I am a huge fan of punk rock music. I started listening to it when I was 6. Some of my fondest childhood memories are of my dad driving me to school, or picking me up from karate, while we listened to Rancid, the Offspring, or the Ramones. In fact, for my day’s 50th birthday, Rancid came through Reno with Rise Against and Billy Talent, and I took him to the show.

Granted he sat in the stadium seats the whole night while I got my lip split in the mosh pit.

I grew up during the 90’s alternative and grunge era, but in the mid 90’s there was a heavy mainstream interest again in punk. Green Day put out Dookie, The Offspring released Smash, NOFX dropped Punk in Drublic. Not to mention Blink 182, Decendents, Bad Religion, and others who released ground breaking material that caught the public’s eye and re-introduced a world of misfit kids angry at the world and authority to a whole new generation of kids angry at the world and authority.

I grew up in the Bay Area, which was, and still is, home to one of the largest punk scenes left in the US. However, I now live in Reno, and while Reno does have a punk underground, it is not nearly at the level of the East Bay. We have our local bands like Sucka Punch, Melvin Makes Machine Guns, half of the Vampirates (the other half lives in Oregon), and of course local heroes who made it big (by punk standards), 7 Seconds.

But every once in a while, we get lucky and get a bigger band to come to town. I’ve already mentioned Rancid and Rise Against, but Against Me!, the Misfits, Flogging Molly, Foo Fighters (not really punk, but still awesome), Bouncing Souls, and The Addicts are just some of the bands who have rolled through and graced our shit town lately. Part of it is because Reno has a new, larger venue in the Knitting Factory, but also the owners of a local bar called The Alley (a real dive, but the coolest joint in town) have incredible connections and can pull those big name bands into town.

And of course, the Dropkick MF-ing Murphys have come through two times in the past three years.

As I said, I love punk rock, but I am also of Irish decent through my father’s blood, and I am fiercely proud of it. So when you put traditional Irish melodies and instruments together with the raw edge of loud as folk punk rock, add a Guinness and a shot of Jameson, and I’m in love.

Last night, the Murphy’s played a set in town. Originally, it was a festival called Punch Drunk Punk, featuring DKM, Alkaline Trio, Pennywise, and NOFX. I immediately bought my tickets. I begged my wife to come. She is my favorite person to go to shows with. She has stuck it out with me through the good and the bad shows, though I think they have mostly been good. But weird, she thought a punk concert was not the place for a 7-month pregnant woman. I told her she could sit in the stadium seats, but she was probably right in the end in not going. So I invited my brother in law instead. I was so excited, mostly for NOFX because I hadn’t seen them before, but then on Thursday before the show tragedy struck.

“Attention ticket holder. Your event, Punch Drunk Punk, has been cancelled.” Basically, the venue didn’t sell enough tickets, and one or more of the bands dropped out.

Do punks cry? This one almost did…

But every cloud has a silver lining, and the Murphy’s announced a new show, in a smaller venue, with one of my favorite bands Larry and His Flask. They are based out of Bend, Or, and started as a folk-punk band, kind of a hybrid of punk music, with a little hillbilly and country. But after a few line up changes, they added a mandolin and banjo player, and switched to acoustic instruments. If you haven’t heard of them, please look them up and support them. They are incredible.

But I digress. My brother in law, Christofer, was bummed about the show, but I promised the new one would be just as good. But I was wrong.

It was better. Inside the venue, as far as the eye could see, mohawks, studded jackets, mix-match clothes sewn together, an environment where alienated and isolated kids could all come together and, not feel like they did, but actually belong to something, even if its only for a few hours while the music plays.

For the first band, locals Sucka Punch, my brother in law didn’t really know what to do. He told me he had only been to a Luke Bryant concert before. I smiled, put my hand on his shoulder and said, “Fuck Luke Bryant.” By the end of their set, he was jumping up, flailing around, and screaming along like the rest of us, and kept going until the doors opened and we poured out onto the streets five hours later.

LAHF and the Murphy’s put on incredible performances as well. But the most wonderful part was watching a member of my family, one of my friends, get exposed to a culture he wouldn’t normally have experienced on his own. I watched as he moshed, as he put his arms around the people next to him, pulling them in close as they screamed together. Strangers, who didn’t know each others names, brought together by a shared excitement, feelings of being ostracized, and a love for the music pulsing into their ears, rushing through their veins as hearts beat in time to the song. It brought back memories of my first concerts, when I experienced the same feelings, the same angst, the same strangers who I connected with.

I guess in closing, as silly or sappy as it may sound, I’m truly glad for punk rock, and for the chance to share it with someone I love. I’ve been to country and rock concerts, but none give the same exhilaration, leave the same impressions, or from what I’ve seen, bring people together more than the snarls, the sneers, and the screams.

And I mean, what else is the alternative to listen to? Dub-step, bubble-gum pop, or Christian rock? Gross, disgusting, and no thank you.