Attempting to trace the evolution of straight edge within the early 1980s American hardcore punk scene reveals a complex and often misunderstood movement. Originating from Washington D.C.’s Minor Threat, the concept of a drug-free lifestyle was both provocative and inspiring to those immersed in this burgeoning musical subculture. While only a select few initially embraced this radical idea, its influence began to spread, carried by the raw energy of hardcore punk.
In Boston, bands like SS Decontrol and DYS rapidly adopted straight edge, solidifying it with a distinct visual identity and assertive physical presence that continues to define the subculture today. Simultaneously, in the less glamorous setting of Reno, Nevada, 7 Seconds responded to Minor Threat’s call with concise, impactful songs expressing their rejection of substance abuse, alongside broader societal critiques of racism, machismo, and even mainstream sports culture.
However, in Southern California, the very birthplace of hardcore punk, the straight edge ethos faced considerable resistance. Amidst the prevalence of bands like Social Distortion and China White, who openly embraced self-destruction, groups such as America’s Hardcore, Stalag 13, and Justice League emerged in the early ’80s but struggled to gain significant traction.
It wasn’t until Uniform Choice Band burst onto the scene from Orange County around 1983 that straight edge started to resonate on the West Coast. Despite their local impact, their broader influence remained limited until the release of their groundbreaking debut LP, Screaming for Change, in 1986. This release, coinciding with the rise of New York’s Youth of Today and their influential Can’t Close My Eyes 7″ EP the year before, sparked a bi-coastal straight edge surge that significantly shaped the hardcore scene for the remainder of the decade.
Southern Lord Records has recently reissued Screaming for Change in a “deluxe” edition, packed with previously unseen photographs and remastered for optimal sound quality. This reissue underscores the enduring legacy of an album that continues to inspire three decades after its initial release.
In conjunction with the Screaming for Change reissue and the upcoming release of my book, Straight Edge – The Clear History of Clean and Sober Hardcore (Bazillion Points Publishing), CLRVYNT is presenting an exclusive preview chapter from the book. This excerpt delves into the origins of Uniform Choice band, their formation within the volatile Southern California punk scene, and the almost unbelievable story of their potential collaboration with N.W.A.
Please, engage responsibly with the following narrative.
SCREAMING FOR CHANGE: UNIFORM CHOICE BAND AND THE ORANGE COUNTY STRAIGHT EDGE MOVEMENT
Pat Dubar (Vocals, Uniform Choice, Unity): Moving to Orange County from Missouri at the age of nine was a complete culture shock. Suddenly, brand names and trends dominated everything. I was definitely the uncool kid, wearing generic clothes while everyone else was obsessed with designer labels. It was the summer before fourth grade, and in the whole neighborhood, only one kid, Pat Dyson, a bigger kid, was willing to befriend me. But on the first day of fourth grade, Pat wasn’t there. My only friend had vanished. Still, you figure things out.
Fast forward to my freshman year of high school. On a school bus trip, I reconnected with Mike Pritzel, someone I knew from little league baseball. He was sitting behind me, listening intently to music on headphones. Curious, I asked what he was listening to, and he just handed me the headphones. It was Black Flag’s Jealous Again.
That weekend, I rode my bike to a record store, specifically asking for the punk rock section. It was a small area, maybe 40 or 50 records. I picked up the Jealous Again EP, Circle Jerks’ Group Sex, Sex Pistols’ Never Mind the Bollocks, and an Exploited record purely because of the cover art. I went home and practically wore those records out from playing them constantly.
Eventually, I convinced some older friends to drive me to Zed Records in Long Beach. Walking into Zed Records for the first time was overwhelming. It was a store almost entirely dedicated to punk rock. Completely taken aback, I asked the guy behind the counter, Big Frank Harrison, for a recommendation. He handed me the first Minor Threat 7”. I bought it immediately. Taking it home, the first track I heard was “Filler.” The song’s themes of questioning religion deeply resonated with me, stuck in a Catholic school I didn’t understand. That song became my personal anthem.
After that, D.C. punk became everything to me. I liked some of the local bands, but D.C. felt rawer, more authentic. The message and the music completely captivated me. My feelings about religion and drinking already aligned with the straight edge ethos, making it a perfect fit. It felt like I was moving towards something positive, rather than just rejecting things. If I could have moved my family to D.C. in the early ’80s, I would have. I’ve never hesitated to say that Ian MacKaye’s music fundamentally changed my life.
Pat Longrie (Drums, Unity, Uniform Choice Band): I attended a Catholic high school where I met Pat Dubar and Dan O’Mahony. Ironically, freshman football brought us together. We all shared a passion for aggressive music with a meaningful message and were drawn to the idea of a positive, unified mindset, almost like a gang mentality but for good.
We were young, rebelling against parental expectations, and figuring out our identities. You’re no longer a child, but not yet an adult, and punk rock was an incredible outlet for navigating that period.
Surprisingly, punk rock wasn’t ostracized at my high school. It was actually embraced, largely because Pat Dubar and I were involved in sports – football, baseball, and basketball. When we started forming bands and playing shows in backyards and garages, the entire football team would show up, which was unusual for the punk scene. We avoided the typical negative experiences of being harassed for being into punk. It was a surprisingly positive environment.
Straight edge was something we naturally gravitated towards, but we wanted to interpret and expand upon it in our own way. Growing up in Orange County was vastly different from D.C., Boston, New York, or Chicago. The early stages of Orange County straight edge were inspired by Minor Threat and 7 Seconds, but it was shaped by our own experiences and perspectives. From there, we started forming our own bands.
Neither Pat Dubar nor I were musically trained, but we flipped a coin to decide who would buy a P.A. system and who would get a drum kit. Pat ended up with the P.A., and I got the drums. That was it. I bought a drum set and started learning to play. He got a P.A., and we found a couple of other guys and played some shows under the name Labelled Dead. We improved over time, and then Pat was invited to join the original lineup of Uniform Choice as their vocalist.
Dubar: Fast forward to being 14 years old, and I’m at the T-Bird Rollerdrome seeing Suicidal Tendencies and Descendents. I jumped on stage, did my thing, stage-dived, and landed on a group of people, wiping them out. I accidentally took down this huge guy. Suddenly, someone grabbed me by my shirt, pulling me up. I looked down at the person holding me, and it was Pat Dyson. I exclaimed, “Pat Dyson? It’s me, Pat Dubar!” We reconnected, and I told him I was singing in a band. He mentioned he had a band too and suggested I audition to be their singer.
I remember going to Pat Dyson’s house to audition for Uniform Choice band, but they were playing really generic pop-punk. There was even a song called “Don’t Take the Car.” I tried to sing it, but after the practice, I told Pat it wasn’t for me. He then suggested we start our own band together. We placed an ad in the Recycler, a local classifieds paper, and Victor Maynez responded. We ended up replacing the original guitarist and continued as Uniform Choice.
Longrie: The Uniform Choice lineup Pat auditioned for had been around for a while, but they were nothing like the Uniform Choice band that would become known.
Dubar: When I joined, they were already called Uniform Choice. Honestly, I didn’t like the name, but we went with it. The guitarist at the time was writing that pop-punk material, so we eventually replaced him. I didn’t realize until about a decade ago how long the original Uniform Choice had existed before our lineup.
Jon Roa (Vocals, Justice League, End to End, Eyelid): When people started talking about the Pat Dubar-fronted Uniform Choice band, I initially thought, “You mean that band that played the Cuckoo’s Nest all the time?” But it became clear it was a completely different set of musicians.
Longrie: While Pat was singing in Uniform Choice, I started a band with Joe Foster, a guy named Rob Lynch, and a bass player. That was the beginning of Unity. Uniform Choice band and Unity became the cornerstone of the Orange County straight edge scene. I’d always go to Uniform Choice shows, and Pat would come to Unity shows. We’d often play shows together; it was a real sense of community. This was all around 1983.
Gavin Oglesby (Guitarist, Carry Nation, No for an Answer, Triggerman, Killing Flame, Blood Days): My first exposure to Uniform Choice band was seeing their name written on the wall in the high school weight room. It was there the entire time I was in school. I had no idea what it meant until much later.
Ryan Hoffman (Guitarist, Justice League, Chain of Strength): Uniform Choice and Unity were fantastic! The scene was very small in the early ’80s, so most of us knew each other well. Almost every weekend, we’d get together to see touring bands like Agnostic Front, SNFU, Necros, Cause for Alarm, MIA, Marginal Man, BGK, 7 Seconds, Scream, and DRI. It was a constant barrage of incredible music. It’s amazing how influential those bands were, inspiring the next wave of bands formed by people in the audience. The bands that emerged from those shows include Infest, Unity, Uniform Choice band, Scared Straight, NOFX, Excel, Justice League, Pillsbury Hardcore, and Final Conflict.
Roa: Unity was the first band to bring lyric sheets to shows and hand them out before they played. We thought that was such a brilliant idea. How else do you effectively communicate your message? How else would people understand your lyrics and your perspective? Unity also gave away demo tapes for free. They weren’t trying to make money; they were focused on spreading their message. They were a powerful force.
Longrie: Two brothers, Rob and Peter Lynch, were incredibly important figures in the Orange County straight edge scene. They were at every show and were genuinely great guys. Tragically, Rob came home one day and found his older brother had died by suicide in the garage. It was devastating for Rob, and Unity essentially ended there. Rob and Peter eventually moved to Los Alamitos.
Dubar: There was a group of punks locally who were deeply into D.C. punk. Since those bands either rarely toured out West or had broken up by the time we started playing, they would come to see us. That’s how a small movement began to develop, even though it wasn’t our initial intention.
Rich Labbate (Bassist, Insted): Some people consider Stalag 13 to be the first straight edge band in Southern California. Their singer was straight edge, but their songs weren’t explicitly about it. But when Uniform Choice band appeared, they were clearly identified as a straight edge band. X’s were everywhere. They actively promoted the lifestyle and were far more outspoken about it than Stalag 13.
Roa: Even though some bands existed before them, Uniform Choice band served as the catalyst for the straight edge scene in Southern California. My band, Justice League, didn’t have the same work ethic as Uniform Choice. I was focused on high school and academics. But Pat Dubar was fully committed. He made straight edge accessible and appealing to young people. He was incredibly productive and sincere.
Longrie: One Friday night, after Unity had broken up, I was in my dorm room when Pat Dubar called. He told me they’d permanently kicked out their drummer, Pat Dyson, from Uniform Choice band. He said, “We have a show tonight in Riverside, and you need to play drums for us.” I replied, “I’m in L.A., and I don’t know your songs.” Pat’s response was, “Whatever. We’re stopping by your place to pick up your drums, so call your dad and tell him we’re coming over. We’ll play you the demo tape on the way to the show, and you’ll learn the songs.” That’s how I joined Uniform Choice.
Hoffman: The Southern California hardcore scene was quite violent. There was a lot of intimidation from skinheads and punk gangs, and being straight edge was definitely not considered cool. The majority of the scene was influenced by English punk bands like GBH, Discharge, Toy Dolls, and Exploited. At that time, the straight edge scene was very small.
Chris Bratton (Drummer, Justice League, Chain of Strength): I distinctly remember an older punk approaching me at a massive, packed show at the Olympic Auditorium in August 1984, featuring Suicidal Tendencies, SSD, the Minutemen, and the Red Hot Chili Peppers. He saw my Minor Threat shirt and felt compelled to tell me, “You know what? That stupid fucking Minor Threat band is just a cheap, watered-down, shitty, black and white photocopy of the Damned. Every single song they play sounds like a fast, shitty version of their song, ‘Love Song.'” Mike Ness of Social Distortion was also famously critical of straight edge and the emerging bands.
Roa: I remember when Justice League first started playing, people would offer us Coke cans filled with beer. It made me think, “Why is our choice such an offense to people?”
Ian MacKaye (Vocals, Minor Threat): The early L.A. hardcore scene was incredibly messed up. Bands like America’s Hardcore and Stalag 13 were right in the middle of some serious debauchery.
Ron Baird (Vocals, Stalag 13): The violence in the early L.A. punk scene was very real and existed even before the gangs became prominent. I remember being at Oki Dog and participating in beating up a homeless guy with long hair. He pulled a knife, and [Black Flag roadie] Mugger just fearlessly punched him. They chased him across the street, and everyone was attacking him. I think Mugger eventually picked the guy up, dragged him across the street, and threw him through the order window of a Der Weinerschnitzel. Looking back, it was completely fucked up.
I remember seeing the Dead Kennedys at the Whisky, and there were fights everywhere. Anyone with long hair was targeted. The Hollywood punks might have been more accepting than us. But overall, it was a very violent time. I was involved in a lot of fights. So many riots. There was a huge one when Black Flag played a rehearsal studio in Hollywood. Punk rock was crazy, man! There’s a lot of stuff I’m not proud of.
Joe Nelson (Vocals, Triggerman, Ignite, The Killing Flame): I loved the danger of those early L.A. punk shows. A perfect example is when The Exploited played Fender’s Ballroom. The rumor at our high school was that a local white power skinhead gang was going to stab Wattie [Buchan] to death on stage that night. We all went to the show hoping to witness it. I recently found out that show broke the attendance record for Fender’s at the time. Fender’s probably held 2,500 people, and they had 2,800 packed in because everyone wanted to see Wattie get murdered on stage. I told my mom I was going to the movies, but I was actually going to a show hoping to see someone get killed by white power skinheads. That’s messed up!
Dubar: California was a genuinely violent scene, but I didn’t realize how extreme it was until our first U.S. tour. When we were in cities like Madison or Salt Lake City, and a minor fight would break out, people would make such a big deal out of it, which I found laughable. It was like training to be a Navy SEAL and then being sent out to play paintball.
Danny Slam (Vocals, America’s Hardcore): Yes, the L.A. hardcore punk scene of the early ’80s, which I fully embraced, was incredibly violent. At most shows, fights were common, often involving groups of guys beating up a single person. There were certain individuals you absolutely did not want to provoke, known for their love of fighting, including John [Macias] from Circle One, Mike [Muir] from Suicidal Tendencies, Oliver from the LADS, Sean Emdy from FFF, Mugger, and others. Many fights erupted spontaneously from pit clashes.
Dubar: I can’t even quantify the number of fights I was in at punk shows in Southern California. It was constant, just a part of survival. Looking back, I realize a lot of it was crazy, but at the time, it felt like we were doing what was necessary, doing the right thing.
Slam: There was a strong gang mentality. Many kids grew up around gang culture in L.A. and created punk gangs as a form of imitation. Partly, these gangs were for protection, as being a punk at home could be dangerous. At my large high school of 2,000 students, there were maybe 10 or 15 punks. Hardly a day went by without someone harassing me. But the gangs were also about being antisocial and having safety in numbers to engage in vandalism, theft, and fighting other punk factions at shows. I was most familiar with the FFF gang, which was composed of punks from North Hollywood. FFF adopted the style of Mexican gang members with khaki pants, buttoned-up Pendleton shirts, and nicknames like Oso, Flaco, Shorty, and Woody.
Dubar: You name the gang, they were at early Uniform Choice band shows. Back then, there were skinhead gangs like the Family and the O.C. Skins. You had the Sons of Samoa and Suicidal and the L.A. Death Squad. The kids who wanted to see us were just regular kids from Orange County who were into skateboarding. Some of them would ask me, “If I come to your show dressed normally, am I going to get beat up?” And I’d naively say, “Of course not! Punk rock is all-accepting! Come and be yourself!” I was that naive at first. Inevitably, one of those kids would be the first one attacked by a gang. After that, I decided, “No one coming to see us is getting hurt.” I mean, they might still get hurt, but I was going to get involved and defend them, you know?
Labbate: If you went to shows at places like the Olympic Auditorium or Perkins Palace, there were thousands of people from different neighborhoods and cliques. It was like the movie The Warriors. You’d associate with a gang just for safety. Even I was affiliated with a gang from my town just to have some backup.
Steve Larson (Drummer, Insted): When I first started going to shows in Southern California, it was terrifying. If my parents knew what I was involved in, they would never have allowed me to go. East Coast guys would always talk about how crazy New York was. But then they’d come out here to a show at Fender’s and be completely overwhelmed. The sheer number of people and gangs was a different level of intensity. But then you had someone like Pat Dubar standing in the middle of it, basically giving everyone the middle finger and saying, “Fuck you! I like sports, and I’m straight edge!” It was reassuring. When I saw Pat Dubar with his shaved head, pegged plaid pants, shirtless, sweating, he was intimidating, but also a source of comfort. Pat Dubar feared no one, and Uniform Choice band felt like protective older brothers.
Bratton: With America’s Hardcore and Stalag 13 disbanding, it opened the door for Uniform Choice band to become the leading force, largely due to Dubar’s leadership and his captivating stage presence. Orange County kids would have followed him anywhere.
Billy Rubin (Vocals, Half Off, Haywire, Editor of Think fanzine): Younger kids were captivated by Pat Dubar because he was fit, athletic, and charismatic. He was a big, tough guy, and kids wanted to go to punk shows without getting beaten up. He’d step in and handle any trouble. It was reassuring to know that if you went to see this band, someone from the band would stop the show and take care of any violence.
Nelson: Pat would protect all the straight edge kids. California shows were notoriously violent, and having someone like Pat looking out for you made it feel safer to be up front. If skinheads or members of LADS messed with you, you knew he would defend you. Pat was a tough guy with a hero complex. It was cool to see him fight off aggressors while a bunch of younger straight edge kids stood behind him, cheering him on.
Dubar: We weren’t pro-violence. I wouldn’t say we were pacifists, but we weren’t looking for fights. My idea was to stand up in the middle of the chaos and declare, “Hey, this scene belongs to me too.” That’s the kind of scene we wanted to create. We didn’t want to only play to people exactly like us. We wanted everyone to feel welcome. I didn’t care if you drank. But if you drank and acted like an idiot, there were consequences. Drinking wasn’t a license to be an asshole. We weren’t trying to hurt anyone, but we weren’t passive either. Uniform Choice band wasn’t about positive youth crew in a simplistic way. That wasn’t our entire message.
Nelson: There’s a great video of Pat’s brother, Courtney, stage-diving during a Uniform Choice band set. He goes off-camera and gets attacked by the LADS in the crowd. In the video, you see all the kids rush to Courtney’s defense, only to quickly retreat back onto the stage. Pat, however, stayed right in the middle of it. You can actually hear him punching people with the microphone. He must have knocked out at least ten guys. And these weren’t just some suburban jocks; these were guys who, if they weren’t killed a few years later, are now serving life sentences for serious crimes like murder and armed robbery. These were hardcore criminals.
Dubar: At one show, one of the Sons of Samoa members pulled a knife on our drummer before we even started playing. Then, during our set, they were grabbing the mic and shouting their area codes and other things. A big fight broke out with them afterward. My main issue with them was that they didn’t care about the music at all. They were just there to cause trouble.
Longrie: Fights were constant. Mid-set, fights would erupt on stage, and we’d have to intervene and pull people apart. If nobody got stabbed, everything was considered fine, and we’d continue our set. It was just the reality of the scene.
Dubar: When guys would raise their arms in a Sieg Heil salute, I’d tell them to put their arms down or I was coming off stage. If they persisted, I’d drop the mic, jump off stage, and start fighting. Gradually, we managed to eliminate those elements from our shows.
Rubin: I always felt Uniform Choice band had a broader appreciation for the diversity within punk rock. They grew up going to shows in Hollywood, seeing bands that were definitely not straight edge. Dave Mello, Uniform Choice’s bassist, was a complete outsider to the straight edge thing. He didn’t care about it at all. He just wanted to be in a band and have fun. They were excited that Pat Dubar was motivated to get them gigs, unlike many punk bands of the time that went nowhere because of drug use.
Dan O’Mahony (Vocals, No for an Answer, Carry Nation, Voicebox, 411, Done Dying): That big, bald guy on the mic in Uniform Choice band looked and sounded exactly how I felt. Their first LP, Screaming for Change, still makes me sing along in my truck.
John Porcelly (Guitarist, Youth of Today, Judge, Vocals Project X): When we first toured the West Coast with 7 Seconds, it seemed like a parallel straight edge scene was developing around Uniform Choice band. Seeing them for the first time at Fender’s was incredible. Pat Dubar would come on stage and deliver this intense intro rant, running from one side of the stage to the other like a crazed motivational speaker.
Dubar: We recorded Screaming for Change with Chaz Ramirez, a somewhat legendary figure in the Southern California punk scene who had worked with Social Distortion. The recording process was quick. I did all my vocals in two days. We were supposed to mix soon after, but he kept putting us off for months. Finally, after six months, we pinned him down, and he confessed that he had accidentally erased all the vocal tracks. So, I had to re-record all the vocals. We were incredibly angry. We should have known better than to trust him. While we were at his studio, the band Detox was also recording, and they wanted a gunshot sound on their record, so they were actually shooting a real gun with live ammunition into cinder blocks in the studio.
I had somehow assumed we would be on Dischord Records. That added another delay to the album release because I thought, “I’ll just send this to Ian from Minor Threat, and he’ll put it out.” I called Ian, and he was very cool. He explained that they only released bands from D.C., which was a major disappointment. When he told me that, I asked, “Well, what do we do now?” He simply said, “Just do it yourself, man. You can do it.” I said, “I don’t know how to put out a record,” and he said, “You’ll figure it out. We did. That’s what you have to do. Build your scene and release your own damn record.” And that’s how our label, Wishingwell Records, began.
Longrie: There weren’t many independent labels around at the time. There was Touch & Go and Dischord, but nothing like that locally, except for B.Y.O., but we weren’t aligned with them musically. So, we decided, “Let’s do this,” and started Wishingwell Records. Unity often opened for Uniform Choice band, so Pat and I agreed that the first release would be the Unity You Are One 7”. Joe was on board, we got John Lowe to play bass, and Pat took over vocals from Rob Lynch. We got our friend Gavin to do the artwork, and my mother did the calligraphy for the song titles. That was it. That was Wishingwell’s first release.
Rob Haworth (Guitarist, No for an Answer, Hard Stance, Farside, State of the Nation): When Wishingwell Records started, it felt like it could become the Dischord Records of the West Coast. It was a model that went beyond just starting a label. It involved setting up your own shows and networking with others. What Wishingwell was doing was inspiring and resonated with us.
Longrie: We needed a distributor and someone to provide credit for printing lyric sheets and album covers. We went to Hollywood and met this character named Tabb Rexx. We presented our material, and we made a deal with him. He was going to extend us credit with his contacts and pay us a certain amount. He was fascinated by the hardcore scene. He definitely ripped us off, but we were somewhat aware of that going in. We just wanted to have our own record in our hands, something tangible that was ours.
Dubar: After all the setbacks, it took two years from recording for Screaming for Change to finally be released.
Longrie: After we returned from making the distribution deal with Tabb Rexx, he called us and said, “I have a proposition for you: I have a rap group I want you to collaborate with.” I asked, “Who is it?” He said, “They’re called N.W.A.” He described their music as really aggressive rap and saw a connection between our styles. I said, “Sure, we’re in.” N.W.A. agreed because they were also intrigued by us. But ultimately, it never happened.
Rubin: At that time, Uniform Choice band was unique. There wasn’t a established movement or a defined look yet. Pat Dubar had a vision and was driven to make things happen. It wasn’t about straight edge being a widespread movement or a specific fashion trend at that point.
Oglesby: It’s unfortunate they were either unwilling or unable to tour extensively at that time. I think their legacy would be significantly different now. Around the time Screaming for Change came out, I don’t think any band in the country could compare to them. They were an amazing band, playing small venues with incredibly dedicated fans.
