I vividly remember the first time I heard Black Flag. It was in a kid named Mike Goodman’s bedroom, and the record was called Damaged.
That’s how it was pre-Internet in suburban Houston. If it wasn’t on the radio or MTV, it was invisible — unless some cool kid turned you on to something new (who probably got it from the older sibling of some other cool kid).
And by “cool,” I mean a misfit who couldn’t abide in a Top 40 world.
My first impression was, “Wow, this guy is pissed off!” And sarcastic, sometimes funny, sometimes sad. I loved it.
At the time, I had no idea that the guy’s name was Henry Rollins, or that he wasn’t the first lead singer of Black Flag. So we can’t really say it’s his time fronting that band that makes him a personal hero to me … but it started there.