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Click to buy the best punk album since Rocket to Russia.Fuck, yeah!I was only fourteen when this album came out in ’95, a year or so after I’d fallen in love with Liam Gallagher. Once a slut, always a slut, so I forced Liam to accept that my virtual relationship with him would never be monogamous, and began trolling the airwaves for other lovers. Lucky for me, I found several promising candidates right in my own backyard. The San Francisco Bay Area was one of the epicenters of the punk revival, and it was during this period that I became a committed punk rocker, just like Sheena.

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Unlike the Sheenas of the 1990’s, though, I didn’t shave my head, get a pomade-shaped mohawk or color my hair pink, purple and green. I didn’t pierce anything other than my ear lobes (the nipples came later) and I didn’t have any visible or hidden tattoos (the tattoo came later, too). When I first showed up at an all-ages punk show at the age of sixteen with my long, classically-styled hair falling over the tank top straps on my shoulders with my lower half comfortably ensconced in a pair of new leather pants, people immediately stereotyped me as a pretty-girl poseur—until the action started in the pit and they saw I could take it, dish it out and then some. At the end of the night, some of the people started calling me “Princess,” but they meant it with sadistic affection.I followed Rancid closely from the moment I heard And Out Come the Wolves, but it was just my luck that they spent a good chunk of the years following its release on tour, playing only a few dates in the Bay Area.

I didn’t get to see them live until 1998, at the Greek Theatre in Berkeley. It was a great show, but I felt somewhat disappointed that I had to settle for seeing them in an outdoor amphitheater.

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Punk rock is best experienced in small rooms where you can feel the walls shake, where your bodies have nowhere to go except into other bodies. I would have given anything to have seen them at, but it was not to be.Rancid appealed to me for two reasons: intensity and musicianship. People who don’t know punk generally get the intensity part but they look at me with narrowed eyes when I mention musicianship, and it’s true that not all punk bands display the level of skill that bands like Rancid, $wingin’ Utter$ and Fugazi have in bulk.

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To my ears, though, those guys were the rock version of Charlie Parker and Dizzy Gillespie, playing revolutionary music at breathtaking speed. The basic chords of a punk song aren’t nearly as complex as the chords in bebop, but the sheer physical demands of punk combined with the ability of certain practitioners to create surprising variations within the mix gives the music a depth that casual listeners often miss.You certainly can’t miss the musicianship in “Maxwell Murder,” the one-and-a-half minute welcoming track that opens with ethereal sounds that are quickly engulfed by a high-speed explosion of sound. Brett Reed is all over that drum kit, maintaining the drive while slipping in high-speed fills and cymbal play that would leave most drummers in the dust. Listeners often miss his contribution because it’s easy to get distracted by Matt Freeman’s super-charged bass work. His backing during the verses is enough to qualify him for whatever hall of fame you’ve got, but the stop-time solo is one for the ages, perfectly designed to intimidate the shit out of any amateur who thinks he or she’s got the chops.

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I mean, we’re talking about a guy whose speed on those fat bass strings is close to Coltrane’s speed on “Giant Steps,” so don’t fucking tell me that punk rockers can’t cut it as musicians!Now for the intensity part. What I sought in punk were moments of total immersion in sound and rhythms so demanding that moving in sync with them would activate every nerve, tendon, ligament, muscle and blood cell in my body. Above all, I didn’t want it to stop or slow down: I wanted the sonic analogy of a hard, non-stop fuck where I come to orgasm every thirty seconds. What I love most about And Out Come the Wolves is these guys don’t shit around—they give us nineteen drivers in a row without backing down once. Like many punk songs, the lyrics deal with social reality from a naturalist perspective combined with an eye to the absurd that have the force of a whack upside the head, guaranteed to knock you out of your bourgeois comfort zone.

And what makes it all even more satisfying is that Rancid had more musical flexibility than many other punk bands because of their ska-core roots. Ska is like a door to many genres—R&B, Calypso, jazz—and to greater rhythmic and melodic possibilities. The moving bass line of ska was a perfect complement to punk’s emphasis on rhythm, and the integration of all these influences is on full display on And Out Come the Wolves.“11th Hour” features front man Tim Armstrong’s street-wise, anti-enunciation vocal style and some fabulous rock guitar work from Tim and Lars Frederiksen. The chorus, “D o you know where the power lies and who pulls the strings? D o you know where the power lies? It starts and ends with you” is such an irresistible shout-along mantra that I always accompany the boys with passionate self-validation whenever I hear it.

A split-second later, they jump into “Roots Radical,” a paradoxical tribute to their reggae influences as they ride Bay Area buses—paradoxical because this song seriously fucking rocks! Ripping guitars, more incredible bass, kick-ass drums and plenty of opportunities to shout “yeah!” while you’re slamming into your squeeze.

Fuck yeah!Tim Armstrong and Matt Freeman were co-founders of one of the best ska punk bands, Operation Ivy, and here they give us one of the best examples of the genre with “Time Bomb.” The catchy chorus, “B lack coat, white shoes, black hat, Cadillac/ Yeah, the boy’s a time bomb” sounds like it could have been written by Chuck Berry in the 1950’s, but the hero of this story isn’t Johnny B. Goode getting ready to storm the ramparts on his way to stardom. This kid spent time with the youth authority, runs numbers and either winds up dead or causes the death of a rival:He’s rollin’ in the Cadillac it’s midnight sunroof is downThree shots rung out, the hero’s dead, the new king is crowned.Either way, the image is a dark version of the JFK assassination and the decision to go without the bubble top. The music is hardly dark; it’s a hip-swaying delight driven by a rhythm that hooks you from the get-go, and the introduction of a Hammond organ to the mix was an inspired choice.“Olympia WA” gets us back to kick-ass rock with a ripping lead guitar solo in a song describing alienation in the Big Apple, and though I can’t understand why anyone would want to go back to Olympia under any circumstances, I love this song and Tim Armstrong’s lost boy delivery. “Lock, Step and Gone” is a dystopian call-and-response rocker where the narrator is getting the uneasy feeling that the world as we know it is spinning out of control:there’s a fire on the corner and it’s never gonna stopkiller in the neighborhood never got caughtI lock up my door step out and I’m gonewaitin’ for the buses but the buses won’t comeAs someone who grew up in the Bay Area dependent on mass transit, “waitin’ for the buses but the buses won’t come” is not the signal that the world is about to end, but business as usual. I spent half my fucking youth freezing my ass off waiting for Muni buses to show up, and from all accounts, things weren’t that much better with AC Transit in the East Bay. To me, the message of the song is that we’re already living in a dystopian society.