsy Cline and other artists that no one else wouldn't even attempt. Bobbi wasn't all looks. She could pick up anything fast with intimidating skill and wasn't shy about it.

When Bobbi was invited to join a band of female desperados in Reach, a 12-minute music video for Bill Paxton's band Martini Ranch, she stood alongside Catherine Bigelow, Bud Cort, Judge Reinholt, Bill's wife Louise (who also worked at Na Na) a few female bodybuilders, and myself. James Cameron was directing and had us walk in a line down a dusty old West Town Main Street. He took plenty of closeups of this amazing cast and, of course, the bodybuilders. Without missing a beat, on her first day ever on a set, Bobbi boldly said, Jim, what about my closeup? He replied, Miss Brat, I would like to revolve an entire project around you, but yes, for now, I promise you a closeup!

Years later, when Bobbi was terminally ill, James Cameron would call her and urge her to get better so they could do a film together.

Bobbi is an everlasting heart and soul. When it came time for me to name my new store decades later, it was perfect timing to get a call from Bill Paxton in the middle of the night. He randomly asked how long Bobbi had been gone, and I immediately realized I needed to name my store Brat in her honor. And now, the legend of Bobbi Brat lives on for another generation.

Bobbi Brat and friend

Jared, Marley, Natalie

Brothers with Cramps

Jared Weiss

© 2023

I landed in San Diego when I was seven years old. It was 1981. My family had enough of the freezing Massachusetts winters. The exposure to culture, music, drugs, and divorce fascinated and scared the shit outta me. Stoners, punks, mods, goths, surfers. Holy shit! What fucking planet did we just land on? My biggest musical influence was definitely my older brother. First, it was Judas Priest, Iron Maiden, and Van Halen in the early ’80s. In 1987 he introduced me to The Cult. He and his high school buddy were raving about their new record, Electric. They blasted Wild Flower so fucking loud my ears rang for hours after that. I thought I lost my hearing for good. I was twelve. He took me to see them at the San Diego Sports Arena that same year. My first concert. My ears rang for two days after that show. I realized that ringing was normal from there on out after a live show. During this time, I learned the sacred rule of hardcore music. There’s only one way to listen to it! LOUD. Seeing live music, how the band looked, how they moved, seeing the fans, and feeling the sound in my soul changed the way I experienced music forever.

Tattoo artist Taylor Ross

In 1990, the local radio station 91X was hosting XFest III at the Aztec Bowl at SDSU. I was sixteen years old. Again, my brother got tickets, and we saw the B-52s, The Cramps, They Might Be Giants, and Ziggy Marley and the Melody Makers. We had general admission tickets and of course, we had to be in the front. I’m pretty sure my brother wanted me to have the full-on festival experience. It was a typical San Diego day at