The Germs

It was past midnight and I was belly-up to the stage, waiting for the Germs to start their set. I was already punked out by that point, having been through sets by Orange, the Muffs, and Mike Watt and the Secondmen.

The audience seemed strange to me. Too many different tribes; too much variation in age. Old men and high schoolers, punk, glam, rockabilly, corporate.It seemed unreal, like a Hollywood idea of what a crowd should look like.

This was the band that the crowd had been waiting for. Finally the subdued crowd engaged, gathering the energy from the Germs and reflecting it back. There was pushing and pogo and waves of human energy.

I felt the pressure from the crowd on all sides: S to my right, someone at my back and a boy to my left. When the crowd light illuminated the pit, I saw how babyfaced the boy to my left was. I looked at his arms and hands. He was probably just sixteen.

I was tired and had drawn detached and critical. I couldn't feel the music at all. I was annoyed that the lead singer didn't stick more to the songs, instead of chatter and theatrics.

I wished the Muffs were still playing. That set had been so solid, so tight. I thought I would like to be in a band like that. She always amazes me.

My feet hurt. We left at one in the morning, walking downhill to Beverly Hills were we parked the car.