end of punk: jello and the melvins

Winterland is everywhere I look, the obsessive theatrical tableau: two girls lie to their parents, sneak out of the house and go to the last concert of the Sex Pistols at Winterland. They arrive too late.The ghost of Johnny Rotten performs for them. He climbs into the radio and turns himself off. End of punk.

Erik Ehn and Yugen are working this story for the next 18 months, but it's now functioning as a filter for me as I stood in the balcony of the great american music hall on halloween:

• the self-caressed  man-titties of Jello Biafra peeking from his sweat-saturated, politically-messaged, fan-torn t-shirt.
• people born after the publishing date of 1979 thrusting their fists in the air to punctuate their howled chorus to california uber alles
• the outstanding ability of san franciscans to retain their high concept halloweeen costumes while elbow-slinging in the mosh pit
• how fantastic the dicks are, and we must never never never stop
• never

so'k