‘PUNKS’ SMASH PINS

It was only about an hour and a half into the festivities, and already, some guy was wandering around with his pants off.

There he was, posing for pictures, tight black briefs suffocating his unmentionables like they were trying to commit some heinous act of murder.

To hear the dude tell it, he had shown up at the El Premiere nightclub on Friday for the kickoff concert of the Punk Rock Bowling tournament with but $5 to get into the show, well short of the $16 cover.

But one of the fellas at the door, sensing an opportunity to help his fellow man, said the guy could enter if he gave him what money he did have, in addition to handing over his trousers.

Hence, a deal was made and the party had its mascot.

It's this mix of togetherness and drunkenness, really good cheer and really bad ideas that make this three-day event -- now in its eleventh year -- so much debauched fun even by the outsized standards of Las Vegas.

During the day, the Sam's Town bowling center is where the action is, swarming with roller girls and rockers, tattoos and beer guts, bandidos with big fake mustaches and pink sombreros and naughty nurses in leather bondage gear.

The tournament, which indie punk label BYO Records co-founder Mark Stern helped start, is a big social gathering that draws punks from near and afar.

On Saturday, in addition to chicks in black-and-white striped spandex hot pants and folks wearing beer boxes on their heads, there was a drunk guy ambling about the place in a pink dress, trying hard to keep his balance, looking like he was stumbling across the deck of a ship caught in a tempest.

He was palling around with a dude in a battered football helmet with plastic antlers glued to it, his face slathered in some red substance.

Together, they raised a ruckus, but not too many eyebrows, for the room was a carnival of characters bowling hard and drinking harder, as if fires raged in their lungs and the inferno could only be extinguished with buckets of Corona and $3 "Bowler on Acid" cocktails (a memory-erasing, tongue-numbing mix of Jagermeister, rum and pineapple juice).

At night, the scene shifted to a series of concerts held at various club in town.

On Friday, the Dwarves set the tone for the weekend at El Premiere with lots of rapid-fire come-ons, songs about fighting and fornicating and a guitarist, HeWhoCannotBeNamed, sporting only a cheetah-print lucha libre mask, spiked leather armbands and underpants.

With frontman Blag Dahlia riding atop the outstretched arms of the crowd, the band raced through a slew of equally melodic and menacing anti-hits ("How It's Done," "Salt Lake City," "Dominator") with barely a pause.

The band was rejoined by former Queens of the Stone Age bassist Nick Oliveri, who had been kicked out of the band for being too much of a wildman.

Oliveri took the mic for a pair of tunes, one whose title can't be printed, the other being "River City," a song about a serial rapist that's every bit as nasty and remorseless as its subject matter.

Half the crowd left after the Dwarves ended their set with a hard-charging "Astroboy," clearing the room for a large circle pit as trad-punks The Casualties tore through anti-establishment missives and Ramones covers with near grindcore velocity.

The next night belonged to Pennywise, who careened into the House of Blues with fellow Hermosa Beach punk favorites the Circle Jerks.

Pennywise's modus operandi is simple and effective: shout-along three-part harmonies, deft, manic drumming and fast, beefy guitars, all impregnated with Budweiser.

"This band was founded on drunk shows and drunk practices," Pennywise guitarist Fletcher Dragge announced from the stage. "And we're drunk tonight."

Loose and in good spirits, the band galloped through a blitz of fan favorites -- including "Can't Believe It," and "Date With Destiny" -- before being joined on stage by Circle Jerks frontman Keith Morris, dreadlocks dangling down past his knees, to bash out Black Flag's "Nervous Breakdown."

Shortly thereafter, the crowd thronged to after-parties at places like the Bunkhouse and Divebar.

Then it was time for yet one more day of revelry, where hundreds of bowling pins weren't alone in getting smashed.

Contact reporter Jason Bracelin at jbracelin @reviewjournal.com or 702-383-0476.