A TACO KING RISING

A Profile on Taco Punx

From the Fall 2019 Issue

October 1, 2019

I’m Fat Boy.”

The declaration is almost like the start to a joke, but the punch line doesn’t come because Christopher/Chris/Fat Boy is serious.

If you’re from the San Gabriel Valley punk scene, you probably know Chris as the singer of the band Dead Punks. He organizes shows. He breaks up fights at shows and keeps things in line and, oh yeah, he makes tacos. And it’s on that last point where this story begins.

That's because Chris has an ambitious plan to put on monthly Taco Fests, with the inaugural event earlier in September, hosted in conjunction with friend and Dead Punks bassist Moe, at the VFW in Baldwin Park. Bands, vendors, on-site tattooing and tacos comprised what could largely be summed up as a successful first go for someone who’s sacrificed sleep and down time to be his own boss, operating first in the weed industry before legalization in California brought more costly restrictions and regulations.

“I had to start getting – I wouldn’t say a real job – but working for the man,” Chris said of legalization’s impact. “But I’m an entrepreneur. I love to cook. One day I was at a show. There was a taco truck in front and all the punk rockers were in the front eating tacos instead of listening to the bands. I was like, man, I should start making tacos in the backyard while we’re playing.”

But what started out as what Chris called a joke is now something very real. He went to L.A. and paid about $170 for a grill, taking that with him to his band’s next show at the Rosemead Skatepark. The show ended up getting shut down, but Taco Punx turned out to be a hit.

“I made tacos and the same thing happened to me,” he said. “More people were waiting in line for tacos than they were listening to the bands. That’s when I knew I had something: food and punk rock. So I came up with Taco Punx.”

That’s when he began hustling, reaching out to promoters looking to join show bills as a food vendor. Some attempted to swindle him with unfair fees; others gave him a chance. That learning experience led him to ultimately take over his own promotions, with him now handling the marketing of Taco Fest. However, unlike some venues and promoters who simply see dollar signs and their own personal cut of revenue, Chris subscribes to an all boats rise mentality.

“I don’t want just my company to make it. That’s why I got all these vendors here today,” he said, motioning around to the VFW's backyard. “I could have made Taco Fest all about tacos and no other vendors, but that’s not what I’m about. It’s about everybody coming up together. It’s about everybody making money and everybody getting known.”

He’s thinking big, hoping to pivot this into a full-time gig starting out first in backyards and hosting monthly fests switching up the genre of bands each time, but eventually the goal is to bow his own permanent Taco Punx outpost.

“I’m starting in the backyard doing this small thing, but the next step is a food truck,” he said. “Once I get the food truck, I’ll start traveling and then next a store. You’ve got to climb the ladder. You can’t just jump straight into a food truck and expect to make it because no one’s going to know who you are. See, I’m getting down and dirty in the backyard with everybody learning who I am.”

His strategy’s well mapped out and he’s laser focused on succeeding. While it’s easy for some who may have been born with the connections to buy their way up and into the business world, he’s of the opinion hard work will take him where he wants to be.

“The punk scene’s known as more of a lower class scene – I’d say it’s a working class scene. It doesn’t matter. We all came from shitty backgrounds, but it doesn’t mean we’ve got to stay there,” he said. “I’ve been at the bottom. What I’m trying to prove to myself is we can make it to the top by being entrepreneurs, investing in ourselves. I mean, we can work for other companies, but we’re never going to move anywhere because there’s a certain hierarchy in [companies] and you’re only going to stay at a certain level. Do your own thing. I feel like if you do 100 percent, you can’t fail.”

Maybe he was born hungry.

The La Puente-born, now-Upland resident might say he was doomed out of the womb. He’s got a tattoo on his arm with the Dead Punks’ logo that says about as much.

“I got this tattoo a long time ago before the band even existed,” he said. “I have a gravesite right there and it says ‘Dead Since ’88,’ so I was dead since the day I was born. My mom was so pissed off at that tattoo. She was like ‘Why’d you get that?’ I was like, ‘Man, since the day I came out of the womb I never had a chance. I was always doomed from this life.’”

His father passed away two months before he was born. He said his mother described him as a difficult baby who cried often and he was on Ritalin in kindergarten and then Adderall by the first grade for his ADHD.

“I’ve always had this life. I’ve always had this messed up life but, see, that’s what pushed me. I can see – and you know, I’m not an innocent person. I’m a working class guy, but I know what I want in life. I know what I don’t want.”

He was raised in a Christian family and fell into music pretty young. He got his hands on a Korn CD back in the third grade, but when his mom caught wind of that she broke it in front of his face and told him it was the devil’s music. He couldn’t believe it, but that also didn’t stop him.

Around the age of 12 was his first punk show and, after that, he was hooked.

“See, our parents always told us don’t go to shows. You get dropped in the pit, they’re going to kill you and step all over you and break your ribs. It was nothing like that. If you fell on the floor, someone was there to pick you right back up.”

Times have changed and the scene in the San Gabriel Valley isn’t the same as when he was growing up, but the unity is still there he said. A contracted scene and smaller pond just makes everyone a lot closer, he argued.

And even as his own workload and personal life continues to expand – he’s got a 14-year-old, 11-year-old and 2-year-old, plus a regular job and now Taco Punx – he doesn’t see burning out on punk any time soon.

“At one time, SGV was the hub of punk music. We had Dr. Know, Circle One, Thretning Verse, Y.A.P.O playing in backyards with 500 people back there at one time,” he said. “People came here because they knew this is where it was happening. When I was a teenager I grew up looking at this like ‘Wow, the punk scene. This is where it’s at.’ It slowly faded away, but I never faded away.”

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