If there is a single moment that defines this evening's Social Distortion performance - the final date of their extensive, month-long European tour - it must surely be Mike Ness's heartwarming invitation, at show's end, for two beaming young fans, fresh of face and ecstatic of demeanor, to join him onstage for a sobering, albeit brief, glance at the raucous masses who spill from Shepherd's Bush Empire's beautiful balconies and fall over one another in the all-too-small pit for a chance to get so much as a fleeting brisk past this most suave and downright fucking cool of punk legends.
The boys, understandably, look petrified but Ness doesn't let them linger for long; this isn't a crowd-pleasing attempt at a cheap pop, an oft-repeated gimmick for the sake of a few extra plaudits. No, Ness has a point to make: as he salutes the 'old guard', the middle-aged, generally balding men (and women) in traditional safety-pins-and-belt-buckles gear who make up approximately 60% of the crowd, thanking them for their perseverance, he also dares to address the elephant in the room, the spectre of ageism that looms heavily over our enjoyment of the carnivalesque punk rock extravaganza before us.
"We respect the old guard", he begins, "But we need to embrace the new too. Without the long-term fans, we wouldn't be here but without these guys, there'd be one around to continue the legacy when we're gone." It's an all too potent point, very well made, and it's one that undoubtedly wrinkles with the crusties in the audience, whose sneers and jeers at those who may not yet be of legal drinking age are palpable and, quite frankly, embarrassing. Age does not automatically beget punk rock credentials; these fans, on the barrier no less, lose themselves for the full ninety minutes, singing along to every word. The idiots who shout for them to "fuck off and do (their) homework" are tellingly stood at the back of the venue, chin-stroking their way through the performance. Your call: who's having the most fun?
Still, for all there are small pockets of conflict, the principle theme of the evening is unity. Social Distortion'a forthright, humanitarian slabs of aggro-rock have an undefinable ability to bring people together, fostering a sense of community rather than a mood of antagonism. It helps that they don't take themselves too seriously. While the songs may deal with controversial, often very heated, topics, the band keep the preaching to a minimum. They leave that to the very vocally anti-EDL Crazy Arm, - tonight's support - whose blistering, brilliant set is loaded with political comment. Instead of this, Social D choose to let the music speak for itself, letting themselves go and having a blast. From the artifact strewn stage - we count a toy truck, stopped clock, NO PARKING sign, pair of Everlast boxing gloves, a cat Buddha and a working set of traffic lights, amongst other things - to the slightly self-indulgent Hank Williams cover (but why not?), by way of a guest appearances from two African-American girls on the gorgeous 'California', one of them bearing the legend 'I HEART LONDON' on her hip, written in black felt tip, there is a definite sense of joviality about proceedings, giving the impression of a band comfortable enough in their own skin that they can afford to let loose.
This is a decision that pays dividends. The ultimately quite maudlin 'Story of my Life' transforms into something altogether quite different in this celebratory environment, essentially becoming the party tune you'd long forgotten about, eliciting euphoric singalongs and prompting a flurry of splendidly manic activity. Naturally, there's the obligatory 'Ring of Fire' cover to close, and it's as preposterous as ever, but even straighter moments like 'Don't Drag Me Down' and yes, the bloody magnificent 'Ball and Chain' seem somehow freer, released from the shackles of the altogether more serious records from whence they came. There are several cuts from pretty top notch current release 'Hard Times and Nursery Rhymes' too, and they're generally well received, but then, when they're being crooned by a man with as much sass and pizazz as Ness, looking like a 50s speakeasy regular in his braces and cowboy hat, with keyboards courtesy of a man dressed in the world's most garish shirt, you just can't help but fall head over heels in love with them on the strength of their absurdity alone.
So, for all a handful of London's most close-minded punk elite would like to draw the battle lines at tonight's show, Social Distortion swiftly and abruptly put pay to their plans, delivering a blinder of a set that quashes any semblance of conflict in an instant and has young and old, veteran and newbie alike dancing, skanking and moshing in the aisles. With a career-spanning set, a handful of excellent covers and a lorryload of style, Mike Ness and his fellow Los Angelenos razzle and dazzle us all, making the rather extortionate £25 we paid for the privilege seem completely worth it. Now nearly 30 years strong, long
may Social D's impenetrable, unique and occasionally downright hilarious legacy continue.
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