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The first L.A. gig that I ever went to was in the summer of '81 and was either Black Flag or Agent Orange at the Roxy. I can't even be sure that they were separate shows 'cause sometimes my memory merges them together. In any case, what I do remember was Rollins looking a lot less angry and even a bit demented as he sang "TV Party" and Mike Palm playing surf songs like "Mr. Moto" in a way I'd never heard before. My experience with live music previously to that was seeing the Stones and the Who at huge outdoor venues and that was back in the days before they placed gigantic video screens over the band so the folks in the back could see. So going to a club show was something different. It was loud, sweaty and in your face. There was no going back after that. As I started attending club shows on a regular basis during the '80s -at long gone venues like the Cathey de Grande, the Shamrock, the Gaslight and Rajis- the concensus among the scenesters that I met was that I had missed it. Punk rock was dead. Over. Finished. Hmmm. Later in the '80s I started covering the club scene for a local fanzine called Flipside and eventually I got my own column I humbly christened Bobisms. In Bobisms I reported on the exploits of local wonders like PopDefect, Claw Hammer and the Muffs as well as out of town favorites like Seattle's Mudhoney and Denver's the Fluid. During that time it seemed like great bands were falling from the trees like over ripe fruit. Lately the pickin's seem a little bit slim. There are a few older local favorites kickin' around like Backbiter and some newer ones like Project K and the Dagons. And then there are bands like Detroit's White Stripes who make me ever so grateful for the precious gifts of sound and vision. Color me over optimistic if you will, but some two decades after being informed of Punk rock's demise I still haven't accepted it. I still want to believe that the best is yet to come.