Yeah. There's a lot of deep racial history there, even in cosmo-friendly Austin. But then LA isn't exactly a poster child for blissful race relations either, so it's not just a Texas thing obviously, in defense of all my Austin pals. Probably a booze and drugs thing as much as anything else. I remember the night punk rock officially ended, for me, anyway. I was at the Whisky (Agogo, for those who don't know the joint, it's a legendary old school rock club on Sunset, now a hapless victim of circumstance). Anyway I digress. I was there to see X, in their blazing heyday. It was also the heyday of the full on invasion of Hollywood by the South Bay punks, a more skin-headed, heavily-muscled, physically aggressive brand of punk rock fan than the mostly mild and gentle Hollywood Goths and Posers. Early in the night I noticed two CHP motorcycle cops walking up the stairs towards the backstage, and wondered what it was about, but didn't pay it much mind. X was really late coming onstage, and the audience was getting rowdier and rowdier. Long Island Iced Teas were all the rage in those days, a lethal combination of every kind of alcohol known to man, sweetened for young palates by some kind of syrup. The audience finally started losing its patience, and started shouting "X! X! X!" and stomping on things and pounding the tables and walls. And each other. I think the South Bay punks were on some kind of speed, as well as booze, cause they'd really pound the fuck out of each other just for fun. It was getting very ugly, and I could see the club bouncers getting into it a bit with groups of skinheads. Anyway it made for a pretty tense atmosphere. Finally the stage lights dimmed, and what seemed to be an army of bikers walked onstage, with the band in their midst. They started to play, but it was obvious from the first note that they couldn't. John and Exene were blindingly, blindingly high... drunk, yes, but also something else. Both of them were staggering, crying... The audience was having none of it... They made expressions of rage and disappointment, and started throwing cups, insults, spitting, etc... The bikers, who had never left the stage, now moved to the front of it, and stood there menacingly. The band was still fumbling through some kind of a set when I saw one of the bikers onstage reach into the audience and pull a skinhead from the crowd by a chain around his neck, haul him up in the air with one hand where everybody could see him and brutally smash a half full bottle of Jack Daniels on the side of the kid's head. The crowd went completely berserk, started ripping tables and booths off the wall, ripping out light fixtures, fighting with the bouncers, with each other. Almost immediately it was a fullscale brawl, people hitting each other with chairs, etc... I ducked out as quick as possible and found a crowd on the street outside. I was quite anxious to leave, so I crossed Sunset through heavy traffic to where the car was parked. There was a gas station under demolition next to the Whisky in those days, and a bunch of kids had torn down the fence and were rampaging around and shouting. An old man on my side of the street, but a little ways to the east shouted something at the punks in the gas station. Like "get a job", or something. Whatever it was, it sent them into a frenzy. They grabbed 2X4s, bricks, whatever and charged him and started beating him. A huge plate glass window shattered in a store behind them, I didnt see why. I'm quite sure they would have beaten him to death, and anyone who tried to interfere if the cops hadn't finally arrived. A woman who ran a theatre/punk venue on Melrose was killed that night, and I bet whoever killed her was at the Whisky that night. It turns out that Exene's sister had been killed in an accident, and that's why the Highway Patrol was there earlier. After that, punk just didnt seem so fun anymore.