The Bad Brains Punk Legacy Lives On

I noticed the sun had already slipped behind the Regent Theatre in Los Angeles as I weaved my way down a sketchy alley looking for a tall chain-link fence.

Creative co-producer Kentyah Fraser waved me through the gate, and moments later I was backstage and stepping into the inner sanctum of punk rock.

Rock legends representing generations of musical mastery surrounded me, all gathered on July 28 to celebrate the 50th anniversary of the legendary punk band Bad Brains.

Members of Fishbone, Sublime, Suicidal Tendencies, Living Fish Brains, Soul Syndicate, Human Rights, Beastie Boys, and countless others came together to celebrate the Bad Brains legacy, forming a star-studded lineup of punk, funk, rock and reggae.

“You’ll meet everyone later, don’t worry,” Fraser explained casually. 

Previous bass player for Fishbone and co-producer, Norwood Fisher, circled the scene. Amps littered the back of the theater. Exhaled smoke billowed through the air. 

Fraser gave me the simple rundown: backstage. Green room and lounge access. Upper-level VIP entry — interviews for in-between sets started coming together effortlessly. 

Paul Hudson, fondly known as HR, was sitting just behind the lounge door sporting a rasta-style sweat suit and the gold, red, and green beanie to pair. HR founded Bad Brains in 1977. Nearly 50 years later, the powerhouse musicians accompanying him in Human Rights gave me that same awestruck, hand-shaking, goosebump-inducing feeling.

Eric Wilson from Sublime. Rockie George from Suicidal Tendencies. Vernon Reid from Living Colour. Professional skater and McRad vocalist, Chuck Treece, Beastie Boys producer Mario C, and many more. It was a supergroup — a jumble, a mix of talent brimming and beaming across that little stage.

The category-defying dancer, Story Board P, floated across the stage improvising and moving to the reggae beat. A beach ball helplessly bounced from hand to hand, a fight broke out at some point, it was chaos combined with an irie twinge.  

As the deejay set winded down and the Dubside set with Norwood rallied up, Operations Manager Sean Mclaren helped HR up the stage and onto a center chair. 

Though small in stature in his seat, he commanded the room. He paused, gazed around, cracked a glimmering grin and threw his hands into the air.

“Rastafairi!” he yelled.  

After the crowd lost it, he sang “Sacred Love,” a personal favorite — I’d heard that song a million times, but the man who originally sang and recorded it through a jail phone in 1986 was sitting right in front of me and suddenly it was brand new. 

H.R’s brother and drummer for Bad Brains, Earl Hudson, took over the rest of the set as I snuck out back to marvel and maybe do some proper reporting. 

I was surrounded by what everyone was calling “the family,” yet I felt no alienation — and when Wilson pulled out a Camel Blue, I handed him a lighter.

“All the right people are here tonight,” he said. 

Blue cheetah prints were tattooed across his skull, flip-up glasses framed his face, and his dog Melvin paraded around like he owned the place. 

“Yeah, HR called me yesterday, or maybe the day before asking me to play,” he said casually. “But we’ve worked together for years after meeting in 1991.”

I could feel the vibrations from Soul Syndicate even backstage and was itching to watch but when Mclaren beckoned me to sit next to HR, I definitely didn’t hesitate. 

He was lounging, content and happy after his set finished. Soft-spoken, sunglasses still on, he didn’t need to say much. I didn’t expect him to — the shared sentiment was obvious. 

 “What can I say? I’m just grateful. That’s it. Just grateful,” he said. 

Fraser described seeing Bad Brains as a phoenix-like experience — transformative, jarring, and uncomfortably raw. The catharsis and intensity of punk embody the very spirit of defiance that has come to define the genre.

Renowned drummer, Thomas Prigden, walked around with drumsticks casually resting over his shoulder, introducing himself as someone who was just “hanging out.”

It wasn’t until he snuck back into the lounge — supposedly to grab me a drink — that I was told he was actually performing with Living Fish Brains for the upcoming hardcore set. 

He came back carrying coconuts with faces drawn on them, cracked them open against a nearby wall, and offered me a straw —- apparently when you go backstage, there’s tropical tree-nut bottle service.

John Heintz and Desmond Aries from the Big Ol’ Nasty Getdown and Yo Mama’s Big Fat Booty Band explained that creativity thrives through collaboration.

Performing or not, they all conversed the same: humble, passionate, and grateful — and most importantly, itching for the hardcore set that Treece was gearing up to give the crowd a proper mosh.

Living Fish Brains took the stage. My body hummed. My hand shook as I felt the vibrations pulse through my chest. Even the ringing in my ears was muffled. The energy was infectious, addictive—so thick and viscous you could bite through it.

I was so close to the stage that I caught Treece’s eye as he leaned over it. Yet I found myself turning around to watch the continuous wave of movement that hypnotized the room, quickly realizing I needed to be in it.

Stepping over empty drink cups and weaving around a lit blunt, I shed my hoops and lengthy necklace, waiting for a pause amid flying elbows and thrashing legs.

A cult classic, “Pay to Cum,” disheveled the crowd. Sweat poured down bare chests, girls frantically tied their hair up, and moshers who tapped out panted on the outskirts.

I circled and spun, protecting my elbow-level face as much as I could. Mosh etiquette is a happy plus — but violence is part of the game. So I pushed, shoved, and screamed the words to “Soul Craft.”

Even though it had been over four hours since the show started, white stage lights sucked the neon out of the room, and just like that, the show was over. Chants, cheers, and pleas for an encore flooded the air. 

I protested out of solidarity, but honestly, missing some of the show to sit beside the man who started it all almost five decades ago was not a bad problem to have. 

What can I say? I’m just grateful. That’s it. Just grateful.