Punk In The Park wrapped up its traveling roadshow for the year at The Port Of Los Angeles in San Pedro, California on a sunny weekend in October.
The crowd was rather thin throughout the event, but bigger than I expected, given the Trump-related controversy featuring one of the festival’s backers that popped up a couple months ago. The controversy wasn’t enough the keep all of the liberals in California away.
I have been to Punk In The Park events before, so I had expectations about how it would all go. The administration of the festival went pretty well this time. There were long lines at the gate on day one, but they went fast, and everything was quite orderly. There was plenty of security, and the grounds were kept reasonably trash-free. Kudos. The organization of the festival, however, was a different story – it left a lot to be desired.
The event was held at Berth 46 in the Port of Los Angeles, San Pedro. That put the event right beside the Barillo Marina, which lies to the west. The festival area was on a peninsula, and it was a gigantic space, far larger than was needed. The entire area was asphalt. Have pity on my back and feet. There was no provided shade, except for a tiny marquee in the gated VIP. Luckily, it was not hot. The weather was the greatest attribute of the event, with temperatures in the mid-seventies and mostly sunny skies. Glorious, you might say.
There were three stages at the event. Two main stages sat side by side, and alternated acts. This is a fantastic arrangement, because there is no real noise bleed if the sets do not overlap (they didn’t on stages one and two). You do get some soundcheck disturbances, but they are minor when you are standing in front of the performing stage. That third stage, on the other hand, was a big mistake in every possible way.
The third stage was quite small, and only a foot off the ground, or so. The VIP area was smack in between the main stages and the third stage. Music on the third stage overlapped with music on stage one all day, until the third stage closed down around sundown. In VIP, the noise pollution was horrendous as you got stage one in one ear and stage three in the other. Truly, it was ridiculous. Occasionally, bands on the main stages would comment on the third stage, because you could hear it all over the entire grounds. Awful.
Day one started on stage two with Grito, one of the few bands playing that weekend I had not seen before. They clipped a logo banner on the front of the stage, and then left it there when they were finished. It stayed attached for the entire festival. Nobody bothered to take it down. Huh. Toward the end of Grito’s set, Terror Attack fired up on stage three. I watched this band in Las Vegas a few months back, and they are great. Cramped into the tiny third stage that was not good for any band with more than three members, they made the best of it. Five minutes after Terror Attack started, stage one roared to life with DFL (Dead Fucking Last), creating a cacophony that would become familiar as the weekend wore on.
The two big positive surprises for me on the Saturday were Slaughterhouse and Manic Hispanic. The former band gave a highly energized and comely performance, while the latter leaned into exaggerations for humorous effect. The craziest moment was when Voodoo Glow Skulls started playing on stage three. That’s right, stage three. They played at the same time as Street Dogs were on, and the crowd was bigger for the Voodoo Glow Skulls. It reminded me of that one year when Louder Than Life put Tenacious D on an ancillary stage instead of one of the main ones. The absurdity was overwhelming. And let’s not forget that VGS is a big band with a trombone, saxophone, and trumpet, along with guitars, drums, and vocalist. Cramped, it was, on that small stage. Bloody hell.
The day finished with Stiff Little Fingers, Pennywise, and Bad Religion. They gave solid, predictable performances of well-worn songs. When it was over, I walked in the creepy, moon-tinted darkness around the marina to my hotel on the other side of the water. It was a forty minute stroll each way, and a calm, lonely promenade over the planks in the slow winter atmosphere. There were a few people out here and there, but not many. I did notice a number of crannies where mischief could have been made, but I didn’t see any of that kind of thing happen, either. The bar was still open when I got to the hotel, so I stopped by, then face-planted for a few hours in my room. Day one went pretty well, all in all.
On day two, I arrived at security to discover that I needed new wristbands for the second day. Some festivals do this, and it is a pain in the ass. OK, so I went to the box office and discovered I did not have press credentials for the second day. Hokey smokes. Miscommunications are common in the entertainment industry, and, while aggravating, it all got sorted out. It took a while, though, and I missed many bands.
With the wrist band shuffle I got frozen out of VIP on day two, so I had the opportunity to learn on Sunday that the toilets for GA were all in one corner, far from the stages. It was a nice, long walk across the expansive parking lot every time nature called. They put them there by the beer garden (there was a whole beer tasting thing going, as usual at Punk In The Park, but my credentials did not get me in there), which was probably a good idea, as far as it goes. It is a shame there weren’t any other places to pee, as well (except for a couple in the gated VIP area), but maybe I am just addicted to comfort.
Teenaged Bottle Rocket were really good, and so were Comeback Kid, a Canadian band I had not seen before. The third stage outrage on Sunday was the Dwarves. It took my breath away that the organizers stashed the Dwarves on the third stage, but they did. Yikes. Mike McColgan played his second set on day two, this time with Mike & The Bomb Squad, and he again put in a great performance. TSOL was pretty good but somehow underwhelming, and The Queers laid down some great rock and roll. The music was good, and even though the day started rough, things were going all right. But there were a couple more big glitches that really threw a wet blanket on the whole affair.
Here we go.
The asshole award for bands goes to Guttermouth. Vocalist Mark Adkins paused early in the set and from the stage noticed a person in the audience wearing a mask. He said, “Take that fucking mask off. You look like and idiot.” He then went on to humiliate and berate that person before the entire crowd for a minute or two. He kept saying throughout the performance slogans to the effect that people should lighten up and that we are “just trying to have some fun here.” Sure. Fun. It’s a barrel of laughs to belittle other people, huh. Wearing a mask is an excellent example of something that has absolutely no negative effect on anybody else. We can disagree with whether wearing a mask makes any difference for health, but if someone else is wearing one, that does not change my day at all. Why would anyone care about that? And more directly: why in the world would you say something about, let alone announce your opinions to a crowd. It is possible to keep some of your thoughts in your head. I have interacted with Adkins a few times, including on the day in question, and he is very nice in person. Maybe he is blissfully unaware that he is sometimes a cunt. Anyway, he, and Guttermouth, get the asshole award. Congratulations.
There were other proto-fascists at the festival as well, including Screeching Weasel and The Casualties, to name only two. Toward the end of the second day, the ill will was starting to wear me down. As it turns out, I had to depart early because the government shutdown – brought to you by Trump and the Republicans – had started affecting flights at some airports. The red eye I had booked got cancelled and the robots rebooked me on an earlier flight without consultation. Nothing else was available on Sunday, so I had to choose between sleeping at LAX to wait for a flight the following day (on standby) or missing the final three bands. Ah well. What’s that line about making plans?
The Adicts, The Interrupters, and The Descendants are all good bands to see live, and I would have enjoyed watching them again. At the same time, I had just seen two of them a couple of months ago at Punk Rock Bowling, and the other, The Descendants, I wrote about twice in the past twelve months – all of which I covered for Ghost Cult Magazine. I am not dedicated enough to both work for free and spend a day (or two or more) stranded in an airport trying to get shoehorned into a flight heading east.
I started covering more live punk music this year hoping to feel better about the world because I thought that punk rock was more inclusive than other lanes of music. What I have found out this year is that I was wrong in my assumption. More is the pity, eh. I know I am being a Debbie Downer, but the accumulation of bad experiences and vibes weighs me down sometimes.
Punk In The Park featured good music for two solid days, and I applaud them for hosting the festival in different locations to bring punk rock to more communities. I hope the festival survives and even expands, perhaps becoming more inclusive along the way.
Follow Puunk in the Park here for more information here:
https://www.punkinthepark.com/
WORDS AND PHOTOS BY WAYNE EDWARDS
Follow Wayne’s work here:
Follow Wayne’s website here: