Standing Over By The Record Machine: Social Distortion’s Mommy’s Little Monster doesn’t look or sound 40 years old!

So-cal trad punk classic gets the deluxe, ruby anniversary, remastered 180-gram vinyl repressing treatment.

Social Distortion Mk. I on Mommy’s Little Monster’s back cover: (l-r) Brent Liles, Derek O’Brien , Mike Ness , and Dennis Dannell. (Pic: Ed Colver)

SOCIAL DISTORTION – Mommy’s Little Monster [40th Anniversary Edition] (Craft Recordings) LP

The bright red sticker riding atop the shrinkwrap, screaming “40TH ANNIVERSARY EDITION,” is a little hard-to-believe. Really, Craft Recordings?! Is the debut album from SoCal’s prime trad-punk practitioners Social Distortion actually ready to be colored ruby red? You can’t tell by listening to this deluxe edition, “pressed on 180-gram vinyl” from “(AAA) Lacquers cut from the original master tapes by Chris Bellman at Bernie Grundman Mastering,” as the sticker’s spiel continues. No wonder this edition sounds so fresh-faced and dewy.

But hearing that one of punk’s crucial recordings is officially entering middle age does bring up a lot of food for thought. First of all, doesn’t Social D. look cool as fuck up there, in that photo at the top of this ‘Stack?

That image of their vintage first lineup – Brent Liles (bass), Derek O’Brien (drums, backing vocals), Mike Ness (lead vocals/guitar), and Dennis Dannell (rhythm guitar) – was permanently burned on my brain from the moment I saw Mommy's Little Monster in the import bin at Record Bar in Sunrise Mall, Corpus Christi, Texas in the summer of 1984. No, I didn’t stutter – I did write “import bin.” In those days, all the punk records were filed in the import section at C.C. record shops, even when they were independent American releases. (Also, you'd be forgiven for thinking back then that vinyl smelled like patchouli oil, because record retailers were frequently also not-so-covert head shops. But that’s another story.)

But that pic of Social D., snapped by Ed Colver on the set of New Wave Theater  is iconic as fuck. Indelibly, that became my mental image of What A Punk Rock Band Should Look Like, especially Ness: Black beret, smudged eyeliner, black shoelace doubling as a choker, fake blood spilled down the front of his sleeveless white tee, non-reverse Gibson Firebird festooned with two fLiPSiDe stickers hanging low from his shoulder. Don’t get me wrong – the entire band could come from Punk Rock Central Casting. But Ness looked like a SoCal Johnny Thunders in that shot.

Dear Reader, I am sure you understand why this would appeal to This Writer, if you’ve been reading my work for any amount of time. This kid was fixing to graduate high school while holding that album in my hands at Record Bar that day, and I’d already decided the New York Dolls, the Heartbreakers and the entire class of 1977 was infinitely more preferable (and musical) than Social Reagan Youth Injustice’s 30-second thrash-isms. The exciting creativity of early hardcore had given way to a rote formula and a certain blank, anti-intellectual machismo that was just boring, at least for me. Future Gibson Brother Don Howland reviewed Mommy’s Little Monster In the March 1984 edition of Trouser Press, its next-to-last issue, and he punched all the right buttons, chronicling Ness’  penchant for “plung(ing) his face into a tub of mascara before going onstage,” then summoning the welcome, enticing specter of the Dolls: “There are those underpinnings: neck-choking guitar solos, big bwanggging notes and a variety of tempos, none veering far from ‘Mid.’" 

How could I resist? Copies of the original 13th Floor Records edition of Mommy’s Little Monster and The Replacements' recent Hootenanny were obtained on that trip to Record Bar. What I found upon coming home from Corpus were two proper ‘80s punk – not hardcore – albums. And the key was a songwriting savant at each band’s core.

The Mats’ Paul Westerberg may’ve had the jump on Ness, in terms of the maturity of his songwriting. But both drew upon the same core of rock ‘n roll roots, in addition to similar first-wave punk influences: Obviously the Dolls, Pistols, Stooges, Ramones, Damned, and Clash, plus the Stones and Bowie and Faces and CCR and vintage rockabilly. And like the Ramones, Ness’ songs communicated punk’s rebelliousness without being overtly political: “Mommy’s little monster dropped out of school/Mommy’s little monster broke all the rules….He doesn’t want to be a doctor or a lawyer, fat & rich…His brothers & sisters have tasted sweet success/His parents condemn him, say ‘his life’s a mess!’” This snarling lyricism walked hand-in-hand with a penchant for writing guitar hooks catchier than rhinovirus, and about ten times as potent, ala Keith Richards or John Fogarty. 

Defiance coats virtually every note of Monster: “Well, I love the sound when I smash the glass,” went the opening couplet of one of Ness’ most famous lyrics, “Telling Them.” The payoff line? “If I get caught, they’re gonna kick my ass.” Then there’s Social Distortion’s broad dynamic sense, going from a whisper to an explosion in 30 seconds. It’s especially potent on the second song in, “Another State Of Mind,” written on the disastrous DIY US tour they undertook with Youth Brigade, documented in the documentary Another State Of Mind, the single best snapshot of how widespread the American punk/hardcore underground had gotten by 1982. “Another State” managed the neat trick of turning two rock/pop cliches — the life-on-the-road song and the love song — on their heads, creating a work that managed to simultaneously be ballsy while displaying great tenderness: “Well, I’m in another state, another state of mind/I wish that I could be there right next to her/This road leads to this, and this road leads to that/Her voice sends shivers down my spine.” 

You know what else is spine tingling? Mike Ness’ ability to write such words, at that age and as pharmaceutically/alcoholically impaired as he appeared in that film.

The improved sonics – 20 times louder and more clear than that original 13th Floor Records edition – really bring out the quality of so much of Mommy’s Little Monster. The late Chaz Ramirez’s tight, midrange-heavy production – all guitars and cymbals – now has a more focused bottom end, adding some wallop to the compressed shriek. You can feel the thump of O’Brien’s drums, and Liles’ bass lines cut through better now. He is not merely doing the Dee Dee/Steve Jones root note thud, throwing in some nice counterpoint melodies you sense more than hear. The remastering job also makes more obvious production aspects perhaps less audible previously, such as the bathroom tile reverb on Ness’ “Another State Of Mind” lead vocal, and the submerged background “aaahhhhhs” that blended in with the guitars on the original. They are now in sweet relief from Ness and Dannell’s tandem Gibsonizing.

Is there any way this reissue could be improved? None I can think of, aside from maybe including 1982’s “1945” single, possibly the greatest of Social Distortion’s early achievements. But that would detract from the sonic integrity of this particular reissue. Let that come out in another reissue, especially if it’s on a 12-inch 45. I am just happy to have the kiss of life applied to Mommy’s Little Monster so successfully. I’m sure I will wear this pressing out and require backups very soon.

BONUS: The 1983 Social Distortion garage rehearsal filmed for Flipside Video Fanzine, restored and remastered!

 

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