Everybody’s got something to hide except for me, my monkey, and Mike Ness. Since Social Distortion – the punk band he fronts – formed back in the late ‘70s, the singer has used his voice, containing throaty inflections that resemble the roughest soil, to access and assess the turmoil of his younger days; numerous stints in prison, banishment from his family home, a heroin addiction etc.
He’s open, he’s honest, he’s real, and while punk may not be a genre of pretenders – regardless of how skinny or ill-equipped you are, you’re expected to confront and antagonise when necessary – Ness is one of the harder singers of the scene. He’s also the only constant; the only member of Social Distortion to have been there since the beginning.
Even as I’ve found myself glued to Social Distortion (partly out of necessitation for this article), I have to admit that I’m not the biggest fan of the band, but it’s easy to accept and acknowledge that stern potency, that realness within touch regardless of whether you’re headbanging. My gripe is with their inability to push on through with their stylistic add-ons. A lot of the time, Social Distortion are at their best when playing it straight, but much of what they have produced over the last four decades is cripplingly straight no matter what unique touch-ups they’re shooting for. They’re a prison punk band; that badge of honour is enough to offer bragging rights where individuality is concerned, but even as they have lodged blues and cowpunk into their sound, these extras have the tendency to blend in too well – rock + cowpunk = rock, apparently.
But boy are there a bunch of golden nuggets in their catalogue? It’s time to rank every Social Distortion album from worst to best, from 1983 to 2011, and yup, some of these records are pretty badass…
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#7 – Hard Times and Nursery Rhymes (2011)
If there’s a Social Distortion album with its heart in the right place, with little else going for it, it’s their final album – of time of writing. If Hard Times and Nursery Rhymes is a grand finale, it’s due to its resemblance to a lengthy concert outro, in which each bandmember is noted to the audience while they perform a little solo – it’s the end credits to a movie like School of Rock or The Blues Brothers.
Just check out how a female backing vocalist howls over the later instrumental sections of Can’t Take It With You, as if it was written for the band’s tireless touring and nothing else. They were likely walking on to Road Zombie; a singeing instrumental painted by guitars that sound as though they’re cutting through skin, but far from the most original jam one could put on record.
A chance to rock out and nothing more, vintage rock n rolls riffs accompany a ‘live fast, die young’ tale of coming of age on California (Hustle and Flow), luckily nowhere near as cheesy as Bakersfield, a “let me tell you something” sit-down tune, like an old man with children gathering around, likely bowing out by saying “keep on keeping on”.
Seriously, you can only get so much mileage out of “I was a troubled youth” narratives, even if I do feel that rawness – it just spawns again on Diamond in the Rough and I roll my eyes, talk about your tax returns or something.
Still, some songs offer their own satisfying stamp, whether it be the virtuous vocal harmonies sans expensive production technique on Gimme the Sweet and Lowdown, the friendly chords and godly bellow of “if you love someone, you gotta let them go” on Writing on the Wall, or the manner in which backing harmonies leak out over Alone and Forsaken, one of the album’s more cathartic moments.
And as basic as much of Machine Gun Blues is, it deserves its notoriety; its references to gangsters like John Dillinger, its filtered, spoken-word sections, its hot-tempered hook. But going back to those stamps, final track Still Alive ends with a precious piano solo, unlike anything we’ve heard on a Social Distortion record, like the surprise parting gift they felt their fans deserved.
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#6 – Somewhere Between Heaven and Hell (1992)
I may catch some hell for this (no pun intended), as Somewhere Between Heaven and Hell is fairly popular with fans, critics and other hearty well-wishers. But going through each Social Distortion album step-by-step had the band looking like the most stagnant thing in the world by the time 1992 rolled around.
It’s their fourth album, and it contains no on-surface flash, which actually works to the album’s credit; they’re just acting on instincts, combining punk and rootsier genres because that’s what they do. But there’s a notable ‘copy and paste’ style approach to songwriting that was teased on previous albums but never fully applied.
It’s full of meat-headed saloon punk; respecting outlaw country whilst deeming it in need of muscle – “that man in black sure was wimpy”. Somewhere Between Heaven and Hell is country music for movie studios unable to obtain the rights for the country songs they intended on using, a tedious mosey-on-down.
Oh Cold Feelings, you’re so lucky you’re catchy, otherwise your hard-shelled take on punk, impenetrable and sterile, would serve as a sign of things to come for the rest of this vacant album. But it’s fine; it doesn’t preview the rock n roll riffs of Born to Lose, which accompany the movie’s barfight sequence, despite not appearing messy or bloody-knuckled in the slightest.
There is no more salt in the earth where 99 to Life or This Time Darlin’ are concerned, just mopey outlaw country, which I guess does incorporate the boozy, bluesy depressiveness of its source material, but it also blends in quite well with the rest of the dormancy.
Sometimes I Do sounds like every song ever made; The Clash and Billy Bragg had definitely made it prior to Social Distortion. Then, the rare rhythmic bounce, required by cowpunk, taken on by When She Begins, is overthrown by Bye Bye Baby, a.k.a. She’s a Knockout (self-titled album) with less energy, and the stoicism of Bad Luck, with a tinge of life, reading off the song’s title as if rehearsing for an audiobook – “baaad baaad luck”.
Somewhere Between Heaven and Hell is self-sabotage in constrained propulsion; less “I’ve got a lot on my chest”, more “I’m gonna hit you with a pool cue” type punk.
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#5 – Prison Bound (1988)
Due to much of its inspiration stemming from Mike Ness’s trouble with the law, Prison Bound is a concept album light in application, heavy in confession. Criminality is explored in a manner as ruthless as an underworld boss, toughening up Social Distortion’s already firearm-like instrumentation with dramatic effect.
Not only that, but cowpunk is far more frequent than it is on the band’s debut; Like an Outlaw (For You) is like a gritty Irish drinking song, with beer glasses soon to turn to shards, belting out a traditional hoo-hah; on No Pain No Gain, acoustic guitars somehow sound that bit deadlier, though the lyrics do speak in cliches, albeit intentionally – just read the title.
But the crime theme steals focus; It’s the Law is almost a cookie cutter view of imprisonment and law enforcement, before the last verse memorably depicts a deputy taking his personal life into his work, acting abrasively toward anyone incarcerated because “he couldn’t get it up for his wife”. Lawless is a punkish update on a Johnny Cash prison concert.
Strangely, as tough guys and the psychological impact of prison are mentioned on the title track, the album’s breeziest instrumental, a familiar I-V-vi-IV, is used. It’s the most renowned song on the album, but it also feels like the cheapest, a quest for easiness. Lost Child is the more confessional of the breezier cuts, analysing how one ends up in a life of crime from a young age.
I Want What I Want either glorifies theft or glorifies consumerism. It’s rough and tough and gruff but also just kind of there unless you’re in the mood for some guitar wankery. It’s the kind of thing that’ll have you missing the hardened side of the prison concept; it’s a cool topic that interpolates a rock band whose coolness still resonates, as The Rolling Stones’ Backstreet Girl pops up with faith and swagger. Mike Ness doesn’t like his Stones LPs being scratched, as we find out on the numb, content On My Nerves.
And maybe Prison Bound itself is a little too numb to fully convey the rattled psyche that produces its grizzled theme, but it’s hardly without its sporadic payoffs.
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#4 – Social Distortion (1990)
Intentionally opportunistic or not, Social Distortion’s self-titled album was a right place, right time kind of deal. Alternative rock was in a boom as the album arrived, and Social Distortion’s blend of hard-faced punk, blues and country slotted them in nicely, even allowing them to contend with hit singles, which they would continue to do thereafter. This is an advantageous radio breakthrough.
It’s also sandy, coarse and rough (and gets everywhere), despite its cleaner covert art. It’s so complete that it’s imploding, but at least it’s complete. A number of songs are a little too beefed up; a few clock in at unnecessary lengths – if there were a little more charm outside of genre-blending, it wouldn’t be so bad.
There’s back-to-basics appeal with She’s a Knockout, and harmonica frenzies in It Coulda Been Me and Drug Train. Despite the album’s stylistic enterprising, opening track So Far Away could’ve belonged to any band with at least a little hard rock as their pulse.
Said enterprises synchronise with the competitiveness of the album’s singles very respectfully. Cowpunk jumps in the rhythm of Let It Be Me with a boiling, call and response chorus, not too unlike Sick Boys. Ball and Chain is catchy, bluesy, and quotable, and Ring of Fire puts its own spin on the frequency and rhythm of the Johnny Cash original’s famous riff; everything else is faithful, in a strange, punk rock kind of way.
Story of My Life is a preview for that incoming Johnny Cash cover; salt of the earth sing-along melodies, rounding basslines, placed beside punkish lyrics of youthful anguish. Like much of the self-titled album, it’s revamped saloon music. In its complete form, it might be the most effective combo of punk and rootsy genres until the White Stripes would come along. Maybe there wasn’t enough of this kind of music in the spotlight for such an honour to feel like an honour – this was 1990; Nirvana were yet to immortalise Meat Puppets – but it at least allows Social Distortion’s self-titled album to be perceived as original.
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#3 – Sex, Love and Rock ‘N’ Roll (2004)
Sex, Love and Rock ‘N’ Roll is not only Social Distortion’s first album with no covers, but also a solid extension on predecessor White Light White Heat White Trash, maintaining a purple patch with more simplicity, equalling Social Distortion at their most entertaining.
Such entertaining simplicity doesn’t necessarily equate to a dumbed-down Social Distortion record, as much of Sex, Love and Rock ‘N’ Roll summons a palpability plucked from the darker days of Mike Ness’ life. More importantly, it pulls a positive message from these experiences, as mini epic finale Angel’s Wings offers hope in hope’s absence.
That being said, the album doesn’t require such interconnecting, autobiographical meaning to flourish; as mentioned, its solid rock approach, reflecting the album’s title without feeling like a parody, is more than enough. The sick riff of Reach for the Sky premeditates the Guitar Hero games; something for casual rocks fans to enjoy, more Offspring than virtuoso. Due to its replay value, the song has been everywhere but Guitar Hero.
Standard Social Distortion-isms may hamper, including the saloon-y style of Footprints On My Ceiling; slowed cowpunk, unable to conjure a true aesthetic. Winners and Losers is a little better, mainly thanks to its use of acoustic guitar and organ. Don’t Take Me For Granted is an outright clash; Queen’s Breakthru but with Mike Ness’ sweary, tough guy voice – not a nice mix.
But there’s a lot that makes up for these, ahem, isms, including the steady self-help punk of the up-front Live Before You Die, and the organ splashes of Faithless. Nickels and Dimes is one of Mike Ness’ finest lyrical performances – “I’m a Cadillac tramp at the end of his road / a swap meet rat who’s sitting on gold”.
They’re the kind of lyrics that would suit the slide-heavy, ‘back to rock n roll school’ main riff of Highway 101. Old school feel-good flavour; power chords groove rather than slay, and chord progressions freefall with a sweet I-vi. Taking themselves back to school was the order of the day for Social Distortion, and firing up the standardised rock skills that made White Light White Heat White Trash such an unexpected treasure was a suave decision. Sex, Love and Rock ‘N’ Roll is far from original, but it does what it sets out to with full commitment and adamance.
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#2 – Mommy’s Little Monster (1983)
When I first heard Mommy’s Little Monster, I thought “if nothing else, it’s a fine start”. As it turns out, the “if nothing else” doesn’t really apply, because Social Distortion’s debut album has a hell of a lot to offer.
Rougher than the rest of ‘em, Mommy’s Little Monster is acutely a punk record, whilst still taking on a little extra activity. The emphasis is on the hard-skinned, jagged garage sessions the album implies, but the band’s take on psychobilly and cowpunk still appears in glimpses; the soloing of The Creeps contains mildly Celtic contortions, amidst otherwise safe punk; Shane McGowan-isms frequent the military charge of true standout It Wasn’t a Pretty Picture – seriously, one of the most severe performances of Social Distortion’s career.
Another State of Mind isn’t necessarily reckless abandon, but its gruff packs itself into the track through raw drumming and gratifying moments where every instrument contributes to an explosive rhythmic refrain. Welting punk with youthful, anarchic lyrics is the M.O. of Telling Them – “I love the sound when I smash the glass / if I get caught, they’re gonna kick my ass”.
Some of the latter tracks (Anti-Fashion / All the Answers) merely pick the bare bones of hardcore punk – Moral Threat isn’t too out there either in its basic form, but with length and a memorable badass riff, it has a little more going for it, a notion applied via twisted hardcore soloing on Hour of Darkness.
The title track is what we’re here for, and it happily adheres to the notion that punk is the modernist’s take on old school rock n roll, as Chuck Berry solos loop immediately, as targeted, descriptive lyrics continue to paint unpretty pictures, autobiographically depicting the screw-up dropout.
If nothing else, it’s far more than a fine start. Mommy’s Little Monster is Social Distortion at their most violent, and it’s a violence the listener can feel. As Mike Ness sings about the sound of breaking glass, we’re treated to the musical equivalent of glass shattering. Streamlined rock music would eventually work for Social Distortion, but holy shit were they great at supplying the level of punk grit that many of their ‘80s contemporaries were known for?
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#1 – White Light White Heat White Trash (1996)
Somehow, Social Distortion’s best album 180’s the Velvet Underground album it references in its title, shunning the sledged production style and challenging experimentation White Light/White Heat is known for, but it’s evidence that we’re all as great as one another when we play to our strengths.
Okay, tell a lie, White Light White Heat White Trash can’t really be held in the same regard as Velvet Underground’s best albums, but its unchallenging approach totally works; it’s hardly even a punk album, but the quintessential rock record one may recommend to aliens that have never heard the genre.
Their friendliest album, basic power chord progressions appear as necessary cushions for venomous vocals and melodies catchy whilst retaining integrity. Under My Thumb is damn catchy, and frantic, unbound and free-spirited despite the lack of risk. The main sections – you know, where Mike Ness says “under my thumb” far more than he does in other sections – are jubilant in their candour.
Dear Lover – kind of a love song, kind of isn’t – shoves its basic i-VI-III-VII chord progression in the listener’s nose, whilst the I-VII-ii-V runs of I Was Wrong supply extra accessibility alongside lyrics about owning up, and a chorus that invites singalongs, influencing more own-ups.
Unpretentious sincerity is the charm of Through These Eyes; a masculine resolve that says there’s nothing more masculine than reflection, fit with a chorus based around lingering pain. Morals are addressed over the aggressive i-VI-v of Crown of Thorns, and When the Angels Sing is doo-wop-esque in its simplicity.
Social Distortion still offer social commentary over their easy-listening; Don’t Drag Me Down is built on a i-VI-III-VII chord progression and the most Irish-sounding lead riff, whilst giving racism a long, hard stare – “you’re eighteen, wanna be a man / your granddaddy’s in the Ku Klux Klan”. Granted, i-VI-III-VII is used a fair amount, and it does feel quite redundant by the time Gotta Know the Rules rolls around, especially since most of the lyrics are “yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah”.
Even while scratching fundamental itches, White Light White Heat White Trash is anything but redundant. What was supposed to be a fairly influential band, known for its Celtic / alternative rock crossovers, never quite did it for me as much as it could have. It took Social Distortion playing it safe for me to latch on. This is what should come up when you google ‘no frills’ – and once again, that’s a damn good thing.
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