Bleached and The Damned

I must have loved rock 'n' roll music the first time I heard it. I wish I could remember what song it was. Beatles, Stones, Kinks or The Who? Cash, Lewis, Presley, Berry or Little Richard? It really does not fucking matter. It was like eating t-bone for the first time after years of tofu.

Those old boys led me to the music played by the bands who walked through the door they had kicked down. Mott the Hoople, Humble Pie, The Guess Who, Slade, Lou Reed and T Rex. Status Quo above all. First Ma Kelly's Greasy Spoon, then the rest.

As good as all those bands were I was looking for something faster, louder and snottier. I found it on a stage in England in October of 1976. The Runaways - my very first punk rock show. There must have been a thousand of us in the hall that night - our lives changed, for better or worse, forever. There was, if you are wondering, nothing better than being young and in love with the Runaways in 1976.

All of which brings me to last night's Damned show in Dope City. Me and six of the best friends you could ask for marked 40 years of punk rock by attending the show.

Played two hours they did. Not bad for a bunch of old fucks like me. Was not the shit show pogo gob fountain floor vomit sink piss overdose riddled show from the '70s but everybody had more than their share of fun. We sang along and had us what I do not get as much of as I ought to any more: Ecstasy! That is the Voo Doo power of enthusiastically played rock 'n' roll.

But before The Damned took the stage there was Bleached. Three young women from the motherfucking USA with a guy handling the stool. Made a lot of fans last night they did. Great American songs played enthusiastically as an American air blast. Reminded me of Dick Dale and the Del-Tones from that great surf movie "Beach Party." If Dale had paid a little more attention to girl groups, spent a little more time in the fucking garage and a little less time on the beach that is.

Had a chat with Jessie, one of their guitar players, when she was taking care of their merch table before the headliners got going. Some nice she is. I bought all their records. She signed the blue one for me, tagging it with a wee heart.

It may be dismembered, septic, left for dead on the battlefield, but rock 'n' roll is not fucking dead yet, motherfuckers.