When it comes to the punk rock scene in L.A., one name inevitably shows up, Bobbi Brat. She was the very thing that long ago ballads and legends were written about. She had every single box checked, from having creamy white skin, dark, dark hair, “eyes of emerald green,” a personality that made every man she encountered weak in the knees with desire, and women either running in fear or holding on to their men for dear life.
Then there was her voice. Out of such a small woman, this booming singing voice could fill a room all on its own and sometimes, in the case of the Red Scare, could cause complete chaos and destruction. She was the poster girl of the punk rock era, and she not only knew the extent of her power but also embraced it completely until the day she died of cancer.
Who was Bobbi Brat? She left an impression on everyone who met her and many who never did. To this day, we can still find her in the punk spirit of the ’80s.
I was the owner of Na Na in Santa Monica, one of the country’s first full-tilt punk rock department stores. I first met Bobbi while interviewing for new workers. Her uniform was typically black jeans, a studded belt, cowboy-type boots, and a cut-off tee shirt. Her look was considered “cowpunk.” She was not tall but had this killer body and a penetrating stare and smile that made you want to know more about her. Her black hair was short and slicked back like young Elvis. And very androgynous.
The easiest way to get a job at Na Na was through someone already working there. I wish I could remember who brought in Bobbi, but she sure had the right stuff right off the bat. Our interview questions were brief but essential. I asked Bobbi if she had ever worked with the public before and about her ability to handle money and make change. Her reply was swift and very serious. “Yes, and yes!” she chuckled. “I used to be a stripper, so I know how to handle people, okay? And sure, I know how to handle cash!” It was here she stopped to let out the famous Bobbi cackle that we all grew to love…” but I NEVER gave back change!”
Yup, she was perfect for the job and started that day. My company gave employees paid health insurance, which was unheard of at the time for a small business but seemed like the thing to do. Sadly, it was just the blessing that Bobbi needed, as she battled cancer for several years, and without it, she could never have gotten the care she needed.
Bobbi’s singing career was her passion. Na Na always allowed our staff to go on tour or provided a place to rehearse. Bobbi had several bands over the years she worked for us, including the Voodoo Gaters, which had a little bit of a bayou Cajun touch, and eventually the Bobbi Brat band. She could easily handle covers of Patsy Cline and other artists that no one else wouldn’t even attempt. Bobbi wasn’t all looks. She could pick up anything fast with intimidating skill and wasn’t shy about it.
When Bobbi was invited to join a band of female desperados in “Reach,” a 12-minute music video for Bill Paxton’s band Martini Ranch, she stood alongside Catherine Bigelow, Bud Cort, Judge Reinholt, Bill’s wife Louise (who also worked at Na Na) a few female bodybuilders, and myself. James Cameron was directing and had us walk in a line down a dusty old West Town Main Street. He took plenty of closeups of this amazing cast and, of course, the bodybuilders. Without missing a beat, on her first day ever on a set, Bobbi boldly said, “Jim, what about my closeup?” He replied, “Miss Brat, I would like to revolve an entire project around you, but yes, for now, I promise you a closeup!”
Years later, when Bobbi was terminally ill, James Cameron would call her and urge her to get better so they could do a film together.
Bobbi is an everlasting heart and soul. When it came time for me to name my new store decades later, it was perfect timing to get a call from Bill Paxton in the middle of the night. He randomly asked how long Bobbi had been gone, and I immediately realized I needed to name my store Brat in her honor. And now, the legend of Bobbi Brat lives on for another generation.
House of Punk 
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