Some people keep diaries, jotting down their deepest, darkest secrets about love, friendship and the like. These tear-stained daybooks are best friends for some people and help get them through the day.
In my teen years, I ripped a piece of paper out of a beat-up notebook and wrote down the gigs I attended.
This now-yellowed sheet tells the tale of my punk-rock exploits circa 1981-'83 in the Southern California area. Whenever I returned home from places like the Starwood, Whisky a Go Go, Cuckoo's Nest, Godzillas and other clubs, I regularly listed the bands that were on the bill that night.
If this page could talk, it would scream about loud music, beer, clove cigarettes, puke on bathroom floors, broken guitars, microphone stands flying into the crowd, cops and gangs= violence, late nights and long drives (with too many people packed into cars) to dingy clubs where all this glorious stuff happened.
Like those diaries, it was also about friendship. And today, I might even shed a tear when reliving those good times.
Anyway, enough emo shit, here's that list, gigs 1-60:
|And now for a break from our "sponsor": Punk rockers' beer of choice.|