punk

SCIENTISTS have discovered that a “punk rocker” dinosaur had metre-long spikes pointing out of its neck to protect it from predators.

The discovery came as analysis of fossils of the Spicomellus – the world’s oldest ankylosaur – was conducted by researchers, uncovering its elaborate armour.

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The Spicomellus, referred to as one of the “strangest dinosaurs” to have ever lived, roamed the Earth around 165 million years ago and had bony spikes fused onto all of its ribs.

This ultra-rare feature has never been seen before in any other vertebrate species, living or extinct, according to scientists.

Ankylosaurs were a herbivorous group of dinosaurs known for their armoured, tank-like bodies and a club-shaped tail tip.

A team of palaeontologists recently discovered remains, helping to build on the original description of the animal, which was based on just one rib bone found near the town of Boulemane in Morocco, which was sold on to a researcher in 2019.

The new fossils revealed the dinosaur had spikes measuring 87 centimetres emerging from a bony collar around its neck.

These could have been even longer during the life of the Spicomellus, according to the research published in science journal Nature.

Professor Richard Butler, from the University of Birmingham and project co-lead, described the fossils as an “incredibly significant discovery.”

He said: “Spicomellus is one of the strangest dinosaurs that we’ve ever discovered.

“It’s utterly unlike any other found anywhere else in the world.

“I think it’s going to really capture the imagination of people around the world, and tell us a lot about the early evolution of the tank-like ankylosaurs.”

He also told the BBC that the dino was the “punk rocker” of its time, alluding to its spiky looks which resemble loyal punk rock fans who may don spiky hair.

Professor Susannah Maidment of Natural History Museum, London, and the University of Birmingham, who co-led the team of researchers said the “absolutely bizarre” fossils were changing how scientists believe the armoured dinosaurs evolved.

She said: “When we originally named spicomellus, there were doubts that it was an ankylosaur at all.

“Now, not only can we confirm beyond a doubt that this interpretation was correct, but Africa’s only known ankylosaur is far weirder than anyone imagined.”

She added: “Spicomellus had a diversity of plates and spikes extending from all over its body, including metre-long neck spikes, huge upwards-projecting spikes over the hips, and a whole range of long, blade-like spikes, pieces of armour made up of two long spikes, and plates down the shoulder.

“We’ve never seen anything like this in any animal before.”

Professor Maidment said that while it is likely the armour evolved initially for defence purposes, it was probably used later to attract mates and show off to rivals.

The discovery of the spicomellus species was made after Professor Maidment acquired a rib bone from a fossil dealer in Cambridge in 2019.

This comes after a new species of dog-sized dinosaurs was discovered.

The Maleriraptor kuttyi is thought to be one of the earliest killer dinosaurs in history.

The now-extinct dinosaur is believed to have lived some 220 million years ago – during the Triassic period.

The small but mighty beast could grow to a height of 3.2 feet and a length of 6.5 feet – about the size of a large-breed dog such as a Great Dane.

And the creature was one of the earliest known carnivorous dinosaurs, along with the rest of the Herrerasauria family.

Dr. Martín Ezcurra from the Argentina’s Natural Science museum said: “Herrerasaurs represent the oldest radiation of predatory dinosaurs.”

The fossilised dinosaur bones were discovered more than in Telangana, India, forty years ago.

But only now have scientists identified exactly what species these bones belonged to.

Herrerasauria fossils were previously found in South and North America.

But the new bombshell discovery has proved that the creatures roamed far more of the Earth than previously thought.

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Punk rock is not the first thing one might associate with a children’s puppet show. But on Sunday morning at the Ford Theater, L.A. punk pioneers Juanita y Juan and puppeteers from the Bob Baker Marionette Theater put local kids to the test.

After a morning spent crafting their own paper marionettes in the foyer, children marched towards the stage to revel in the weirdness of Juanita y Juan’s electro-cumbia guitar jams — a musical fusion they call “loud lounge.”

The duo was accompanied by vintage marionettes and their handlers, who played backup dancers in the shapes of jellyfish, cats and aliens. Families bounced and gently moshed along to the drum machine beats as “Juan,” also known as Kid Congo Powers, regaled them with a story about his hair catching on fire while playing a candlelit punk show with the Cramps.

And when a couple of rowdy kids started to climb onstage, bouncers swiftly intervened. “Oh, that’s very punk!” said “Juanita,” better known as Alice Bag.

(Evelina Gabrielle Perez / For De Los)

It was a familiar scenario for Bag and Powers. When the two first crossed paths in the 1970s — one being the front woman of the Bags, the other a guitarist in such bands as the Gun Club, the Cramps and later Pink Monkey Birds — they could hardly surmise how influential their scrappy community would become in its nascent years.

“We were all trying to create some kind of new subculture or protest against the bland music of the day,” said Kid in a Zoom call before the show. “We bonded under the flag of punk rock,” added Bag.

In the storied history of the Los Angeles punk scene, Chicanos were, and remain, permanent fixtures. But after predominantly white bands like Germs, X and the Go-Go’s were commemorated in countless books and documentaries as architects of the genre, Bag and Powers decided to start sharing their own perspectives as Mexican Americans who broke the mold.

First, they committed the stories of their lives to the page. In 2011, Alice Bag published a memoir titled “Violence Girl: East L.A. Rage to Hollywood Stage, a Chicana Punk Story,” and in 2022, Kid Congo Powers followed with “Some New Kind of Kick.”

But it was after collaborating on a song for the 2022 Peacock mystery series “The Resort” that their duo, Juanita y Juan, was born. They spoke to De Los about their salad days, their new album, “Jungle Cruise” and how young Latinos can navigate this time of upheaval in the U.S.

The following interview has been lightly edited for length and clarity.

(Evelina Gabrielle Perez / For De Los)

Tell me about your supergroup, Juanita y Juan. What sparked this idea for you?

Kid Congo Powers: Juanita and Juan are the alter egos of Alice and I. Our reference was Marty & Elayne, who were a cabaret covers act at the Dresden Room [in Los Feliz]. They got a huge following; they were in the movie “Swingers.” And the songs are fun.

We first reconnected as friends after Alice [released] her book, “Violence Girl.” Then we got asked to write a song for a [2022] TV show on Peacock called “The Resort.” Me and Alice are on the same label, In the Red Records, out of L.A. They asked for a song by “a beach lounge act,” and they wanted it to be in Spanish. We are both Mexican Americans, Chicanos, but I thought, “Alice is much more fluent in Spanish.” She was like, “Why don’t we try to do it as a duet?” And they liked that idea.

Alice Bag: With “The Resort,” we had a springboard of this “loud lounge” idea. But it morphed into several different things that were very much our personality, and very much not something we would normally do — exploring different rhythms, like Latin rhythms and tropical rhythms. I spent a month in Tucson, and we actually wrote and recorded songs [that became the album] “Jungle Cruise.”

So how did this puppet show come into play?

K.C.G.: The [Bob Baker] Marionette Theater heard our music and thought it would be appropriate for a kids’ punk thing.

A.B.: I have actually worked with Bob Baker’s Marionette Theater before. We did a video together for a song on my “Sister Dynamite” album, which was released in 2020. Also, I’m a former teacher. I used to take my classes to the old theater, so I have a very warm association with childhood and how enchanted kids are when they see a puppet show.

(Evelina Gabrielle Perez/For De Los)

You both are really inspiring to me as Latinos who helped shape punk in its very early days. Learning about you and other Latin punks like Jeffrey Lee Pierce (The Gun Club) was affirming to me as a young Latina and punk. How did you two connect over your Mexican American experience?

A.B.: There were a lot of Latinos in the early punk scene. Not just Kid and I, but like, Trudie Arguelles, who was the face of L.A. punk.

K.C.P.: Yeah, she was the it girl.

A.B.: And Margot Olavarria, who was the original bassist for the Go-Go’s, was a big shot in the scene. Tito Larriva, who formed the Plugs. Robert Lopez, Hector Penalosa, all the Zeros! There were a lot of Latinos around. But I think one of the things that happened is — I’m Alice Bag, although Bag is not my last name. Our last names got lost, and people just thought of the band names as our family names, like the Ramones! We banded under the flag of punk rock.

Our ethnicity was present, but it wasn’t always the first thing that you noticed about us because of how we dressed. People did not know what punk was. They would make comments like, “Is the circus in town? Are these people in a gang? Are they they gonna beat us up?” So we bonded, and we had to hang out together as self-defense. We were the weirdos.

Alice, in your memoir (“Violence Girl”) you spoke about the tension between the Mexican cultural mores that you grew up with and what you were creating anew with punk.

A.B.: I think people got the wrong idea about me very early on because they knew I was from East L.A. I grew up around gang culture and learned to stick up for myself, so people thought I was scary. Even Kid Congo Powers said I was scary.

Did you think she was scary?

K.C.P.: I thought she was intense. Anything could happen when Alice Bag got on stage. And that was what drew me to her and the band. There was a menace to them, something volatile. This could be a riot, or it could be an orgy.

And Kid knows chaos very well. You held your own in bands like the Cramps. Could you think of a Latin entertainer who helped influence your own performance?

K.C.P.: Iris Chacón.

Wow, I didn’t know you got down like that!

K.C.P.: My mom watched her on TV. That was exciting.

A.B.: That’s where he got his maraca work from.

K.C.P.: And my outfits. But there was Ritchie Valens, of course. I like old rock ‘n’ roll. And then when I met Jeffrey Lee Pierce of the Gun Club in 1978 or ‘79, we bonded on being Chicano. We both grew up in San Gabriel Valley — me in La Puente, Jeffrey in El Monte. We’d reference riffs coming out of a garage in La Puente, some Chicano garage band playing Santana or War. We shared the outsider-ness of being born in America, but we were in Chicano world. And throw in the fact that I knew I was queer from a young age … I didn’t know if I was in or out.

A.B.: My influences were from Spanish-language music. Raphael was a Spanish singer who’s very intense and very dramatic. And I also am a big fan of José Alfredo Jiménez, who wrote all these ranchera songs that were very emotional. I think there’s a connection between ranchera music and punk — it’s for everybody. It’s better when everybody joins in and sings along. Punk and ranchera are the people’s music.

That calls to mind the resurgence of corridos among young people. Some of the songs generate controversy, but it’s interesting to see a similarly rebellious spirit as punk. What do you think?

K.C.P.: People are always saying to me, “Don’t you feel sorry for young people today? They don’t have what you had, this and that.” But I would never in my life underestimate younger people. There’s something going on, and I don’t know about it. You don’t know about it, because it’s not for us to know about.

You both have shown many Latinos how to live authentically to your identity, to your values. What’s a quick bite of encouragement or advice for young, weird Latino kids? Especially now, when it’s hard not to feel demoralized about what’s happening across the country?

K.C.P.: Well, to live authentically is a path that can be lonely. But it’s also very empowering. And I get to be in my 60s and say I’ve done music exactly as I’ve pleased. That is possible. I had no idea how to play guitar until Jeffrey Lee Pierce said, “Here’s a guitar. I think you can do this. And you’re gonna do it.” I thought, “If this one person believes in me, then I’m gonna try it.” You just have to say yes to yourself.

A.B.: I would also say you’re not alone. Every day, there’s a bombardment of things in the world and in the U.S. that you want to resist. It’s very easy to become despondent and overwhelmed. But you don’t have to feel like you’re lifting this whole weight by yourself. It’s important to know that you do have a community that stands with you. We’re all working in different ways. We’re all a band. We’re going to make it through this together.

Douglas McCarthy, the singer of the pioneering U.K. proto-industrial band Nitzer Ebb, has died. He was 58.

The band confirmed the news on its social media accounts. It did not list a cause of death.

“It is with a heavy heart that we regret to inform that Douglas McCarthy passed away this morning of June 11th, 2025,” Nitzer Ebb wrote. “We ask everyone to please be respectful of Douglas, his wife, and family in this difficult time. We appreciate your understanding and will share more information soon.”

McCarthy founded the group Nitzer Ebb in Essex, with David Gooday and Bon Harris. The band released its first single, “Isn’t It Funny How Your Body Works,” in 1985, on its own independent Power of Voice Communications label.

The band drew aesthetics from the experiments of post-punk and the nascent goth movement of the time, with admiration for sinister yet seductive acts like the Birthday Party, Bauhaus and Malaria.

McCarthy and his bandmates paired that sensibility with the new potential of electronic music, crafting a harsh and antagonistic style that moved like club music but hit like punk. The style came to be known as EBM (electronic body music), and their 1987 Geffen debut LP, “That Total Age,” played a formative role in the industrial wave to come, anticipating the rise of acts like Nine Inch Nails and Rammstein and, later, Cold Cave and Gesaffelstein.

With howled, deadpan lyrics like on “Join in the Chant,” McCarthy set a template for how punk’s urgency could lock into dance music’s meticulousness. Other cuts, like “Let Your Body Learn,” became fixtures in acid house and techno DJ sets.

The band followed it up with 1989’s “Belief,” with famed producer Flood, and released three more LP’s before dissolving in 1995. McCarthy worked with former tour mate Depeche Mode’s Alan Wilder on the side project Recoil, and collaborated with techno producer Terence Fixmer.

McCarthy revived Nitzer Ebb in 2007 and released the return-to-form LP “Industrial Complex” in 2010. McCarthy also released “Kill Your Friends,” a solo album, in 2012.

While Nitzer Ebb toured regularly into the present day, McCarthy faced health issues late in life, dropping off a 2024 European tour citing liver cirrhosis.

“After years of alcohol abuse, I was diagnosed with cirrhosis of the liver,” McCarthy said on Instagram last year. “For more than two years I haven’t been drinking, but recovery is a long process that can at times be extremely hard to predict.”

There was something in the air at Punk Rock Bowling in Las Vegas last weekend.

No, it wasn’t the sound of distorted guitars, punk rockers puking or Nazis getting punched in the face. Though there was plenty of all of that.

It was the buzz surrounding FLAG, the most talked about band at the annual bowling tournament and music festival, now in its 25th year.

FLAG is the hardcore supergroup composed of four former members of Black Flag — Keith Morris, Chuck Dukowski, Dez Cadena, and Bill Stevenson — and Stephen Egerton, Stevenson’s longtime bandmate in the Descendents.

It had been six years since the last FLAG gig, which was also at Punk Rock Bowling. But this was more than a reunion show. It felt like history in the making.

It started Saturday with a panel discussion led by Fat Mike of NOFX at the Punk Rock Museum. Surrounded by photos of their younger selves taken by the late Naomi Petersen, all five members answered questions from Fat Mike, who introduced FLAG as “the best version of Black Flag I’ve ever seen.”

Fat Mike asked each participant to name their favorite album or song, which became something of a referendum on the band’s volatility on and off the stage, with musicians cycling in and out of the band. For instance, Henry Rollins, the band’s best-known vocalist, was Black Flag’s fourth singer.

“When people say, ‘Oh, Henry is my favorite. Ron [Reyes] was my favorite,’” Cadena said, “usually, that’s the first gig that they saw.”

“Why is it a contest?” Morris asked. “Each one of us contributed in the way we contributed. We each had our own personality.”

Keith Morris and Stephen Egerton of FLAG speaking about the band at the Punk Rock Museum.

(Rob Coons)

That those personalities frequently clashed with the band’s enigmatic guitarist and songwriter Greg Ginn is the story of Black Flag. Extreme music attracts extreme people. What’s unusual about these clashes is that they continued long after Ginn pulled the plug on his own band in 1986.

For instance, in June 2003, Rollins and Morris played Black Flag songs together — just not at the same time, Morris clarified during the panel — to raise money and awareness for the West Memphis 3.

It’s probably not a coincidence that later that summer, Ginn put together a Black Flag reunion of sorts at the Hollywood Palladium. The problem?

It featured musicians who’d never been in the band and they played along to prerecorded bass tracks. The shambolic set wasn’t well-received. These shows were also a benefit — for cats — launching a veritable cottage industry of CAT FLAG T-shirts.

Keith Morris, from left, Stephen Egerton, Bill Stevenson, Fat Mike, Dez Cadena and Chuck Dukowski gather to discuss FLAG’s reunion at the Punk Rock Museum over Memorial Day weekend prior to their set at the Punk Rock Bowling festival.

(Rob Coons)

In December 2011, Morris, Dukowski, Stevenson and Egerton played together for the first time at the Goldenvoice 30th anniversary show at the Santa Monica Civic Auditorium, where they were introduced as “Black Flag.”

The old friends had such a blast playing together, they decided to keep it going. Cadena was added to the mix and they played Black Flag songs under the banner of FLAG. The coming-out party for this lineup was an incendiary set at the Moose Lodge in Redondo Beach in April 2012.

Again, it’s probably not a coincidence that Ginn subsequently “reunited” Black Flag and initiated all kinds of legal activity against his former bandmates. At the heart of the issue was who could use the names FLAG and Black Flag. At the end of the day, the courts ruled that FLAG could continue.

Mike Magrann, vocalist and guitarist for L.A. punk band Channel 3, saw both bands play that year.

“It was puzzling,” Magrann said of Black Flag’s set, “because they weren’t honoring their legacy. When FLAG played, they played those songs the way they sounded back then. It brought back that feeling of being a kid on the side of the pit. The real threat of violence is right there. It was unbelievable!”

That ineffable feeling of danger is what drew so many people to FLAG’s Memorial Day performance. Fans came from all over the world just to see the show. Joey Cape of Lagwagon wrapped up a solo tour in Japan and flew directly to Punk Rock Bowling.

Like Cape and Magrann, some of the most hardcore fans were musicians who’d been inspired by Black Flag when they were young. David O. Jones of Carnage Asada drove in from L.A. with Martin Wong, who organized Save Music in Chinatown, and Martin’s daughter, Eloise Wong of the Linda Lindas. They returned to L.A. immediately after the show because Eloise, who is a junior in high school, had a physics test the following morning.

FLAG made it worth the trip. The band ripped through 22 songs, starting with “Revenge” and mixing crowd favorites like “My War” with deep cuts such as “Clocked-In.” Morris held the microphone with both hands like he was blowing on a bugle and urging the crowd to charge.

It was easily the rowdiest pit of the festival, and it swelled to nearly the length of the stage with a steady stream of crowd surfers being passed over the barricade: old men, young women and even small children. During songs like “Gimme Gimme Gimme,” “Wasted” and “Nervous Breakdown,” the roar from the crowd was almost as loud as the band.

There wasn’t any banter from the usually loquacious Morris. Toward the end of the show, he simply said, “Thank you for your participation,” and launched into the next song.

FLAG performs at the 25th Annual Punk Rock Bowling and Music Festival in Las Vegas on May 26, 2025.

(Courtney Ware)

After the obligatory performance of “Louie Louie” at the end of the set, the players took their instruments off the stage and were gone. Fans young and old looked at each other in disbelief, their lives changed, their DNA forever altered by punk rock.

FLAG had done it again. They played the songs the way they were meant to be played. They honored their legacy.

It will be a tough act for Black Flag to follow. In recent years, Black Flag has been much more active. Inevitably, that means more changes to the lineup. Earlier in May, Ginn announced Black Flag will be touring Europe this summer with three new members: all of them young musicians, including a young woman named Max Zanelly as the new vocalist.

Once again, the internet flooded with Black Flag memes keying on the considerable age gap between Ginn, who is 70, and his new bandmates who look many decades, if not generations, younger. Wong, who knows something about the power of young musicians to change the world, is hopeful.

“Everyone wins when there’s more good music in the world,” Wong said. “In a perfect world, the new Black Flag lineup will get Ginn stoked on music and push him forward. But if that doesn’t happen, we get FLAG, the best Black Flag lineup that never happened.”

While Black Flag prepares for its new chapter, is this the end of the road for FLAG?

“I don’t know,” Stevenson said after the panel at the Punk Rock Museum. “We always have fun when we get together. You can tell we love each other. I’m sure we’ll do more. At some point, one of us will be too old to do it, but so far that’s not the case.”

Jim Ruland is the author of the L.A. Times bestselling book “Corporate Rock Sucks: The Rise & Fall of SST Records” and a weekly Substack about books, music, and books about music called Message from the Underworld.

WWE Hall of Famer Paul Heyman caused one of the greatest WrestleMania shockers of all time on Saturday’s main event.

Heyman, 59, linked up with CM Punk on the closing match of WrestleMania 41 during night one of the wrestling extravaganza at the Allegiant Stadium in Las Vegas.

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Punk took on Seth Rollins and Roman Reigns in a heated Triple Threat Match that saw the famous manager cutting a very conflicted figure at ringside.

That is because the ECW legend had been aligned with Reigns for the past five years and was a catalyst behind his recent four-year world title reign that made him the longest-reigning champion of the modern era.

However, Heyman reunited with The Best in the World, who cashed in on a favor that was owed to him when he helped Reigns’ team win at Survivor Series in November and asked The Wiseman to link up with him again at Mania after 11 years.

All three wrestlers were knocked down during the closing stages of the match.

That was when Heyman grabbed a steel chair and was spotted by both Punk and Reigns, who asked him to help them in the No Disqualification Match.

The ex-SmackDown General Manager handed the chair to Punk but turned on him with a Low Blow just when he was ready to whack Reigns with the foreign object.

Just when it looked like The Wiseman had reunited with Reigns he did the exact same thing to him.

Heyman then handed the chair to Rollins who hit The Tribal Chief on the back and finished him off with a Curb Stomp for the three count.

The live WrestleMania crowd watched in shock as it became clear The Advocate had betrayed both of his legendary clients to join forces with The Visionary.

Heyman went on to raise Rollins’ hand in front of the 60-plus-thousand WWE fans in attendance who couldn’t believe what they had just witnessed.

As the two new partners left the ring, Reigns and Punk were left watching in absolute shock before the broadcast came to an end.

“Freaky Tales,” a choppy curio from the writing-directing team of Anna Boden and Ryan Fleck (“Half Nelson,” “Captain Marvel”), is an ode to the Bay Area as a boy might remember it, showcasing three semi-true stories set on May 10, 1987, that gild facts into myth. “Oakland in ’87 was hella wild,” gloats rapper Too Short, the film’s narrator. Too Short is onscreen too, in a cameo as a cop. (There’s also a version of his younger self played by DeMario Symba Driver.) “Freaky Tales” gets its title from Too Short’s nine-minute song of sexual braggadocio from his 1987 gold record, here foreshadowing a gender-war comeuppance he deserves.

That summer, Fleck was a 10-year-old in Berkeley. He was too young to have experienced Too Short’s rap battles first-hand, but old enough to lug the energy of that time around as part of his own identity. Fleck and his longtime collaborator Boden translate the feeling of that excitement — that super-sized, should-have-been-there high — into snapshots of a beaten-down city that can, on occasion, fight back and win.

Most of the places and some of the people are real. But the star is the movie’s hyperactive, even overwhelmingly contradictory nostalgia. Not only does the film feign to be on VHS with white static tickling through the segment breaks, it also has cigarette burns on the upper corners of the frame to pretend we’re also simultaneously watching it on a 35mm reels at the local theater. Sometimes action scenes are juiced up with cartoonish doodles and sound effects; sometimes, the action is all cartoon. I’m sure the filmmakers know that Oakland’s Grand Lake Theater wasn’t showing “The Lost Boys” that May. (It wouldn’t open until July.) But I’m pretty sure they don’t care. It’s all about the vibes, dude.

The movie is divided into four sections with three groups of heroes: punks, rappers and the Golden State Warriors who were in the NBA playoffs against the Los Angeles Lakers, the “Showtime” team that would go on win the championship. On this particular night, however, game four of a potential Lakers sweep, Golden State point guard Sleepy Floyd (here played by Jay Ellis) refused to lose. He scored 29 points in the fourth quarter, a post-season record that still stands despite future Warriors like Stephen Curry and Kevin Durant trying their damnedest to knock it down.

Floyd’s big night is real and you can find archival footage of it online, including Floyd’s court side interview with a local sportscaster who describes the player’s success in mystical terms. Floyd, the newsman says, played so tr\nscendently it was like he was “unconscious” — he went to “another realm,” “that other zone.”

The filmmakers have taken that idea of metaphysics and spun it into a phony religion with Floyd hosting TV commercials for Psytopics, a mindfulness camp where fellow Bay residents can train their brain to battle both “inner and outer demons.” For him, that presumably includes Magic Johnson and Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, although the script will eventually have its fictionalized Floyd beheading more hostile bad guys with a ninja sword.

Three of the story arcs follow a simple plan: An underdog fights and wins. The fourth section, wedged in the middle, is a fabricated tale about a hit man, Clint (Pedro Pascal), who tries to retire, assuring his pregnant wife (Natalia Dominguez) that his fist of fury is now “just a hand.” Pascal goes about it sincerely, but the mini-tale is so grim that it only accomplishes two things: getting Pascal on the poster, and totally scrambling the movie’s tone.

Otherwise, these interconnected plots are rousing pulp fictions — the Quentin Tarantino film is an obvious inspiration. Characters criss-cross each other’s paths in ways that are cute but don’t aspire to cosmic coincidence beyond Pascal’s Clint advising two punks, Tina and Lucid (Ji-young Yoo and Jack Champion), the most vulnerable place to aim a spiked bracelet.

Tina and Lucid’s segment is the opener and establishes that we’re in for chipper stories of success (with as much blood as possible). It’s inspired by a real-life showdown between the hardcore collective 924 Gilman Street, an all-ages music venue that’s still head-banging, and a group of racist rednecks. We’re hurled into the atmosphere with a great tracking shot down the club’s sidewalk and into a concert where teens and 20-somethings are moshing so hard that the camera gets knocked down and stumbles back to its feet. Later, when Tina and Lucid kiss, we soar above the action as pogo-ing dancers blur into a lovely romantic swirl.

The costume department must have used every safety pin in town. Still, these tough-looking kids abide by a principle of nonviolence — until they decide they’re so sick of getting attacked by neo-Nazis that they’re willing to fight back. There’s geysers of gore and a skinhead who gets turned into a tiki torch.

It’s rousing stuff and a bit glib. The film refuses to dampen the mood: all cheers and no arrests, even with Ben Mendelsohn’s loathsome police officer skulking around and harassing two Black girls, Entice and Barbie (Normani and Dominique Thorne), at the nearby ice cream shop where they work. In a smart detail, Mendelsohn’s unnamed racist shoots the other white guy in the store a complicit wink. That man is wearing a Jesse Jackson for President hat, but he’s too intimidated to step in.

Entice and Barbie’s section is the most realistic. It’s also my favorite, with the duo challenging Too Short to a rap battle in which both sides take hilarious verbal aim at each other’s genitals. (When the music kicks in, you might recognize Entice and Barbie from the Too Short track “Don’t Fight the Feelin’,” in which the actual girls, just 15 at the time, took down the more established artist with both barrels.) Normani and Thorne nail the performance, spitting the tight, overlapping insults about Too Short’s height, girth and dental hygiene with malicious glee.

Meanwhile on Floyd’s ads for Psytopics, green light beams from a believer’s eyeballs and goes on to light up all corners of the movie. Minty lightning bolts zap down in moments of tension. Pea-soup hues leak out of Entice’s microphone, the Oakland Coliseum and yes, that spiked bracelet. The green glow seems to imbue people with extra courage — or cause bloody noses. And it’s never acknowledged by the script. It’s for debate what it means. Over the course of the film, my guesses included telekinesis and algae blooms wafting from Lake Merritt. But the mystery adds to the sense that even though Boden and Fleck are pivoting away from Marvel and back to their indie roots, they’ve made a superhero movie, after all: a street-smart update on the Toxic Avenger.

Either way, they’ve done their research. The soundtrack of Evelyn “Champagne” King and Public Image Ltd. and modern punk acts reworking the classics is fantastic, as is the proper score by Raphael Saadiq of Tony! Toni! Toné! Every frame is filled with details, down to the T-shirts for small regional bands like Sewer Trout. There’s even a reference to rocky road ice cream, invented in Oakland in 1929.

So these “Freaky Tales” are fun, if not quite satisfying. You get why so many Bay Area-born stars agreed to pop into the film for a scene, from the real Too Short and Sleepy Floyd to other locals including Marshawn Lynch as a bus driver, Rancid’s Tim Armstrong as a Psytopics devotee and Angus Cloud in one of his last roles as a criminal thug. The biggest coup is a cameo from Concord native Tom Hanks, already kind of famous at the time even if none of the other characters remember his name. (“Big” would come out the following year.) What they do know about Hanks is that he used to sell hotdogs at the Oakland A’s ballpark. Here, he plays a garrulous video-store clerk named Hank who challenges customers to name the best movies about underdogs.

“The underdog believes we can achieve the impossible,” Hanks says with a grin. This film does it too, in bold neon, for a quick and cheap smile.

Brian James, the founding guitarist for the visionary and influential U.K. punk band The Damned, has died. He was 70.

James’ death on March 6 was confirmed on his official Facebook page, though no cause was listed. “It is with great sadness that we announce the death of one of the true pioneers of music, guitarist, songwriter, and true gentleman, Brian James,” the statement read.

The Damned have an exceptionally important place in rock history, releasing “New Rose,” arguably the first-ever punk single in the U.K., in 1976. The Damned also were the first band of their scene to release a studio album (1977’s “Damned Damned Damned”) and to tour the United States.

The London-born James began his music career in the proto-punk band London SS, which featured future members of the Clash and Generation X. He soon met another local band, Masters of the Backside, which featured future Pretenders frontwoman Chrissie Hynde, vocalist Dave Vanian, bassist Captain Sensible and drummer Rat Scabies. Minus Hynde, James formed The Damned with the other three members in 1976. The band made its debut that year, and opened for the Sex Pistols at 100 Club, a notorious London venue that helped codify the scene.

Five weeks before the Sex Pistols released “Anarchy in the U.K.,” the most famous early punk single, the Damned released “New Rose.” The fast and frenetic single penned by James stripped down and supercharged the British rock of the era, smeared it with black eyeliner and lipstick, and announced a new sound and subculture to the world.

A punk audience crowsd the front of the stage watching The Damned perform with a new lineup including Dave Vanian, left, and Brian James.

(Erica Echenberg / Redferns via Getty Images)

The Damned soon would accompany the Pistols on a brief tour. After playing the U.S., the Damned arguably kicked off both the hardcore punk and goth-rock subcultures in Southern California — bands like Black Flag were inspired by their minimalism and ultra-fast tempos, while proto-goths like Christian Death and 45 Grave were captivated by their transgressive aesthetics.

James was the primary songwriter on the Damned’s first two albums, but after 1977’s “Music for Pleasure,” the Damned briefly broke up and re-formed without James. He went on to tour as a member of Iggy Pop’s live band, recorded solo material with the Police’s Stewart Copeland on drums, and co-founded the band Lords of the New Church with Stiv Bators. The original lineup of the Damned occasionally reunited for live shows, first in 1988 and most recently in 2022.

“Always looking for new challenges and keen to work with different musicians,” his family’s statement read, James was “incessantly creative and a musical tour de force, over a career which spanned more than six decades.”

James is survived by his wife, Minna, son, Charlie, and daughter-in-law, Alicia.

At the end of her first summer camp, 11-year-old Naíma Arteaga was nervous about the final group activity she was required to do: sing in a rock band and perform onstage in front of a large audience.

The task sounds ludicrous, but Arteaga wasn’t at any ordinary camp — she was at Chicxs Rockerxs South East Los Angeles (pronounced cheek-ecks roh-kerr-ecks), where girls, trans, and gender-fluid youth learn to play instruments, create bands with one another, write original songs and perform live for a crowd during a showcase, all in just the span of a week.

“Going into that camp I was honestly a little bit more on the shy side,” Arteaga, who is now 18 and a camp volunteer, said. “I was nervous about singing, I just didn’t feel comfortable with it, but by the end of the week it really helped me boost my confidence, and it really helped me come out of my shell.”

A photo exhibit of Chicana punk bands formed through the CRSELA program at the South Gate Museum.

(Michael Blackshire/Los Angeles Times)

Former campers like Arteaga are celebrating the rock camp on Saturday with an opening reception at the South Gate Museum and Art Gallery, where a special exhibit on CRSELA will be on display until Dec. 3. The exhibit highlights a decade of CRSELA’s history, with editorial photographs of students through the years, DIY flyers, camp artwork and archival objects representing colorful moments in the kids’ musical journeys.

“It’s important to make sure we are using this space to highlight and honor our communities,” Jennifer Mejia, cultural arts coordinator at the South Gate Museum and Art Gallery said. “What Chicxs Rockerxs SELA has been doing for 10 years should be celebrated and seen.”

CRSELA began as an idea in 2013 by a nonhierarchical collective of musicians who were inspired by Portland’s pioneering Rock ‘n’ Roll Camp for Girls and the larger Girls Rock Camp organizations in the U.S. CRSELA became an official nonprofit in 2014.

Museum Cordinator Jennifer Mejia poses for a portrait with Chicxs Rockerxs memorabilia in the background at South Gate Museum.

(Michael Blackshire/Los Angeles Times)

Like the other camps, CRSELA’s mission was to empower young girls through musical self-expression, however, CRSELA sought to make camp more accessible to low-income families, especially since other camps required a steep tuition. At CRSELA, donations from the public cover the costs of the program for each student.

“Chicxs Rockerxs is tuition-free, and when you have these fees it does deter people, so [rock camp] was something that they definitely wanted to take to their communities,” Priscilla Hernandez, an organizer with CRSELA, said.

The camp also wanted to make the experience more inclusive for historically disenfranchised neighborhoods throughout South L.A. This appealed to Hernandez, who as a teenager in 2013, received a scholarship to attend a Girls Rock Camp in another city. She had a positive experience but says she was cognizant of the glaring fact that few campers shared her background.

“I definitely didn’t see a lot of people who looked like me there,” Hernandez said.

After reaching the age limit at the Girls Rock Camp, Hernandez wondered what to do next. She heard about CRSELA and felt aligned with its values, so she decided to join in 2017 as a volunteer, teaching bass to students. She eventually became an official core organizer, a “Comx” (pronounced cohm-ecks) as their group calls them, a gender-neutral version of the Spanish word “Comadre,” which translates to “godmother.”

Miles Recio, from left, Priscilla Hernandez, Angie Barrera and Vikki Gutman pose at the South Gate Museum.

(Michael Blackshire/Los Angeles Times)

“The message resonated with me a lot when I was aging out of [Girls Rock] camp, [CRSELA] wanted to incorporate a lot of things about Latinidad and pieces that were in Spanish, and that was something that wasn’t part of the other camps,” Hernandez said.

Programming for the South East L.A. camp goes beyond music education. The kids take part in a wide range of artistic workshops to express their creativity, such as zine-making and screen-printing. During lunch, they’re visited by drag queens and local bands who perform for the kids to provide play and entertainment.

Students entering the program are divided into two groups: the Bidi Bidis and the Bom Boms. The monikers for the two classifications pay homage to the song “Bidi Bidi Bom Bom” by Tejano legend Selena Quintanilla. The Bidi Bidis consist of kids ages 8 to 11 while the Bom Boms are ages 12 to 17. When Arteaga joined CRSELA as a student in 2017 (the same year Hernandez became a volunteer), she was part of the Bidi Bidis, and even though she was joined by kids younger than her, Arteaga said it didn’t diminish the experience. The band allowed her to discover her self-confidence and power.

“The second that me and my band stepped onstage, I felt like I was a different person,” the former CRSELA student said. “My parents had even told me that they were like, ‘Wow,’ that they had never seen me like that before. I don’t know what happened, I was just doing my thing up there.”

Miles Recio poses for a portrait with Chicxs Rockerxs memorabilia at the South Gate Museum.

(Michael Blackshire/Los Angeles Times)

This was a breakthrough moment for Arteaga, who felt compelled to sign up every summer thereafter. She even tried out the drums, which she ended up loving so much that she never stopped playing them. In 2023, she reached her final year as an eligible camper. Resolved to make the most of it, she made what she says is her “best” band — a punk act with her cousin, a fellow Bom Bom — but her graduation from the program was bittersweet, and Arteaga admits she cried immediately after the showcase.

“I loved the camp so much, I didn’t want that feeling to end, I’m glad that I still get the opportunity to go back as a volunteer, but it was very heartbreaking to me,” she said.

At the 10th annual camp this past July, Arteaga completed her first year as a volunteer band coach with the Bidi Bidis, the same group she started out with seven years ago. She hopes to re-create her camper experience for others and continue to propagate CRSELA’s work in L.A.

“It changed my life and it’s had such a big impact for me. I feel like it’s so important to keep [CRSELA] around because a lot of stuff goes on in the world and you just never know what’s happening in someone’s home or in their own community, it’s a way to get away from all of that and a way to escape reality,” Arteaga said. “This is the perfect place for people who want to learn more about themselves, learn more about music, get to know people. It’s an amazing place for anybody to be at.”