As the ship pulled away from the pier, made its way through Biscayne Bay, and headed west into the open sea, strands of Social Distortion floated through the air.
No, an old Orange County punk rocker hadn’t seized control of the ship’s sound system; this was the actual band performing on the main deck. Little Steven’s Underground Garage Cruise was officially underway.
***
Once upon a time, I swore I’d never go on another cruise.
Forty years ago, in an ill-conceived attempt to get away from my strict parents, my dumb ass enlisted in the United States Navy.
After 12 weeks on the frozen, wind-scoured shores of Lake Michigan, I graduated from boot camp and headed west to my duty station in San Diego.
I took in the palm trees and fell in love with California. I’d escaped the conformity of East Coast suburbs and found my forever home. I shed my old beat-up winter coat and stuffed it in the closest trash can. I was here to stay.
But the Navy didn’t see it that way.
They sent me to the USS Meyerkord, a Knox-class fast frigate, and in a matter of months we shipped out for a six-month tour of the Persian Gulf where Iran and Iraq were blowing up each other’s ships in a deadly tit-for-tat tanker war.
On May 17, 1987, we were steaming across the Pacific when we got the news that a pair of Exocet missiles had slammed into the hull of the USS Stark, nearly sinking her and killing 37 sailors. We were now unofficially at war.
The Stark was a relatively new ship with a guided missile air defense system that our much older vessel lacked. We did have one thing going for us: we were carrying missiles equipped with nuclear warheads.
I wasn’t supposed to know that, but I did. We all knew. We were a diesel-powered tin can, a Cold War pawn in the nuclear chess match between the U.S. and the USSR.
By the time we reached Pearl Harbor, gliding over the watery grave of the most one-sided naval battle in American history, Navy brass had spoken: no more frigates in the Gulf.
Our new orders were for a “goodwill” tour of the Western Pacific. We went to Hong Kong, Singapore and South Korea. We shuttled back and forth between U.S. Navy bases in Yokosuka, Japan, and Subic Bay in the Philippine Islands. We conducted war exercises with the Australian Navy with several ports of call Down Under.
We never went to the Persian Gulf.
When I finished my enlistment, I stashed all my belongings into a pair of sea bags, and went down the gangway for the last time, a sailor no more.
To echo the words tattooed on so many sailors: USN NEVER AGAIN.
***
Though Social Distortion was the main event, it wasn’t the only band on board. Mike Ness’ crew was joined by Long Beach rock and rollers Rival Sons, New York hardcore head turned troubadour Jesse Malin, Hanoi Rocks frontman Michael Monroe, English pop punkers the Buzzcocks, and 25 other bands.
This music festival at sea was curated by the programmers at Little Steven’s Underground Garage SiriusXM channel in collaboration with Sixthman festivals. For the last 25 years, Sixthman has been organizing immersive vacation experiences at sea, including music cruises like Headbangers Boat, Outlaw Country Cruise, and this four-day sailing that my wife, Nuvia, and I went on in April 2026.
Social Distortion’s set was loaded with songs from the band’s new album, “Born to Kill” — its first since 2011. It was also Ness’ birthday. “On this day 64 years ago I came into this cruel, cruel world,” he said from the stage.
After the show, Nuvia and I headed forward to see Low-Cut Connie at the Stardust Theater, one of five venues onboard the Norwegian Pearl operated by Norwegian Cruise Lines. The theater is indoors and has movie-theater-style seats, but the best thing about the venue is that it’s just a few hundred steps and a short elevator ride from the main deck.
On the way, we passed the Atrium Lounge, where the Supersuckers were playing their brand of low-down and dirty rock and roll, so we stopped to check out their set for a few songs. There were no wristbands or tickets or waiting lists. We were free to go wherever we wanted, whenever we wanted, for as long as we wanted.
Most bands played two or three times, so we could follow our favorites around the ship. Or, we could stick to one venue and let the music come to us. The options were endless.
Want to stay in your bathing suit and hang out in the pool? You can do that on the main deck. Want to stay off your feet in a comfortable seat? The Stardust Theater has you covered. Want to stay close to the bar and watch the band in a small club environment? You have your choice of Magnum’s, the Atrium, and Spinnakers with a range of seating options. You can even go to the Irish pub overlooking the Atrium where you can eat, drink and listen to music all at the same time.
The appeal of the music cruise is that it eliminates a lot of the things that make attending live music events a hassle: Driving. Parking. Ticket fees. Overpriced everything. Even if you do everything right, you still have to wait in lines.
I go to a lot of punk shows, and I usually purchase my tickets in advance. But I’m 57 years old, and by the time the show rolls around at 9 or 10 o’clock, I’d pay money not to have to leave the house.
On the Underground Garage Cruise, you don’t have to. The ship is your home. Most people wear shorts and T-shirts the entire cruise. On the night the Surfajettes hosted a pajama party, attendees were encouraged to wear their pajamas; some people wore them all day.
This was my third music cruise. I may never go to a dirt festival again.
***
We arrived in Cozumel, a city on Isla de las Golondrina off the coast of Mexico on Easter morning.
We were three days into the cruise, I was eating breakfast on the fantail, cool breeze in my hair.
The fantail is nautical nomenclature for the aft weather deck, which is still more fancy talk for the “outside” part of the ass-end of the ship. The Norwegian Pearl dispenses with this nonsense by calling it the Garden Café. Maybe we should give the nuclear warheads to NCL.
I liked starting my day in the Garden Cafe, eating a custom-made omelet with cheese and jalapeños while watching the clouds, which were amazing. In the Navy, the term for daydreaming is skylarking. The Navy, with its love of acronyms, artillery, and inflexible discipline, has wrung most of the poetry out of the sea, but not all of it.
To my left, or starboard side since I was facing aft, Jeff and Steve McDonald of the OG LA punk band Redd Kross were chatting about the previous night’s show, which was incredible. They were promoting a new book, “Now You’re One of Us,” with Dan Epstein, and a new documentary, “Born Innocent: The Redd Kross Story.”
While some of the bigger stars secluded themselves in their off-limit suites, many musicians milled about, enjoying the cruise with the paying customers. Many were fans of the other bands on board — just like the rest of us.
Even though booze was plentiful and most people were pretty well behaved, the Garden Café was mellowest in the morning.
Cruise ship crowds tended to be older, and this crew was less inclined to make foolish life choices while under the influence of alcohol. That was old hat for most of us. Been there, done that. Just in case, there were daily meetings for “friends of Bill” for those who needed them.
I used the quiet, balmy mornings to take notes and plan my day, which went something like this: go to a show and get something to eat and then repeat until bedtime.
Saturday’s shows had been exceptional, with two distinct highlights: seeing an “acoustic” version of Social Distortion. The bassist played a stand-up bass and the keyboard player strapped on an accordion. My ancestors were Irish; Nuvia’s family came from Mexico. Our view is that any song can be improved by an accordion. Your mileage may vary.
The other highlight was Jesse Malin’s set on the main deck. In 2024, Malin suffered a spinal stroke and lost the use of his legs. After many months in South America getting treatment and physical therapy, he has regained some use of his legs. He used a wheelchair, a walker, and leg braces to navigate the stage, but rose to his feet and belted out a few songs while holding on to a road case that used to belong to Motorhead.
Malin wasn’t the only person on board with mobility issues, but one area where Sixthman excels is the lengths it goes to making everyone feel welcome. The areas designated for ADA seating were plentiful and had exceptional sightlines, which is rarely the case at music venues.
When Nuvia broke her foot last year we attended many concerts and had a range of experiences. Not every venue makes serving guests with disabilities a priority; some treat it like an afterthought.
Sixthman went out of their way to ensure that every guest was able to rock out to their heart’s desire. Malin was a shining example of not letting one’s hardships and limitations hold you back.
After breakfast, Nuvia and I disembarked the ship and boarded a catamaran waiting for us at the end of the pier. The boat took us to a reef to go snorkeling, which was lovely, and to a beach where I attempted paddle boarding, but the less said about that the better. I survived with a few minor scrapes and my ego in tatters. If you’re over six feet tall and weigh more than 200 pounds, there’s no such thing as an easy fall — even on the placid waters of the Gulf of Mexico.
***
It was bound to happen.
I sat in the Garden Café with OC legend Jonny Two Bags of Social Distortion and Daniel Kohn, a journalist for Creem and co-author with Nate Jackson of “Tearing Down the Orange Curtain: How Punk Rock Brought Orange County to the World,” which is basically the bible of OC punk rock.
For once, we weren’t talking about music.
I don’t want to call Daniel out, but he mentioned being “affected” by the motion of the boat. This prompted me to tell the story about sailing through a monsoon in the South China Sea on a vessel a fraction of the size of the Norwegian Pearl.
Now those seas were rough.
There’s nothing like standing on the bridge while wave after wave comes at you, breaks over the bow, and makes the boat disappear. It doesn’t matter how big or small the vessel is, when you look out the window and all you see is water, that’s not a good feeling.
How bad was it? We took rolls in excess of 45 degrees. All work came to a stop. People literally strapped themselves into their racks. No one could sleep. No one could eat. All night long I could hear the sound of sailors retching and the thundering of the waves slamming into the bulkheads.
We didn’t see anything like that in the Gulf of Mexico. A few light sprinkles of rain here and there but the show went on and on and on.
After a few days at sea, the passengers were starting to resemble marine life: sea lions, lobsters, slugs.
On the final night of the cruise, we watched Low Cut Connie on the main deck. Bandleader Adam Weiner is part Jerry Lee Lewis, part Elton John. He puts on a hell of a show and has a heart as big as the ocean.
Prior to singing “Livin’ in the USA,” for which he received death threats when it was released, Adam delivered a passionate message, urging the passengers to take the good energy from the cruise and bring it home to our communities.
“Every once in a while, you gotta get into some good trouble,” he said.
Sign me up.
Especially if it means another go in the rock and roll navy.