My first punk show in London — and it couldn’t have been louder, rowdier, or more electric. Deep in the railway arches of Haggerston at Signature Brew — with the scent of sweat and lager baked into the brick and bouncing off the rafters — Peter and the Test Tube Babies lit the place up like it was 1982 and we were all jinxed, drunk, and exactly where we belonged.

The beer was cold, the pit was loose-but-lethal, and every band on the bill came swinging. Few Thoughts opened with serrated riffs and zero apologies. Clobber brought East Coast energy — barked vocals, knuckle-drag riffs, and no time for bullshit. And by the time Peter and crew stomped out, the whole joint was vibrating. It wasn’t just a crowd — it was a riot of every decade’s frustration in one pit, still swinging.

Peter’s not just a frontman — he’s a relic of rebellion that still breathes fire. Part comedian, part agitator. Still sharp, still sneering, still out for blood and belly laughs. Whether tearing into “Banned from the Pubs” or bouncing banter off the front row with a pint raised high, he reminds you punk wasn’t meant to age — it was meant to outlive the system that made it necessary.

Between sets, I found myself shoulder to shoulder with a few veterans of the scene — punks well into their 70s, still rocking patched jackets and that glint of defiance. We swapped stories, and when I mentioned I was from Orange County, CA, their faces lit up. “You lot kept it alive!” one of them grinned, raising his pint. It felt like bumping into family you didn’t know you had, bonded by the refusal to be told what to think — and the guts to say it out loud.

I was raised on this stuff — born in ’84, started digging into punk by fifth grade. Not just for the sound, but for the spark it lit in my brain. It taught me to question everything and think for myself. Decades later, pint in one hand, camera in the other, I found myself capturing the chaos. Being able to merge the two things that shaped me — punk and filmmaking — felt like everything coming into focus, loud and clear.

Props to Signature Brew for making it all feel like home: neon-soaked stage lights, wicked sound, top-shelf staff, and beer that doesn’t taste like piss in a can. It was a celebration of what still pulses under the skin of punk. Not nostalgia. Just proof it’s still alive — louder than memory, and far from finished.

We've all seen the phrase "Punks Not Dead" graffitied on bathroom walls or adorned on pins and patches. Well, Peter and the Test Tube Babies challenged this cliche and proved it to be 100% true! Since 1978 (that's 47 years) these guys have been serving their vigorous tongue-in-cheek banter to lifelong "punk pathetique" connoisseurs. They never lost their Bovver Bo, Oi! spirit, & humorously offensive irreverence! And they still have the support of the working class to show for it! 

When our crew arrived at their Signature Brew gig (by Regent's Canal, under the Haggerston railway arches in East London), the patio was packed with a lively crowd that appeared to be mostly original fans (easily described as the elders of the scene). Literally everyone was smiling, happy to be there, and more than willing to partake in some friendly chats. They'd obviously come ready to party & started without us. This was not like the elitist "punk" scene we get in Southern California, leading me to think we may have gone wrong at some point. These folks were polite and using their manners with language such as "excuse me" and "sorry" - very unexpected. It was refreshing to see the different sects of punks intermingling without impending friction.

We eventually found our way inside, along the brick lined Acton Mews. Hats off to the venue manager who was super cool and made us feel very welcome. It is a taproom, after all, so the pints were being filled and re-filled so often that the queue for the loo stretched ridiculously long early on. At some point several of the co-ed toilets got clogged & things got a bit messy, but the upside was the lines miraculously got shorter.

After several openers, P&TTB took the stage before a seemingly vibrating group, ready to get the pit started. The music was raw and boisterous which infected the room with insane enthusiasm! Things got wild! Folks fell down (and helped back up), some repeatedly. Beer was spilled. The floor became slippery and then sticky icky goo. The band pumped on and the symbiotic energy remained high for the duration of the set. The flow of the pit waved around the room like an indecisive whirlpool, changing directions on a whim. Luckily everyone was extremely respectful and protective of our camera/video crew and therefore we endured no injuries or equipment damage (despite some suspicions that things could have easily gone south in the midst of the excitement). What's a punk show without a little chaos, right?

We grabbed a set list and hit the merch booth - it was honestly such a thrill and ended on a perfect note!

As we exited, we noticed the window text had fore warned us accurately ...

"FRESH BEER"

"GREAT MUSIC"

"GOOD TIMES"

It sure as shit was!

Fun Fact - Signature Brew Haggerston is located at Acton Mews. Mews is a term referring to a row or courtyard of stables and carriage houses, often with living quarters above, built behind large city houses in areas like London before the widespread use of motor vehicles. The term "mews" originated from the Royal Mews in London, a set of royal stables. These structures were designed to house the horses, coachmen, and stable-servants of wealthy residents.