Slow Death gives new life to the South County punk scene.

I belly up to the bar inside the dimly lit barroom of the Fraternal Order of Eagles community center in National City and order a five-buck bottle of Pacifico. Only three other souls share the space with me, all sweet ladies well into their senior citizenship. It seems I’m about an hour early for the hardcore/punk show that’s going to be taking place on the other side of the double doors leading into the dance hall. The TV is playing Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman, dubbed in Spanish. One of the ladies notices me sipping my beer, and asks “Do you even know any Spanish?” I tell her I have just the basics to get around, but not really. She laughs, then tilts her head back up at the screen.

A quiet 30 minutes or so pass before the bands start showing up. You have to pass through the bar to get to the dance hall, and I smile as I watch as punks carrying heavy amps, crash symbols, a Flying V guitar, and other equipment past an elderly woman. She’s unphased by all the commotion; this is just how things are around here. On Saturday nights, the Eagles headquarters transforms: a fusion of hardcore/punk occupies one side of the F.O.E. aerie, and on the other...karaoke? It turns out the punks and the retired F.O.E. members get along just fine under the same roof, finding a far-fetched fondness for each other’s company. I hear one punk say to his friends in the parking lot, “If they start singing ‘Achy Breaky Heart’ in Spanish, I’m in there!” Slow Death promoter Elton Bernache tells me that most nights after shows, a lot of the punks will go to the bar and scream a karaoke song or two.

I enter the dance hall for the punk show, where I’m greeted by a seven foot-tall grim reaper prop and punched in the face by the muggy air. Elton’s wife Jeanie is at the door, taking the $10 cover charge and stamping ink spiders on the inside of show-goers’ arms. Meanwhile, Elton is setting up the PA and dialing in the soundboard for the opening act. Check one two one two check check.

The first band is a group called Out of Chances; they’re just out of the womb of their parents’ garage. It’s their first show. They activate the crowd and the moshers start swinging, kicking, and two-stepping across an open floor. “Everyone move the fuck up,” orders the baby-faced singer as beach balls fly across the room. Watching them in action, I find it hard to believe this is their first show. They kill it, and set the ear-splitting tone of the evening. Then I see a familiar face in the crowd. Is that Tim Gonzalez? Sure as shit, it is. Tim’s one of the local godfathers of the punk scene here in San Diego. He tells me his band Adult Crash has just released a new album, pressing 200 vinyl records before they release it on any streaming platforms.

Between sets, I slip over to one of the merch tables in the back, where the NYC hardcore band Court Order is stationed. As I eye their vinyl, they give me a couple of their bowling ball bomb posters and some stickers. “We were supposed to play a show in San Bernardino tonight, but it was canceled,” says Court Order’s drummer Ace. “Then we were connected with Slow Death through another band on the bill. The power of the internet.” I tell them San Diego’s Mexican food is better anyway.

Local act Spiritual Warfare headlines the show. “I usually put the out-of-town bands up right before the local headliner; that way, more people will stick around,” Elton says. Spiritual Warfare thanks everyone for coming. “Tim Gonzalez is even here. If you don’t know who that is, you should,” the singer says before screaming the first song of their set.

When the lights go on after all the bands have had their time on the floor, the punks begin carrying their gear back through the bar. The karaoke is still going strong. Once they load their gear, some of the moshers head back inside for drinks, mingling with the older bar crowd as Elvis’s “Can’t Help Falling in Love” serenades an unlikely mix of generations. Curious, I wait in anticipation of one more mosh pit.