Bad Religion is one of the punk rock institutions that has played most often in Brazil. After their very well-received lightning-fast performance at The Town in 2025, filling in for the Sex Pistols, they are back in the city for a one-off solo show at Espaço Unimed on April 28th.
Occupying the musical pantheon where they reside today was a construction of decades and, even after all this time, the punk rock ethos of rejecting any trace of stardom is still there. From the days of wearing a worn-out Black Flag in high school in San Fernando Valley, to the glimpse of the future after Gurewitzshow Ramones, with their leather jackets and fierce palette.
From then on, the group led by Greg Graffin and company solidified as one of the biggest names in Californian punk rock, with songs that have become timeless anthems not only for youth, but for anyone who finds in music a way to protest against the inequality and brutality of the system, going beyond all the wave of nostalgia that seems to haunt the recording industry; Bad Religion remains as relevant as it was when it was created.
It is precisely in this trajectory that the autobiography Do What You Want: The Story of Bad Religion delves. The book, released in 2020 in a partnership between the band members themselves and the writer Jim Ruland, offers intimate accounts of more than four decades of activity. The work details everything from the creation of the name based on shared ideologies and the emergence of the "crossbuster" logo to their first shows opening for Social Distortion and Circle Jerks.
While bands like Weirdos and The Bags – the latter featuring Alice Bag and Patricia Morrison, who would later join the Sisters of Mercy – were paving the way for the Los Angeles scene, Bad Religion emerged to give the genre a fresh face, moving away from hedonistic nihilism and delving deeper into social criticism and the melodic construction of their music.
After forty years on the road, there's no shortage of funny anecdotes and moments that shaped an entire musical style. With the band about to return to the country for the 15th time, Wikimetal has compiled three of these behind-the-scenes stories and anecdotes, explained both by the band members and by those who truly lived through the 80s hardcore punk scene.
Graffiti is great, cleaning it up not so much
One of the first memories in the book recalls their debut at Studio 9, a studio of dubious origin on Sunset Boulevard that was basically falling apart but served to record their first demo. As the place was already decorated with graffiti from bands that had played there, the members had the brilliant idea of letting themselves be carried away by the spirit of the thing. In a burst of excitement, they grabbed a can of black spray paint and slapped a giant "Bad Religion" on the wall.
The plan seemed foolproof, except for the obvious detail that nobody else in the city used that name. The next day, the businessman's lecture on vandalism came quickly. Brett Gurewitz even tried to pretend he didn't know what was happening, but it was difficult to deny authorship of a crime that bore his own name in large letters. The "don't get caught" rule got lost somewhere, and they recounted in the book that they had to return to the studio to clean everything up. They still couldn't imagine that years later their cross logo would be everywhere, in every country, and a recognition that would span generations.
The creation of Epitaph Records
Following the chronology of events, after their initial contact with music production at the dilapidated Studio 9, the members of Bad Religion were looking for something more professional. They gave their demo to a young Johnette Napolitano, who sported purple hair long before leading Concrete Blonde. At the time, Johnette was in a relationship with James Mankey, founder of Sparks and a seminal figure who also helped shape this Bad Religion recording. It was after this experience that Brett Gurewitz truly fell in love with the technical paraphernalia of the studios.
Since the album could only be released the following year, all that was missing was a name for that experiment and quest for autonomy. The inspiration came from a King Crimson song, from the 1969 album * In the Court of the Crimson King*: thus, Epitaph Records was born. Since then, the label has become an independent giant, producing albums by bands such as Pennywise, NOFX, Rancid , and the self-titled album by L7, as well as almost the entire discography of Bad Religion itself.
Getting to know the (dys)lexic devil
Just as everyone was thrilled to see figures like Lou Reed strolling through the wild side of New York streets, paying respect to someone who made lemonade when there were no lemons, the bands emerging in the early eighties hardcore punk scene in Los Angeles and the surrounding areas also shared the same excitement at seeing their idol there, accessible. Brett, for example, recounts his first experience with Darby Crashby The Germs. In his own words, it was as if he were seeing Jim Morrison walking down Sunset Strip, meeting a demigod in his natural habitat.
After so many years and his own contribution to the music scene, this no longer happens. However, back then, when everything was new and they were getting to know each other not only as individuals but as participants in the same vein, having their idol watch their show was something out of this world.
The conversation wasn't very long, but Brett did ask Darby about what had happened during the filming of the classic 1981 documentary *The Decline of Western Civilization*, where the Germs' vocalist stopped singing the songs. The answer was somewhat cold and categorical, and he simply said he had forgotten the lyrics. Shortly after, Darby died of a heroin overdose at only 22 years old, one day before the fateful death of John Lennon.
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