13/09/2026
I’ve been to scores of punk shows, including probably a half-dozen to see Social Distortion, the seminal SoCal punk rock band from Orange County, California.
Original frontman Mike Ness had a cancer scare a couple of years back, making Social D’s long-awaited release, Born to Kill, take even longer to hit the streets—but most agree it was worth the wait.
Last night, for the first time in a very long while, I caught Social D again, along with The Chats and The Descendents, at the recently refurbished (2024) and historic (1928) Brooklyn Paramount.
The venue is large, stunning, and well worth the schlep from Manhattan.
What made this concert so memorable in my long list of punk shows wasn’t just the strongly accented, aggressive, and stripped-down stylings of Aussie band The Chats, or my second time seeing the legendary Descendents.
It was Mike Ness—the energy he and his bandmate projected and the energy the packed crowd radiated right back.
The Accidental Discovery
This may sound hyperbolic, but as big of a fan as I once was, my fandom of Ness and co. had cooled just a smidgen as my musical journey evolved since I first discovered Social Distortion in the mid-aughts (well after their "mainstream" peak in the late ’80s and ’90s, when they were getting regular MTV and radio airplay).
But they are the entire reason I got into punk rock music—a world I arrived at relatively late in life, in my mid-30s. Still, as I like to say, I was always punk; I just didn’t know it.
Growing up in the ’80s, Billy Idol, The Police (punk-rooted), and The Clash (fervently punk rock) were part of my soundtrack, even as I looked askance at ’70s punks like the Ramones or the S*x Pistols.
I was more of a breakdancing kid listening to mainstream pop acts like Prince and Michael Jackson, or arena rock like Heart, AC-DC and Def Leapord. Skipping school to get to a KISS Concert with my pals got me kicked off the basketball team for a while. See? Just a misdirected punk.
But those punk-inspired artists bled into mainstream radio in my zip code with their pop-friendly tracks.
In college, college radio introduced me to post-punk bands like R.E.M., Violent Femmes, and The Bodines.
Later, while living in Nashville during the Nirvana and grunge years, I broadened my musical tastes even more toward an indie-artist vibe.
When I moved to New York City, I was exposed to a broad array of world music, most notably Latin music, including salsa, and I really liked Spanish rock, or “Rock en Español” (still do). I also still really enjoy global beats and world music, from reggae to folk to polka to African. The more exotic, the more I listened.
But it was living on Astor Place in NYC in the early aughts—just a stone’s throw from St. Marks and the famed CBGBs—where I mistakenly bought a pre-owned copy of Social Distortion's White Light, White Heat, White Trash that changed my life, and I forever became, first and foremost, a punk rocker. Punk rock was never a phase, but the fulfillment of an evolution of a personality built for it.
"Dear Lover," which Ness played Friday night, was on my daily rotation for years on end, wearing a deep groove into my brain. If, God forbid, I ever get dementia, play "Dear Lover" at full volume: I’m confident the toes will tap, the head will bob, and you’ll know Rob is still in there somewhere.
White Light, White Heat, White Trash was Social Distortion at their thrashiest, hard-rockiest. That CD got played endlessly, long before I even knew who Social Distortion or Mike Ness really were, what they looked like, or that this was considered "punk rock" music.
I would later gobble up every song, remembering my initial joy at hearing Johnny Cash’s "Ring of Fire" set to a punkabilly beat. The cowpunk anthems “Prison Bound” and "Like an Outlaw" felt like my Tennessee and NYC roots had mated to bear a California obsession. Seeing the seminal "Story of My Life” music video recorded years before I discovered it sealed the deal. Ness was the coolest cat I’d ever seen shred a guitar. Original. Unique. Timeless. Influential.
I’d now arrange my business travel across the country to try to catch Ness and co. at West Coast concerts and festivals or whenever they came east. I’d meet a couple of the members (Bass Player and gifted Vocalist Brett Harding, and talented Guitarist Johnny Two-Bags), but never Ness himself.
A Calling Bigger Than Music
But all along, it was the song "Don't Drag Me Down" that spoke to me loudest.
Having grown up in the very town where the original Ku Klux Klan originated but now living in the most diverse city in the world, that song’s anti-racist theme spoke to me in ways no other song ever could. It was loud, angry, and full of disdain for ignorance—my own past ignorance, and that of those who continue to marinate in theirs to this day.
Living in NYC, I couldn’t understand how anyone could be a bigot, racist, or xenophobic. Often, some of the biggest a-holes I knew in NYC were White. Often, the nicest folks I knew were Black and Brown. There’s no agenda in this statement; I didn’t plan it that way. It wasn’t my expectation. It was just what I experienced, and I'm observing and calling it what I saw and still see.
Social D led me down a musical and philosophical path I could never have predicted. I first dipped my toes into punk with major bands like Bad Religion, The Offspring, and NOFX (whom I’d later interview). I also fell in love with Social Distortion’s opening acts—artists Ness personally curated, like the psychobilly/punkabilly band Tiger Army (whom I also later interviewed) and alt-country artist Jade Jackson.
Eventually, my journey led me to explore the philosophy and lifestyle of punk and underground music scenes in a more formal, anthropological manner.
I merged my love of punk rock with travel and filmmaking, attempting to produce a documentary called Punktology. Though the film was never completed, it took me to far-flung locales across Latin America—like Colombia, Cuba, Peru, and Argentina—as well as a life-defining trip to Russia, and a place I’ve returned to many times since: Ukraine (I never remotely suspected how important visiting these two places would become years later).
My amateurish attempt at Punktology ultimately led me to create the travel show Raw Travel, altering the trajectory of my life yet again—including my current role as whatever the heck I am today or may be tomorrow.
Because of that try-and-fail experiment, I gained a calling far bigger than music. I made lifelong friends with socially conscious musicians around the world who shared a worldview matching my own: empathy, pain, love of life, love of humanity, and love for each other—paired with a healthy, thoughtful, and non-reflexive disrespect for misuse of authority and anyone trying to put themselves above other humans by punching down.
The moral code and ethics I draw from punk rock feel more powerful than any religious teaching—far purer and far less prone to hypocrisy and manipulation. And it isn't tribal. Everyone is welcome; that’s the real surprise. It’s tolerant. No snobs allowed—though the occasional a-hole sneaks in, of course.
Punk has blue-collar roots, but is undefined, decentralized, unorganized, and global; somehow it seems to always self-correct (i.e., you can’t be MAGA and be a true punk – that’s oxymoronic).
Community in the Pit
I got a late start, and I’m a bit long in the tooth to be in the pit now (complete with a bad back, a shoulder injury, and a general revulsion to dense throngs). But Friday night in the pit at the Social D show was perhaps the most special moment of my entire multi-decade punk rock journey.
Maybe it was just me, still processing an intense nine-week travel experience (including time in a war zone with the occasional, sporadic primal fears that entails). Still, Ness seemed to come out with a subtle but telling shift in attitude compared to past concerts.
Exhibiting the same defiant showmanship, he seemed more fired up, happy, grateful, and truly present—next-level greatness that reflected right back from a crowd ecstatic to be there as I briefly flashed back to the reckless abandon with which Ukrainians danced at an ethno-music festival I attended in Kyiv a few weeks prior.
The pit was full of an incredibly diverse crowd—Black, White, Hispanic, Asian—reflecting NYC, but also deeply diverse in age.
When one man raised his young son on his shoulders, Ness caught a glimpse, winked at the kid mid-guitar solo, and gave that boy and his father the thrill of a lifetime—and everyone around to witness it a wave of vicarious satisfaction. There are no idols in punk music; artist and audience share the same plane as equals. Yet Ness is revered in a way only the upper echelon of respected punk artists are.
The entire pit was awash in camaraderie and love in a way that surpassed even the usual spirit of the pit. When people fell, multiple hands immediately hoisted them right back up, as is the sacred punk rock code.
People crowd-surfed, and even the hardened, usually surly security bouncers were laughingly helping guide surfers to a safe landing at the front. Catch and release. Go back. Crowd surf again.
There was none of the usual security goons pouncing on out-of-control youth who’d paid good money to be there; this was true community. The bouncers could not resist the energy, yukking it up and seemingly having a genuine blast. I’ve NEVER seen that at a show of this size. Normally, they’re the stoics, or even sometimes the bad guys, in the story.
When Social D played their three-song encore and ended with "Don't Drag Me Down," Ness prefaced it by sharing that he wrote it in 1994 after witnessing racism. He wrote it in the hope that such silly bigotry and prejudice would soon be a relic of the past—something children would ask their parents about in disbelief.
He openly lamented that the song is likely even more relevant in 2026 than it was 30 years ago.
Witnessing our ongoing spectacle of unhinged MAGA loons, Confederate flag revival, ICE goon overreach, and Gadsden (Don’t Tread on Me) hypocrisy clowns, I wholeheartedly agree.
How sad—yet what a great reason to be angry, committed, empathetic, and joyfully standing tall in fighting ignorance and evil. The bigotry of the ignorant, exploited by the powerful unevolved few, shall not drag down the innate goodness of the many. Not if we stand up against it. The fight is never-ending. Get used to it. Be a happy warrior and get on with it. History will eventually correct the record—make sure you're on the right side of it.
When the show ended, another first happened for me: total strangers from the pit hugged and shook hands, feeling like the aftermath of a church revival or an overwhelming motivational speech.
A punk girl 20 to 30 years younger than me embraced me; a tatted-up guy in an auto-repair shop shirt (non-ironic) shook my hand. Dudes I’d never met slapped me on the back, exclaiming what an incredible show we’d just witnessed. One young guy kept carrying on about how we’d just witnessed history and needed to soak it all in. Drunkenness? Raw emotion? Who cares? I won’t disagree.
Out on the street, no one was buying from the charlatan trying to sell bootleg shirts. Who wants a fake shirt about real music from real musicians at what was possibly the most real concert among the most real people I’ve ever been around?
Full Circle: Ukraine and Punk Rock
Back to my experience in Ukraine: I often say that Ukraine is punk rock. It’s not that there’s a massive punk scene there; it’s that the very nature of Ukraine’s existence and fight is pure punk rock.
My incredibly talented Ukrainian animator and artist friends, the Mad Twins—whom I spent a week with during my 2025 trip to Ukraine—know this all too well. They also know Mike Ness well, having created one of the most iconic music videos of all time for the band years ago. That video is the reason I know them.
They hung out with him again this summer on the European leg of the tour. Their latest fundraiser featured a chance to win a special Social Distortion-themed plate design. Guess who won it? Me.
I usually re-auction or fundraise items like this to get an extra donation bump for Ukraine, but this piece? I will have to hold onto it. Sorry.
It’s Ukraine. It’s Social Distortion. My two worlds are colliding again.
Social Distortion didn’t just turn me on to punk rock—it completely changed the trajectory of my life into one of the most blessed existences I could have ever hoped for. If not for that accidental CD purchase on Astor Place, where would I be? Who would I be? Would I have ever created a travel show, or visited Ukraine? Would I have felt this overwhelming need to be a part of something bigger than myself?
Ukraine greatly impacted my life, but without Social Distortion, I almost certainly wouldn't have visited Ukraine.
I didn’t pour out of the womb as a man (or baby) on a mission, and I am still very much a work in progress with loads of shortcomings and faults.
I still feel lost more than found. Successes are faint glimmers of light amidst the dark struggle that makes up most of life. "Pain is life," as the Buddhists say, and I finally understand that it's part of the journey. But so is joy.
That’s what a crowd of folks experienced on Friday, September 11, 2026, at the Brooklyn Paramount. That a day marked by so much historical sorrow could result in such pure joy a quarter-century later affirms why life is worth living.
My blue-collar and farming parents did a great job of helping me set a moral compass. Still, punk rock made me understand that living an ethical life—trying to do something, anything, to impact the world positively—is cool, not corny.
Even when I feel lost, punk rock centers me and gives me the strength to call out the bullies, the hypocrites, the greedy, and the exploiters, pushing me to try to change things—not just for myself, but for those who don’t have the strength or platform to fight.
"Every tool is a weapon if you hold it right," sings folk singer Ani DiFranco. For Ness, his most potent weapons are clearly his songs.
Ask yourself: what is yours? Then use it. Daily.
Thanks to punk rock, I can finally express what I’ve felt all along but couldn't articulate. My tool/weapon/superpower is empathy.
And I firmly believe that Empathy = Strength.
On Friday night, Mike Ness and Social Distortion reminded me of that, yet again.
