KnuckleHeadz could be the thing that saves America's youth. They're too clearly categorized as a punk band from Whittier, but they're really a movement: Southern California's rowdiest self-help program and hardcore band. The members are built like dock workers and dressed like a deleted scene from The Warriors: black and green leather vests with a skull patch on the back with spiky hair. They are also the driving force behind Punk Rock Fight Club, a Southern California organization dedicated to improving the lives of young people through fitness and structure. The rules are as strict as they are simple, and in this upside-down world they are truly radical: no hard drugs, no crime, no racists, no rapists. Respect yourself, your brothers and your community.
KnuckleHeadz achieved their moment of internet fame after hosting a completely unsanctioned show in unsuspecting McDonald's for one hundred people. The show's viral clip is a convenient starting point, but it understates what the gentlemen have created. On stage, KnuckleHeadz is all sweat and spectacle: profanity-laced breaks, a crowd of fans riding boogie boards on the human tide, and a black and green army in the pit raising strangers to their feet. The absurdity of a diner with fast food, bodies and hamburgers briefly flying into the air suggests anarchy. Look closely and you'll see the choreography: men catching falls, clearing space and enforcing the code. Punk always promised salvation through noise. The KnuckleHeadz adds a footnote: “Salvation requires representatives, rules, and someone mean enough to take care of it.” Behind the scenes they have the infrastructure to survive.
The KnuckleHeadz in Whittier
(Dick Slaughter)
Founded in June 2021 by frontman Thomas Telles of Whittier, better known as Knucklehead Tom, and with the help of guitarist and tattoo artist Steven Arceo, also known as South, of El Monte, the Punk Rock Fight Club (PRFC) has grown within a few years to six chapters and over 200 members throughout Southern California. What started as a small circle around a group grew into a movement: discipline for kids who never got it, structure for men who need it, and a substance-abuse-free community. Potential clients earn their way through morning, sweat and dedication before they are entrusted with a skull patch on their back. The rules read like a brick wall and function like a doorway.
“I started the club because I wanted to do good on stage,” said Knucklehead Tom. “I wanted to create a tribe where we all supported each other, a family for people from all walks of life, especially those who came from broken homes. I wanted people to know they had a place to go and a family they could count on.”
Knucklehead Tom of The KnuckleHeadz turns his microphone to the crowd during a performance with the Whittier band.
(Dick Slaughter)
I first met KnuckleHeadz and several members of the club by chance three years ago at London train station on the way to the Rebellion punk rock music festival in Blackpool, an annual event attended by over 300 veteran and up-and-coming bands. They were impossible to miss – part wolf pack, part brotherhood, pure energy. That year, the KnuckleHeadz resonated with me not only with their uncompromising performances, but also with their message, their obvious love for each other, and their mission to better their community. Since then I've had a close look inside both the group and the club; I visited their gym and attended many of their performances. I have met and spoken with families and those who have been helped by KnuckleHeadz and the club. In many cases they truly worked miracles. But the guys don't call them miracles. They call it Tuesday.
“Since we started Punk Rock Fight Club, we have paved the way for a movement and lifestyle that many people in our scene needed,” Arceo said. “We've changed so many lives, and with it, our lives have changed. We've created a family built on the brotherhood, loyalty, and camaraderie that can only be achieved through martial arts and punk rock. It's something that many of us grew up without. So being able to put this into the world is worth any sacrifice. We've been going for five years, and we'll keep going until the day we die.”
The band's rise mirrors the club's spread: a steady rise from underground venues to the biggest punk scenes. They deserve a place on NOFX final show and moved from the Rebellion side stage to the festival's main stage. They organized benefits for causes that are not trendy and for people who cannot afford to be trendy. The Punk Rock Museum in Las Vegas recently added PRFC memorabilia to its collection, one of the club's items – a leather vest with a skull patch on the back, a true museum piece that still smells faintly of sweat. Next up, the KnuckleHeadz are gearing up for a US tour with punk legends GBH, a tour that turns rumors into resumes.
South, co-founder of KnuckleHeadz, wearing the band's signature vest.
The Whittier dojo, KnuckleHead Martial Arts, is where the KnuckleHeadz code becomes practical. Here the boys train in martial arts, and the mats do double duty as the floor of the community center. During F Cancer's performance in honor of 17-year-old Cesar “Little Cesar” Lopez II, the driveway turned into a makeshift slam pit. Inside, children lay on rugs and guitars shook the walls. Families brought food, local businesses provided services, and more than $6,000 was spent on treatment. In the carnival atmosphere outside, Little Caesar grinned and praised the pit from the sidelines, proving that joy, like violence, can be contagious.
One of the participants, 55-year-old Bernard Schindler from La Mirada, came after a life full of ricochets: rehab, prison, relapse, repeat. The club gave him first a schedule, then a future, and now, with the club's support, he's been clean and sober for over two years.
South performs with the KnuckleHeadz during the Punk Rock Fight Club benefit show outside the KnuckleHeadz Gym in Whittier.
(Dick Slaughter)
“Tom and punk rock fight club completely changed my life,” Schindler said. “It gave me purpose, discipline and a new family of brothers who pushed me to be a better person. I went from a broken drug addict to the healthiest person I have ever been mentally, physically and emotionally in 55 years of my life.”
Since joining the KnuckleHeadz nearly three years ago, Schindler says he has become closer to his family, including three sons and a girlfriend, and has remained sober. “I can honestly say I couldn't have done this without Tom and our God-given club, Punk Rock Fight Club,” he said.
The bassist known as Knucklehead Randy performs on the shoulders of a club member at a benefit concert in Whittier.
(Dick Slaughter)
The PRFC trophy case is, of course, full of medals and awards, but the real achievements are much more modest and wonderful. Where there used to be records of violations, there are pay stubs, text chains that begin with the question “Are you okay?” at 3:17 a.m. and the apartment keys are handed over when the child cannot go home.
Hip-hop synth-punk artist N8NOFACE is now a regular at the annual festival in Los Angeles. cruel world tours with Limp Bizkit and Corey Feldman, calls Tom “his brother” and credits this code for keeping him in tune. “I was getting clean and always believed that if you follow the right people, it will help you stay on your path,” says N8. “Tom talked about health, about not screwing things up, about being a fighter and a warrior and taking care of your body first. Finding that in punk is something else entirely.”
When asked about his hopes for the band's future, Tom replies: “I just want to keep having fun. We love doing it and we're grateful for all the love and support.” The band is currently playing shows throughout Southern California with dirty punk legends GBH, including Friday's show at Ventura Music Hall.
“Through the club, I want to continue to change lives. I'm glad to know that my son Nico has an army of kind-hearted uncles if anything should happen to me. The righteous people at this club make me so proud.”
This is the trick. That's the whole point. In the noise between these truths, many young people are hearing something they never believed in before: a future they are allowed to preserve.
Slaughter is a photographer and writer who has covered music and culture for countless publications, including OC Weekly and L..A. Time. He is one of the founders Magazine “Contrary”.
