“It was violent at times, the reactions were volatile... People felt threatened by punk rock!” The Life Less Ordinary of Social Distortion's Mike Ness

Born To Kill, the title of Social Distortion’s long-awaited eighth album, is expressly not a reference to the slogan scrawled alongside a peace sign on Pvt. Joker’s army helmet in Stanley Kubrick’s Full Metal Jacket, symbolising the duality of man.

Neither is it a sly nod to Born To Run by Bruce Springsteen, who has occasionally shared a stage with the iconic Californian punks, and who has had their singer Mike Ness return the favour. Instead, Mike insists, it’s just a phrase that struck him about never backing down and always emptying the tank.

“It’s about that idea of going out there to do what you do, whatever that may be, and killing it,” the frontman smiles. “Especially if there is oppression. I’m an underdog. I’ve always fought for the underdogs. ‘Born To Kill’ feels like it’s a mission-statement for this band throughout our career.”

Fifteen years since Social D’s last album Hard Times And Nursery Rhymes, and a staggering 48 since Mike first put the band together, its 11 songs feel like they take in all of the above and so much more. Mike has battled tonsil cancer in the last five years. He’s lost both his parents, too. And as well as helping his own sons through their struggles with drugs, the law and mental health, he’s recently become the grandfather to a two-year-old grandson. Regrets? He has a few. But more important is the understanding that every triumph and tribulation is an experience to learn from.

“There are painful lessons and less painful ones,” he shrugs, looking back at a life with more than its fair share of darkness. “You just need to be receptive. It’s easy to say ‘Fuck it. This is who I am, take it or leave it!’ But I can’t look at myself in the mirror and say those kinds of things anymore.”

Here, he shares the wisdom he's picked up along the way, and what makes him him...

“I was an outsider until I got into punk. When you grow up in a home like I did, with alcoholism and abuse, you develop survival skills. Punk became my family. I got into it for the same reasons that kids get into gangs: to fill the gaps of what’s missing at home. Plus, making punk music gave me a voice I’d never had before. When I sensed that society was trying to take that outlet away from me, I was [furious]. Just about the worst thing anyone can tell me is that I can’t do something.”

“There was a lot of tolerance for punk kids in the big cities in the 1970s and ‘80s. People kind of expect ‘freaks’ in that urban setting. The suburbia of Orange County was very different. It was violent at times, the reaction was volatile. People felt threatened by us. If you didn’t fit into a mould it was a problem. That began in school. I tried to fit in, but we didn’t have money for me to dress the way the [cool] kids were dressing. I always wore knock-offs or thrift-store stuff. I didn’t live by the beach, so I didn’t fit in with the surfers. I didn’t fit in with the Chicano kids because I wasn’t from their neighbourhood, either. I didn’t fit in with the jocks because I never had encouragement to play sports – though I did find later that I’m quite athletic. So I was a misfit. For me, punk was about individualism, but it also led to constant harassment, and getting into fights with older kids. They didn’t want their Stairway To Heaven to go away. But punk wasn’t about the stairway to Heaven. We were singing about what was really happening out on the streets.”

“The most intense and photographic memory I have is being 17 years old and driving up to Hollywood on random Tuesday nights with Dennis [Danell, Mike’s high school buddy and late Social D guitarist], going to see punk bands in these basements and underground clubs. You couldn’t help but feel like you were riding a wave of something significant. I wasn’t aware of how it affected things politically at the time, but it was exciting to be there on the ground while it was actually happening. The times, they were a changing – and it felt good to be a part of it!”

“I see footage of myself when I was like 20 years old and just think, ‘God damn, that kid is so fuckin’ lost!’ But at the same time I can see this brutal focus and passion and determination for writing songs and playing. Unfortunately, that period was also all drugs and alcohol. Those things muddled everything up. They almost killed me. I can picture the scene like it was yesterday: this club called the Cathay de Grande in Hollywood which was like Woodstock 2.0. There was no real security back then – just a couple of guys at the front door. There were no rules. People were just running wild all over the place. Some were even shooting heroin in the women’s bathroom…”

“What eventually snapped me out of it was the loneliness that comes with having burned all your bridges. What begins as ‘sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll’ becomes just ‘drugs’. There’s no rock ‘n’ roll because all of your gear is sold or in the pawn shop and your band members are all pissed off at you. Even the drug connections want you to just get in and out because you create such a pathetic scene. So you end up roaming the streets alone. That is a very lonely and painful place. I’m not religious but I believe in God and I remember feeling so low one night that I knew it had to change, looking up to say ‘If you’re up there man, please help me, because I can’t live this way any more!’ It took me a year and a half of trial and error, trying and messing up, but I got there eventually.”

“I grew up with country music, folk and Americana. For example, my mom had this Smithsonian record box set with everyone from Lead Belly and the blues legends to The Carter Family. When I heard The Carter Family, it was music of the depression. I don’t know if they were going through despair themselves, but their music sure sounded like it. And it really affected me. It hit a nerve. It was deep and really did something for me, this simple, stripped-down folk music which [originated on the other side of the Atlantic]. If you think about it, Social Distortion is just The Carter Family with electric guitars: three chords, a melody and lyrics about the things that are important to you!”

“The Ramones have been a big part of my story, and getting to tour with them was one of the highlights of my career. They were like a cartoon that came to life. Playing with them every night was amazing. But then I’d get to watch them like a fly on the wall, these little kids in grown men’s bodies having all sorts of arguments in their crazy New York accents. They would bicker constantly. On top of it all, they had this tour manager who looked like [comedy icon] Peter Sellers trying to hold it all together. I’d be standing there just looking on, feeling like I was at the movies!”

“One of the most profound moments of my career was when I was making our third Sony album [1996’s White Light, White Heat, White Trash], and when I gave the producer [Michael Beinhorn] 12 songs he came back to say, ‘Keep writing!’ I was like ‘Fuck you!’ But there was a reason for it. You can write songs all day long, but that doesn’t mean they’ll be compelling. And he knew that if he agitated me I’d dig deeper. When I went back to write in New York I came up with three of the best songs I ever wrote, including one called I Was Wrong. That’s a lesson I’ve kept kept with me ever since: the need to challenge yourself on whether something is ‘good’ or if it’s really great.”

“When my time comes, I’m not sure what I want on my tombstone. But I do know I’d like people to think of this band as a group of guys who came like a meteor out of the sky and changed things. I’d like to be a part of musical history. In the meantime, I don’t really know how to do anything else. I’m definitely not ready to retire. I still have a lot left to do. And if my mind and body can keep going, then so will I. If The Rolling Stones can still get onstage at their age, then so can I at mine!”

Born To Kill is released on May 8 via Epitaph. Social Distortion will perform at Download Festival on June 14 and will headline London’s Camden Koko on June 16.

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