My problem with rock ‘n’ roll music is easily explained, but not so easily remedied. As I grew old enough to start attending live concerts, I was living in London and the advance guard of the soon-to-be punk rock revolution could be heard rumbling in basements and rundown rehearsal studios across Britain.

My concert-going career got off to the best-possible start when my brilliant friend Neil Gaiman took me to see Lou Reed at the London Rainbow in 1976. It was Lou’s Rock ‘n’ Roll Heart international tour. We had seats near the front; Lou opened with “Sweet Jane” and nothing in my life was ever the same again. I was fifteen and Neil and I went home and started our own band.

1977 brought with it the famous Summer of Punk and all through that glorious year—and the next—my bassplayer, Graham Smith, and I wandered through a musical wonderland in which we basked in the uncensored sonic assault of The Clash, Blondie, The Ramones, Generation X, The Buzzcocks, The Damned, The Stranglers, The Jam, The Runaways, The Cure, XTC, and a host of others. We were lucky enough to see some of those great bands over and over; I ended up catching the mighty Ramones in concert 19 times. Looking through the gig guides each week in New Musical Express or Sounds, we sometimes could just not decide which shows to go to in any given week: How could we possibly be expected to choose between The Dictators at the Roundhouse or The Rich Kids at the Lyceum Ballroom? It was, truly, an absurdity of riches. And herein lies the root of my problem: Nothing could ever compete with that adrenaline-fuelled smorgasbord of anarchic club nights, and so I could never again enjoy live music quite as much as I did during my youth.

One solution was to keep on going back, in later years, to see the survivors and that explains the 19 Ramones show. The decades rolled by, but you could always count on twenty-one high speed, perfect, catchy punk songs at any given show. When you jumped up and down in front of the Ramones while they were on stage, time stood still. Singing along with the crowd at the Academy in New York City during The Ramones’ farewell tour in 1996, I could almost have been back in London in ’78. Yeah, the guys were a little older, and C.J. had replaced Dee Dee on bass, but they were still one of the most vital and exciting live bands of all time. Now Joey Ramone is dead. So is Johnny and Dee Dee. As is Joe Strummer—the greatest artist of the punk era—and Sid Vicious, Johnny Thunders and Jerry Nolan of the New York Dolls, Malcolm Owen from The Ruts, and Dead Boys frontman Stiv Bators. The punk movement had a lot of casualties. But all through the years there was one other band that carried the punk rock torch for me: Social Distortion.

Though singer, songwriter, and lead guitarist Mike Ness is the only original member, it doesn’t matter that much. Mike is Social Distortion and a Social D concert in Tucson is always good news. They have a solid fan base here in the Baked Apple, and their shows usually set out, as demonstrated by Monday’s packed house at the Rialto Theater. Not only do I never miss a Social D concert in town, I sometimes travel considerable distances to see them, which is why they have now surpassed even The Ramones as my most-seen band.

I have a short attention span and don’t much care for all-day music festivals with endless back-to-back performances. So, when I’m going to see a favorite band I often skip the warm-up act because I want to focus on the artist I’m there to see. The just-completed Social Distortion tour featured two opening acts I wasn’t familiar with: Lucero and Frank Turner. Fortunately, my girlfriend and I decided to check out the bands online and see if the music spoke to us. Lucero had a good sound and reminded me a little of The Old 97s. Frank Turner literally blew me away. Yes, the music spoke. Frank’s rousing video of “The Road” begins with this message: “All right, this is Frank Turner. It’s 8 o’clock in the evening. We’re about to film 24 shows in 24 hours. Let’s go!” The immediately engaging English singer opens up on a rooftop in London and then travels from one friend’s house and party to another, producing a fascinating, personal, and dynamic video that is pretty much the best thing I’ve seen this century. So, not only did my girl and I decide to head down to The Rialto early, as there was absolutely no way we were missing Frank’s set, but we booked a room at Hotel Congress—right across the street—so we could let loose, party, and stay up late without worrying about driving home.

Frank Turner in action. Photo © Frank Turner

Frank opened with a couple of solo acoustic songs, then brought on his excellent band and the results were stellar. He has the fire of Joe Strummer, the conviction of Billy Bragg, the witty lyrical turn of Lach or Bob Dylan, and dresses, looks, and leaps around stage a little like a young Bruce Springsteen. Wrap all of that up in a series of catchy, energetic, uplifting melodies reminiscent of the best of the early Alarm and Levellers and the result is an unforgettable concert experience.

After the show, I made my way to the merch table, and there was Frank himself—humble, friendly, accessible—selling his own CDs. It was a very do-it-yourself punk moment. Frank and I discovered that we had some mutual acquaintances from the UK, shared a love of The Clash, and I said: “I could talk to you non-stop for an hour, but I know you’re busy.” He, smiled and said: “No, no, it’s fine, please stay,” and invited us out for a drink after the headline show but, alas, we had other plans. Next time Frank, thank you.

Social Distortion were brilliant too. It was easily the best Social D concert I’ve seen in a decade and that’s saying something. But as I fell asleep in the cozy iron-framed bed at Hotel Congress, in the wee hours, it was “The Road” that circulated happily through my head.

When Joe Strummer died, far too young, at the age of 50, one obituary threw down a momentous question: “Who among you will take up the challenge?” By that, the writer meant which artist, which songwriter, will have the courage, vision, and talent to follow in Joe’s footsteps? Frank Turner may just be that person. And I have learned that once in a long, long while, you can find something that’s every bit as good as the best moments of your youth.

Back in the punk years in London, I remember a music journalist making a prescient prediction. He wrote that after the first wave of punk bands had broken up or imploded, some of the shining individual talents would coalesce to form punk supergroups. The Lords of the New Church were the first and—despite their somewhat silly name—probably the best. Stiv Bators, former frontman for New York’s apocalyptic Dead Boys, recruited ex-Damned guitarist and genius songsmith Brian James, along with bassplayter Dave Tregunna from Sham 69, and Barracudas drummer Nicky Turner. The Lords’ dark, lush, heavily-produced sound was a major step forward for punk, and their long, black shaggy haircuts and eerie skull-and-crossbones dress style were the precursors of goth.

So, when I think of Angels and Airwaves—one of my favorite contemporary bands—I cannot help but be happily reminded of the Lords, as A & A are themselves a supergroup. Tom DeLonge also fronts blink-182; David Kennedy is a former member of Over My Dead Body; drummer Atom Willard previously played with Rocket from the Crypt and the Offspring; and bassplayer Matt Watcher came to the band from 30 Seconds to Mars.

I’m a little jealous of Angels and Airwaves because they have accomplished what I had hoped to do with my bands back in New York in the post-punk days: they’ve successfully melded the energy of punk with a soaring, ethereal, modern electric sound, creating a sonic landscape that is exciting and engaging, yet also moody, ambient and dreamlike. It’s really the best of both worlds.

Their third album, Love, is also their finest work—a little tougher and more powerful than We Don’t Need to Whisper and I-Empire, but also more majestic. When Love was released on Valentine’s Day this year, Angles and Airwaves took the fairly radical step of making it available only as a free download from Tom DeLong’s Modlife.com website. You actually could not go into the store and buy the new release, but the band were happy to give it to you as a gift—with donations from fans gladly accepted. Again, this took me back to the punk days, when bands said: “To hell with the record companies,” and started putting out their own 45s. In an interview with Music-Mix, Tom DeLonge said he considered Love to be “the pinnacle release of my life.”

When I saw Angels and Airwaves a couple of years ago at The Rialto, I was surprised and delighted to discover that onstage they reminded me a little of the mighty Clash—in my opinion the greatest live band of all time. A & A were sharply dressed in vaguely military-style black, and powered around the stage with plenty of energy, but also presented themselves as accomplished, professional showmen. And that’s what I want if I’m paying dollars to attend a live concert: I expect to see something dramatic and striking, larger than life; not people slouching up on stage in sweat pants and rugby shirts.

Love has been playing rather incessantly in my office recently. It’s easily my favorite record of the year, so far. Back in 1977 when south London bands were trying to scrape together the few hundred quid needed to put out their own single, they couldn’t possibly have imagined that thirty-odd years later, anyone, anywhere in the world, with an internet connection could download an independently released and recorded song, and play it instantly on their computer or iPod. We’ve come a long way, but the do-it-yourself punk ethos is alive and well, and nobody is doing it better than Tom DeLonge and his bandmates.

Angels and Airwaves are at The Marquee Theater, Tempe on Tuesday, May 25, and you can download a free copy of their magnificent Love at Modlife.com. Donate a few bucks to this great band and—as a thank you—you’ll receive a bonus track.

Here’s to modern bands making music their way. Who needs record companies anyway!

The stellar line-up of musical talent at yesterday’s outdoor Barrio Viejo fundraiser demonstrates just how well liked and respected KXCI radio is, and rightly so. While the live music—which included Tom Wallbank, Silver Thread Trio, the wonderful Mariachi Aztlan de Pueblo High School, Sergio Mendoza and Salvador Duran, and Calexico (complete with a stage full of guest stars)—was outstanding, KXCI and the other organizers have a lot to learn about how to treat their supporters in a respectful manner.

Flags decorate the main stage at the Barrio Viejo Festival

The blame for difficulties faced by attendees possibly rests with co-presenters, the Rialto Theater—a fine venue to watch a band, but not exactly a place that you’d call user-friendly. One of the great pleasures of seeing concerts at the Rialto used to be their easygoing, no-nonsense re-entry policy. Since the Rialto only has a license for wine and beer, I used to enjoy stepping outside for a quick cocktail at Club Congress between bands, or if I didn’t care for a particular act. No longer. During recent visits to the Rialto I’ve been disappointed to see that they no longer allow re-entry, preferring to keep their customers crammed inside a crowded foyer, waiting on long lines for an unimpressive selection of drinks.

Yesterday’s Barrio Veijo concert unfortunately employed the same policy. Once you were in, you were in. At $20/$25 per ticket, the people who came out to support Tucson community radio, and see some legendary local acts, were obviously serious about wanting to help the station—$25 being rather steep for a Tucson concert. I’ve worked in bands, nightclubs, and theaters for over 25 years and the arguments that “It’s complicated” or “difficult” to allow re-entry is just so much B.S. The real reason they don’t allow re-entry is because promoters want to keep you locked up inside where you have to pay $2 for a small bottle of water. It’s all about squeezing more money out of trapped punters.

The excellent Mariachi Aztlan de Pueblo High School played on the "Side Stage" which wasn't actually a stage, but who's counting?

Those wanting to buy food had to wait on line twice; those wanting beer needed to wait on line three times! A rather dense policy required you to first get a wristband, wait on a second line to buy little pink $1 tickets, then go to a third line in order to trade your tickets for actual food and beverages. I was unoficially told that this policy was designed to “Stop the vendors ripping off the promoters.” I think a little more trust might be in order in that area.

The people selling the little pink tickets had no idea how much anything cost and were entirely unhelpful when asked for advice about how many tickets one might want to buy. Once we finally got our veggie burros and tacos, courtesy of master Mexican chef Martin and his Comida Chigona. it was excellent but then Martin’s food always is excellent, so no surprise there.

The charming Cushing Street Bar & Restaurant sits immediately next to the festival entrance, and it would have been nice if this elegant local business could have benefited from the hundreds of people walking around nearby, but the no re-entry policy meant that the bar at Cushing remained effectively empty, while scores of people stood only a few feet away (on the other side of the fence), waiting in interminable lines for $5 plastic cups of warm Budweiser.

Headliners Calexico and friends delivered a wonderfully diverse set on the main stage

No free seating was provided at the event, except for a few rickety iron tables in the food area, an they were not shaded. I saw a bouncer ordering three sweet-looking middle-aged women, who were quietly sitting on the hot tarmac, to “Get up, move, and don’t give me any attitude!” Exact quote. The KXCI benefit was, I assume, intended to be a family-friendly concert and there were certainly plenty of kids and parents there. Community radio enthusiasts who are ponying up $25 apiece to support a favorite local radio station really don’t need to be barked at by bouncers. It’s one thing if security has to deal with a raucous punk rock crowd, but come on, this was a community radio benefit. A little couresty goes a long way on a hot Saturday afternoon.

If you wanted to plunk down another $5 you could have the dubious pleasure of parking your backside on a hot aluminum bleacher near the stage. The lack of shade and seating caused one pregnant woman to faint from the heat; she was rescued by the staff at Cushing Street who sent cold water, salt, and fruit out to her.

Popular local silversmith Lisa Marie of Sirocco Design hangs out at Martin's during the festival

At the very end of the evening, as Calexico’s set was drawing to a close, I worked my way up near the front of the stage and met some friends who were sitting on the bleachers. The crowd had thinned somewhat and at least half the seats were empty. I’d been on my feet for several hours, so I sat down on one of the empty rows. A thuggish bouncer immediately pounced on me and said: “Get up, those seats are reserved.”

“Reserved for whom?” I asked. “The show’s nearly over. There’s nobody here.”

“Get up,” he yelled back. “Those seats are reserved.”

I was pretty fed up with appalling customer relations by that point, so I left soon after. With the last band playing its last few songs, and people heading home to the lovely sounds of Calexico, under a delightful Tucson sunset, it’s a shame that rude security and daft planning left the KXCI benefit with a sour aftertaste. Let’s hope they learn from their mistakes and do better next year. After all, the musicians onstage talked enthusiastically and passionately about friendship and community here in Tucson. I guess that message wasn’t heard by the organizers.

Photographs © by Geoffrey Notkin. All rights reserved. No reproduction without written permission.