An old fart's view of punk rock then and now

It was 10:30am in the morning and my band was about to play. We were on the roof of a casino in Vegas in front of a large pool filled with tattooed punk rockers (many with drinks in hand even at this early hour). Multiple bright colored floaties were flying in the air over the pool — even a few blow-up penises. The crowd was big… let’s just say capacity here was a little over 1500 and the place was getting packed. After our set it got even more crowded. I never thought I would see a mosh pit in a pool but hey, it was hot out, and why not? Two more bands played. Punk rockers were everywhere, dancing, singing, stumbling, drinking, splashing. Welcome to the first Saturday of the Punk Rock Bowling Festival in Las Vegas 2025. The party had started with a bang. I ended up “drinking my lunch” and passed out at 3pm.

I woke up later in my Golden Nugget hotel room – it was early evening -- and thought… “what the fuck?” This was only my second Punk Rock Bowling Festival and it still blew my mind. Here I was pushing 60 (I’m 58) — having an experience my 16-year-old self would have NEVER believed possible. 

I started going to punk rock shows in Sacramento and the bay area in the early 80s when I was a teenager. I still remember my dad drove me, my little sister, and some of our friends to see our first RAMONES show (thanks Dad!). Dropped us off and picked us up. Back in the 80s most punk rock shows were scrappy affairs. At total dives. Club Minimal in Sacramento was literally that, “minimal.” Most shows weren’t at large clubs, they were DIY (do-it-yourself) kinds of affairs. Vets Halls rented for a night. Shitty PA’s and shitty equipment. At many shows fights would break out. In the 80s in California that meant fights between punks and skinheads. There were a lot of skinheads in California in the 80s. A LOT. One funny memory I have is from a show in Oxnard, CA, around 1986. The Vandals were headlining. Right before they came on a voice came over the PA. “Excuse me, I’m looking for a friend and can’t find them.” Everyone stopped talking and listened intently. The voice continued, “Please let me know if you have seen them. They are wearing red suspenders. Doc Martens. A bomber jacket. And they have no hair.”  The half of the audience who weren’t skinheads was totally cracking up… Suddenly, Dave Quakenbush (singer for the Vandals) popped out from behind the PA laughing (I remember he had his hair in ponytails with little bows, and looked silly), mic in hand. The skinheads went crazy, huffing, puffing, stomping around saying they were going to kill him after the show. 

In the 1980s it wasn’t uncommon for fights to break out at punk shows. Like I said, the skinheads always showed up en force and always seemed to be starting scuffles. And until “crossover” became a thing, metalheads with long hair clashed with anyone with a mohawk. Pits were mostly dudes thrashing out pent up anger to hardcore bands. The kids were… angry. Outside of punk shows tolerance wasn’t high for anything that wasn’t considered “normal.” I remember my 17-year-old boyfriend getting called a faggot and beat up for wearing eyeliner and pink converse... I think he was outside of a 7-11 when that happened. Seeing piercings wasn’t commonplace. I didn’t pierce my nose until I was 19. I had begged my parents all through high school to let me do it and NO was always the answer. So, I waited till I moved away from home. Had a friend stick a needle through my nose after we sterilized it with a flame and rubbing alcohol. Got my first tattoo at 19 too. My mom said she didn’t want me to get one because when she was growing up “people who had tattoos were lower class and trashy.”  When I replied, “they still are,” she cried. But I was over 18 and could do what I wanted. And so I did, much to my parents’ dismay. 

Back in the 80s the world wasn’t so accepting of people who had crazy colored hair dos or shaved heads, tattoos or body piercings (other than earlobes). Being different back then was really going against the grain. If you looked “different” you really stood out. It’s hard to believe now because “punk rock” is more mainstream these days. Ramones on beer commercials. 12-year-olds with nose rings and blue hair.

Honestly, it’s still hard for me to get used to.

Let’s get back to Punk Rock Bowling, 2025.

I’ve been to the Golden Nugget in Las Vegas many times over the years. It’s a casino/hotel on Fremont Street and part of “old Vegas.” Last year while at the Golden Nugget I experienced my first Punk Rock Bowling Festival weekend—and saw lots of things I never thought I’d see. Imagine a huge casino filled with punk rockers. I mean 80% of the visitors walking around – gambling, eating, drinking — having colored hair, multiple piercings, and battle vests covered with band patches. Imagine being out at the casino pool and those same people — covered in tattoos — are swimming around with drinks in hand, whooshing through the waterslide, and listening to music from punk rock bands like Bad Religion, Ramones, Buzzcocks, and the Clash — that is blaring through the outdoor casino sound system. Wow.

What the hell was going on? I was at a huge punk rock festival that had a huge social media presence. There were punk rockers all over, and some had kids that looked like punk rockers. I was laughing, but at the same time I wasn’t sure how I felt about it.

What attracted me to punk rock in the 80s was the angst. I liked my edges rough. I liked the feeling of things being a bit unhinged. I liked the feeling of danger. When I first started going to punk rock shows, I remember feeling a little scared. 

In 1984 a documentary movie Another State of Mind came out. It follows punk rock bands Youth Brigade and Social Distortion on their 1982 summer tour — a scrappy affair. They drive throughout the US and Canada. In an intimate scene, a 20-year-old Mike Ness shares a song he’s just written, “Another State of Mind,” acoustically on his guitar. The tour bus – an old school bus — breaks down… they repair it. It breaks down again. Relationships are strained. People are tired and want to go home. Some do – they fly back. The tour ends prematurely. It was a financial failure, but they’ve made like-minded friends across the countries. The seed has been set.

2025: On Sunday the PRB festival was winding down. A lot of festival-goers were leaving to go home. The ratio of punk rock freaks in the Golden Nugget was dwindling. I started noticing more and more conservative, normal people on their Vegas vacations. The punk rock music at the pool was thinning out. A Clash song. Then Katy Perry. A Ramones song. Then the Killers. Things were getting reset “back to normal.” 

And it definitely wasn’t as much fun. 

I was missing the “all punk rock music” out at the pool. I was missing seeing green mohawks at the slot machines. I recalled the day prior when I was floating around the Golden Nugget pool, waxing poetic about my confused feelings of then and now to my friend Andy aka Thor. He said he thought this evolved scene was great. “We’re creating the world we want to live in.” I softened a little and felt a connection to what he was saying. 

Like I said, things have changed. I never thought I would see punk rock become so mainstream. I couldn't help but think... is mainstream a good thing? 

Maybe. The kids are diverse, more tolerant, more accepting of differences and less tolerant of assholes. Google the video of the guy in an SS shirt who got the boot from concert-goers at this year’s festival. Now that wouldn’t have happened in the 80s!

As much as my mind is blown it probably doesn’t compare to those of the band members in Youth Brigade and Social Distortion. Their 1982 tour was over 40 years ago. Both bands hit the main PRB festival stage during the weekend. And rather than a scrappy tour in a busted-up school bus they were now playing to over 10,000 people. 

So yeah, creating the world we want to live in is happening. If only for a long weekend. 

--Beth

Teeny tiny toilets, foxy cops and sidewalk tripping: A gringo’s observations in CDMX

In December, I visited Mexico City for the first time. Below are some observations I would like to share.

There aren’t many poor people just “asking for a free handout,” like the homeless you see in USA. Rather, needy Mexicans are very creative. They really hustle with enthusiasm. Washing car windows at stoplights, selling things – some which may be considered a bit odd, asking to draw your portrait, juggling on a unicycle in front of buses. Down and out Mexicans aren’t freeloaders, they have pride. They want to contribute something in exchange for needed pesos. They are resilient.
 
People “hustling” are treated with humility. They are not told to move away from the parklets in front of a restaurant, or to take their wares elsewhere. And it’s not like they are just being tolerated — it’s more like they are accepted as the fabric of everyday life.
 
Female police officers are really foxy. Perfect hair and makeup. Even female security guards seem to really go to the nines. Looking good ladies!
 
Everyone is down with the Virgin Mary. 99% of our Uber drivers had rosaries hanging from their rearview mirrors. 

 
Not all sidewalks are easy to walk on. Watch your step – always. There are stairs, cracks, crevices, wonky bricks, chunks missing, up and down grades, narrow sections… it’s a free for all. No ADA laws here.
 
There are a lot of abandoned buildings or places under construction. I was obsessed with visiting this huge, deserted hotel I’d read about online – El Pasado del Sol. (Owner had run out of money and supposedly hung himself in the courtyard and it was haunted.) First day in CDMX we were on a street taco tour, and I asked our guide if she had heard of it. She said something to the affect of “Which abandoned building? They are everywhere!” I realized how stupid my question was as we explored the city the next two weeks. Duh!

 
You can buy all sorts of things from street vendors. Odd things you would not imagine people would be randomly selling from the sidewalk. Need a small towel? Fuzzy slippers? A very large bookshelf in assorted styles? These vendors must be making mucho sales or they wouldn’t be sitting there day in and day out. Right?
 
When Mexicans are vending, they really get into it. They call out to passerby in elaborate, beautiful sing song phrases, creating unique “jingles” for hawking their wares. Takes barking to a whole new level. They are also not shy about getting close to whatever action is going on. I was at a punk rock flea market and a metal band was playing outside. An old guy selling fruit drinks was practically in the mosh pit with his cart, chanting melodically about his merchandise, seemingly oblivious to the live show.
 
When Mexicans are moving things, they don’t always have a hand truck or wagon handy. No problem! They just throw large items on their backs  and get on with the move. People walking along carrying very, very, very big things is a common sight. Mexicans son muy fuerte!
 
It’s a family culture. That means if dad’s black metal band is playing, everyone in the familia comes to the concert. Toddlers, siblings, grandma. Doesn’t matter where or what time. And relatives don’t hang out shyly on the sidelines or in back of the crowd. No, they mix and mingle. They get right up there, even if that means one of the younger kids has their head down and is falling asleep at a table right in front of the stage. Meanwhile dad, shirtless, chest dripping with fake blood, is screaming his lungs out two feet away.

 
Most public restroom stalls are tiny. So tiny that my average size self would step inside, attempt to close the door and back up into the toilet. Scrambling to try and lock bathroom doors, I would feel as if the whole front of me was in the way, I could stick out my tongue and touch the fucking door if I wanted to. It was a struggle every time. I couldn’t imagine what a larger person would do. Aside from the squish, public Water Closets rule. You pay 5-7 pesos (about 25 USA cents), someone hands you TP as you walk in, and they keep the bathrooms clean. 
 
Mexican pharmacies rule. Stuff you’d need a prescription in the USA for – like antibiotics — are sold over the counter. I stocked up on Prednisone for a friend who asked me to get her some. Easy peasy.

 
During a tour of the Teotihuacan pyramids, when we asked our (very knowledgeable) guide about the Teotihuacan pyramids being aligned astrologically with the pyramids in Egypt she looked at us blanky and said, “They are?” She was not impressed. We brought up extraterrestrial theories (how did those big rocks really get moved while building?) and she shrugged them off. As UFO obsessed gringos we found this lack of interest fascinating. 

 

–Beth