When I stepped into the Frolic Room, just a few blocks away from Cock Sparrer’s first Los Angeles show in 25 years, the place was packed with a mix of the requisite freaks you might find on the seedy streets of latenight Hollywood Boulevard. This time, though, there was an inordinately large amount of baldies and people with polos buttoned up to the hilt. Leaning in to the bartender to order, I saw a man beside me who had clearly read the hooligan fashion handbook, and, hoping to get the tea on the band’s infamous last local gig, I asked him where he’s from and if he’s headed to the Palladium to see Sparrer.

“Yeah, we’re from here. But nah, we’re going to see Lion’s Law."

Surprised and excited, I fired back with, “Lion’s Law? From France? I didn’t know they were back in the U.S. I know they came through twice in the past five or so years. Where are they playing?"

Looking dismayed, he answered, “Just up the street at a venue."