This story was originally published in The Stranger’s 2026 Queer Issue.
It was from the glittering ashes of male-centric glam rock that one of LA’s first punk bands emerged. As a music-obsessed teenager who was convinced she’d one day marry Elton John (this is the bi experience, people), Alice Bag met Patricia Morrison (Legal Weapon, the Gun Club) while waiting in line to see John guest star on Cher’s variety show. Later, when the two unsuccessfully auditioned for a post-Runaways Kim Fowley project, they scouted the fellow audition rejects. And this was the start of the Bags, a group of paperbag-masked teenagers making angry, chaotic music. Although the Bags only released one single during their three-year stint, the band’s freewheeling ethos lives on through Alice’s solo music, collaborative projects, memoirs, advocacy, and Penelope Spheeris’s seminal punk documentary The Decline of Western Civilization (as the Alice Bag Band).
“I believe in punk rock,” Alice told me over the phone from her home in Los Angeles. “I believe it has the power to bring communities together and to help people get rid of frustration, tension, and trauma that builds up in the body.”
I spoke with the punk icon ahead of her final Alice Bag Band tour about her first time on stage, how David Bowie taught her about bisexuality, and advice on making time in our busy lives for art.
You recently posted a picture of the Bags performing in 1978 with the caption “Sid Vicious tried to crash our set, but I wasn’t having it.” Can you tell me more about that memory?
We went up to San Francisco to see the Sex Pistols play at the Winterland Ballroom. My band booked a show so that we could afford to drive up for it. My friend Hellin Killer was dating Sid, and brought him to our show. They were in the front row, swaying—I think they were high. As the set got more aggressive and the audience became more engaged, Sid just decided to get on the stage. He put his arm around me and started swaying with me like he was about to sing an old country song. At a certain point, he tried taking the microphone. I pulled it away from him, and then he threw himself on the ground and rolled around. I thought he was doing an impersonation of a little kitty with a ball of yarn. He was on his back with his arms and legs up in the air, and was kind of swatting at things. I thought, “Wow, he’s really into the music!” At that time, I was a big fan of Sid, so I was totally thrilled that he was up on stage with us. Unfortunately, I realized that he was just really, really high. After that, he passed out in our dressing room.
What is the most memorable show that you’ve played?
I would say my first show, even though I don’t remember most of it, the spirit of it is memorable. I was kind of out of control. We had only been together for about six weeks. We had eight songs, and we had been hired to headline a show at the Masque, based on the strength of our outfits. Our shtick was that we wore paper bags on our heads that we turned into masks. As soon as I stepped on stage, I felt all this energy pierce through my body. I short-circuited. I felt like a woman possessed, like I wasn’t in control of what I was doing. Before I went on stage, my friend Bobby Pyn [aka Darby Crash of the Germs] told me to take off my bag so that I could connect with the audience. I refused. He knew better than me. As soon as we got on stage, Bobby started tearing up my bag. I was sweating, and the bag was sticking to my face. Pretty soon, I was peeking out a rip in the corner. It was surreal doing a concert with half a ripped bag on my head. I was trying to remain undercover while remembering the lyrics. It was really exciting and chaotic. We got an encore, and it was received beyond my wildest dreams.
Do you still feel like a “woman possessed” when you perform?
There are still times when I feel possessed, but now I have something that stops me—my age. Last time I was on stage, I got really into it, and I started to feel like I was going to have a heart attack. I was so out of breath, and my heart was beating really fast. I thought, “It’s time for me to step back and let somebody else do this.” I probably won’t play Alice Bag Band songs after this year. I love my band. I love punk rock. I believe in punk rock. But I also believe that my body’s telling me to slow down.
Was queerness talked about and accepted in the LA early punk scene?
I think it was accepted. I don’t think there was as much of a desire to crusade about it, same with gender and ethnicity, even though we were all aware of it. I don’t think anyone felt like queerness was their main identity. It’s not that we were hiding it—we definitely weren’t. In my experience, the scene was very inclusive and open. The thing that set us apart and created most of the tension in our lives was being strange, being weirdos, being outcasts. The thing that we most identified with was being punk. This is important to say, because there are times when I’ve been discriminated against because I’m a woman, or because I’m Latina, and then that part of my identity becomes center stage. We’re multifaceted individuals with more than one identity, and the identity that comes forward is usually the one that needs to step up to either defend itself, claim its place, show strength, show unity, and show community.
I read that you first realized you were bisexual after reading a David Bowie interview in junior high. Did you come out to your friends or family at that time?
My parents were very prudish. They didn’t talk about sex at all. My mother didn’t even have a name for anything below the waist. She just said, “down there.” Like, “Are you itching down there?” or “Are you sore down there?”
At one point, I made out with a girl at the Sugar Shack, and somebody at school leaked that I was queer. At that time, I didn’t feel like anyone needed to know. There was a girl who assumed I had a crush on her and started bullying me. I was outraged that she thought I had a crush on her just because she was a girl. I didn’t even know she existed.
Do you think it’s important for people to be vocal about their bisexuality?
I don’t want to make that choice for anybody. I personally do mention it whenever I get a chance, because I’ve been married to a man for over 30 years, and people assume that I’m heterosexual. I may be in a monogamous relationship, but it doesn’t mean I stopped identifying as queer. It was important for me to know that David Bowie was bisexual. It’s normal. It’s okay. It’s better than okay, actually, it’s like, really cool to be bisexual.
What has been your experience affirming your queer identity within a heterosexual marriage?
For me, my husband is very accepting of who I am. Sometimes he’ll just laugh when I comment on how attractive someone is, and then we usually agree. In past relationships, I’ve felt that my sexuality was a source of jealousy. I’ve been told, “I feel like I can’t give you what you want.” But they didn’t understand that I don’t want everything at once. I like cheesecake and chocolate cake too, but that doesn’t mean I want both at the same time! For a while, I even felt like the queer community wanted me to make up my mind. I identify as bi. I’m not a part-timer. My queerness isn’t less valid than yours.
You continued making music during your 20-plus years as a public school teacher. Do you have any advice for people who want to make space for art while they’re working a full-time job?
You have to put it on your calendar, even if you just schedule an hour to write or listen to your favorite music. I like to use the analogy of cooking on a four-burner stove: move the stuff that needs attention right now to the front burners. When you have time, like when you’re home from work, or the baby’s asleep, or your parents don’t need a ride to the doctor, bring your creative projects to the front burner. Life is like that—it’s about moving it all around and making time when you have it, but don’t neglect it completely. Keep it on simmer.
See Alice Bag at Black Lodge on July 17, 7 pm, all ages.
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