
Are you ready for summer? Because the Sex Pistols are back at the Hollywood Palladium, and it’s shaping up to be one giant sing-along. Not bad for a band that dropped one album—Never Mind the Bollocks, Here’s the Sex Pistols—and still managed to define nearly fifty years of rebellion. We are officially celebrating 50 years of punk, and while I always knew it would last, it’s nice to see the rest of the world finally catch up. Over in Germany, the Goethe-Institut is preparing a worldwide tribute. Punk went global—and it stayed.

I’m still seeing my friends out there doing it right. Alice Bag, Mike Watt, Henry Rollins, 45 Grave, the Christian Death crew—still playing, still creating, still pushing it forward in Los Angeles and across the world. For the old-school heads, Public Image Ltd is holding it down at the The Belasco, proving post-punk never lost its edge. It’s not nostalgia—it’s continuation.
Happy birthday to Dirty Ed, one of the great soundmen of our scene. His party at the The Redwood Bar & Grill nearly sent him to the hospital courtesy of a tequila shot, but he survived and the night was pure joy. Good to see Nubs too, another sound wizard holding court at the Maui Sugar Mill Saloon. These are the backbone people—the ones who make it sound right, feel right, and happen at all.
Girlcore took over Pan Pacific Park and every woman on that stage was a queen. Atomic Kangaroo, Blonde Moondust, People of Earth, poets, dancers, singers—no kings necessary, even if it landed on King’s Day. We claimed the crown anyway.
Europe reminded me what a crowd is supposed to be. I saw Lydia Lunch in Berlin—dark, packed, electric, and nobody delivers like Lydia. In Munich, Die Nerven brought the mood heavy and loud. Met Max, found out their manager was Steven Raith—small world, LA roots everywhere. And everywhere I went, people danced. Not standing around posing—dancing. Also, someone needs to explain why Fanta and beer works, but it does.
Amsterdam called me in to perform at a memorial for Udo Kier—Warhol star, Dracula, legend. We staged a piece I wrote in a small club overlooking the sea, produced by Maria V. I had just visited Hollywood Forever Cemetery before leaving—it all felt connected. He would have loved it. Dark, strange, beautiful.
Back home, Dig It All Gallery in Hollywood on Larchmont and Melrose is popping. We had the Reel Awards—people showing films shot straight off their phones, winning prizes, gift bags, even hundred-dollar bills. Tequila Mockingbird and the Blonde Moondust are the house band, and we bring in different bands once a month. It’s always fun, always a scene, and always free—half the time Mojo wanders in and makes it even better.
And now it’s Art Walk weekend at Los Angeles Center for Digital Art. Downtown comes alive at the beginning of every month—galleries open, people flood the streets, and you actually get to see what artists are thinking, making, and pushing into the world. It’s less an event and more an art parade waiting to break loose. Even Los Angeles County Museum of Art feels like it’s about to join in.
Speaking of art, I’m looking forward to seeing Mark Mothersbaugh from Devo, who’s showing work at his MutMuz gallery downtown, celebrating the life of Tomata du Plenty once again. That spirit—art, music, performance, chaos—it’s all the same thread.
Punk isn’t past tense. It’s happening right now. Last but not least let’s all say goodbye to Peter Semple a grateful maker and a wonderful person. I was introduced by Nina Hagen and I introduced him to Lemmy I was in The Film about Nina and not in the film about Lemmy but it’s nice to hook up your friends. Are you my friend ?



