Top Jimmy and the Rhythm Pigs Return January 16 on Blind Owl Records

Transmission 303: Interview with Steve Berlin

Steve Berlin produces records, plays saxophone, and has spent four decades working with Los Angeles bands that matter. He joined The Blasters in the early 1980s, then Los Lobos shortly after, and has remained with them since. Before all that, he was part of Top Jimmy and the Rhythm Pigs, a blues rock outfit that played Monday nights in a Chinese basement club in Hollywood where the sewage backed up and everything smelled like old cooking oil.

Title: Pigus Drunkus Maximus
Artist: Top Jimmy and the Rhythm Pigs
Release Date: 2026-01-16
Genres: Blues Rock, Psych-obilly, Punk Rock
Label: Blind Owl Records
Description: Steve Berlin talks Top Jimmy and the Rhythm Pigs reissue, lost masters, Cathay de Grande sewage, and why the cassette tape saved everything.

The band included characters with names like Dig The Pig and Carlos Guitarlos. They played Howlin’ Wolf and Bob Dylan covers for punk rockers, hair metal musicians, and actors who had nothing better to do on a Monday night. Tom Waits and David Lee Roth were fans. Van Halen wrote a song about the frontman. In 1987, Berlin produced their only album, Pigus Drunkus Maximus, which sold poorly and went out of print for nearly forty years. The album is being reissued on January 16, 2026, remastered from a cassette tape and a pristine vinyl.

What drew you to Top Jimmy and the Rhythm Pigs in the early 1980s, and how did you become part of this legendary lineup?

When I started with them, I was pretty new in Los Angeles. I’d only been there for a couple of years and it was a scene that was developing. It was like the early days of the L.A. punk rock scene. For me, it was super exciting—a new world of musicians, people, and a lot of interesting characters. Top Jimmy was in the middle of a lot of stuff at that moment. He had the guys from X and The Blasters and people like that, people who I would go on to work with later in life, all in and out of his band. It was never a very set lineup until we made the record.

That was more or less the set lineup, but in the early days, it was a lot of interesting people. Billy Zoom would play with us from X. It was just a lot of fun. I certainly didn’t think it was going to be anything at all. In those days, nobody thought anything was going to be a big deal; we all thought we were just having fun. That was the main idea with that band. Always, it was just to have fun.

In those days, nobody thought anything was going to be a big deal; we all thought we were just having fun. That was the main idea with that band: always just to have fun.

The Cathay de Grande has become mythical in L.A. music history—what was it really like playing those Monday nights in that Chinese basement club, and how did that specific environment shape the band’s sound?

The place itself was kind of terrible, to be honest with you. It was the basement of a terrible restaurant and it always smelled like old cooking oil and bad food. They always had a problem with the plumbing, so the sewage would back up. In my memory, it seemed like it was almost all the time, but I’m sure there were some nights when it wasn’t. It was like a constant smell of shit, basically. As a place to be, it took a lot to get people to come there.

In that era in L.A., it was just one more weird place to play, so nobody really minded. I’m not sure if the place shaped our sound very much; I think it was really just more the excitement of being there. On Monday nights in L.A. at that time, there wasn’t really a whole lot else going on. It would be everybody in town, from the punk rockers to the hair metal guys and the actors and actresses. It was the cool place to be. More than anything else, I think that was what fed the energy that created the band. It wasn’t unusual to see famous faces in the crowd enjoying themselves.

What was the work like with Top Jimmy?

We got along pretty great. I think we had a mutual respect. The wild card was our guitar player, Carlos Guitarlos, who is still with us. He’s got some challenges—let’s say emotional and mental challenges. I was never really sure what version of him was going to show up. He would tend to get very angry for nothing at all. In my memory, he would blow his top and want to break things, and me specifically. Sorry about that. That was the only challenge in making the record: getting him calmed down enough to play, because when he played, he was brilliant. He was a great guitar player, a great musician. He just had some untreated mental issues, and we never knew what to expect from him.

On Monday nights in L.A. at that time, there wasn’t really a whole lot else going on. It would be everybody in town, from the punk rockers to the hair metal guys and the actors and actresses. It was the cool place to be.

Your cover choices ranged from Howlin’ Wolf to Bob Dylan to Jimi Hendrix. What was the philosophy behind selecting the material and how do you make this song your own?

I have to say, we didn’t really think about things like that. We never really talked about how we would approach a song. It was just the way the band sounded when we played those songs. I think it was Top Jimmy’s idea. I don’t remember bringing much to the repertoire; those were songs that he liked, that he could have his way with and put his own stamp on. There was not really much of a discussion about what songs we were going to play. If he wanted to do it, we would do it.

It came out like the record. You heard—that record is probably the best version of the band. Everybody played great, I thought. Our sets would play way into the night, so there were a few more songs, but those were the best songs that we had.

Listening back to these recordings nearly 40 years later, during the remastering process, what surprised you most about the performances?

It was interesting because when we did the record in ’81, it was mixed and I thought it sounded great. Then it sat on a shelf somewhere for seven years before it came out the first time. When it came out, we remixed it. I’m embarrassed to say I lost the very first version of the mixes. In that era, if I had any idea that anybody would want to talk about the music I was making 40 or 50 years later, I would have treated everything differently. It was just the thing that I did among many other things.

I wasn’t really cautious about where I kept my masters. Now I’m very careful about it, but back then, it was the start of my career as a producer and I didn’t think there’d be a reason to be precious about it. The very first version of the record kind of fell away, and then it was remixed again prior to the ’87 release. In my memory, it was good, but the very first version was the best version because the studio that we recorded and mixed it in was remarkable. It was so far ahead of its time. The path from the microphone to the tape machine was as short and direct as it could possibly be, so it had a great immediacy. It sounded very live and very real. I remember when we went back to remix it the first time, I was happy with it, but I wished I’d kept the first version.

When it came time to remaster for this new record, there were no tapes. Again, my fault—I was too stupid to keep control of the stuff. We ended up having to master it from vinyl—we had a pristine, new copy of the vinyl from back then—and a cassette tape. Oddly enough, the cassette tape actually sounded pretty good. A bunch of what you hear is mastered from the cassette tape. I thought the mastering was amazing; it actually made it sound the way I remember the first version of the mixes sounding. It sounded very alive, very crisp. I’m very proud of it. That was about 300 records ago for me, and I gotta say it stands up pretty good.

You referenced Bacchanalian liberation during the oppressive Reagan years. How consciously political was the band’s approach?

I would say not at all, really. The band was a party band every day. Every show was a party, more or less. Certainly politics and Reagan and that whole era was not top of mind. We were basically—as a Spaniard, I’m sure you know—like people would party in defiance of the rulers. I think that was the way we thought about it. We were just gonna have a good time no matter what. I can’t say there was any thought about politics back then.

Our only aesthetic was coming and playing with that energy… it was more about the intensity with which you played and the intensity of your belief in yourself.

How did the band’s blue-collar working-class aesthetic contrast with the glamour and excess of 80s Hollywood?

That’s a funny question. We just did our thing. We could not care less about anything, frankly. If there was a beer and a little bit of money at the end of the gig, that was pretty much all we really needed. We never really thought about anything, to be perfectly honest. It was just having a party, having a good time. That’s pretty much it. Top Jimmy was a lifelong heavy drinker, so he never stopped for anything. It was not a thought. We would just show up and play our hearts out and drink a lot of beer and hopefully there’d be 25 bucks at the end of the night for us. That was all we ever wanted.

Beyond the music itself, what art, literature, films or cultural movements inspired the band’s aesthetic and approach?

I wish I could say that there was one. It was just none. We’re just not that kind of band. I don’t think anyone in that band ever talked about culture or books or art or film. It was very, very blue-collar. As we say in the States, “meat and potatoes.” Nothing fancy, normal, shitty beer. There was no higher aesthetic than just showing up, having a good time, and playing. That’s all there was, and I think it comes across in the music. We didn’t really care about anything, to be perfectly honest.

I think the only thing I could say that we were informed by would be the energy of the scene around us. Those early days of the L.A. punk rock scene in the late seventies and early eighties were all about energy. If you could show up and perform with energy, the skill level didn’t matter. It was more about the intensity with which you played and the intensity of your belief in yourself. I think that was true of many bands of that era. There weren’t honestly many great musicians—I mean, Carlos was a great musician, and John Doe, Billy Zoom, and Dave Alvin were great musicians—but they weren’t like virtuoso musicians. It was really just about the intensity with which you would attack your band and your music.

We very often played on bills with intense punk rock: Black Flag, The Germs, The Gears. There were about 50 million L.A. punk rock bands who were just a hundred percent commitment and the most intense energy you could imagine. That’s where we felt we had to play this music with that same level of intensity, even though it wasn’t sped-up punk rock. It was blues and R&B music, but we had to meet that energy level to play with those guys. That was the only thing that we felt as a group; our only aesthetic was coming and playing with that energy.

If you had asked me 45 years ago who would be the last one standing, I don’t think I would have said X, The Blasters, and Los Lobos. But here we are.

What images or memories from that era are most vivid for you now?

It’s interesting. We played some shows with X earlier this summer, and I’ve been playing with Dave Alvin quite a bit. If you had asked me 45 years ago who would be the last one standing, I don’t think I would have said X, The Blasters, and Los Lobos. But here we are. I think about all the people that we’ve lost, all the people that have passed away in the last few years, and how lucky we were to stay together and keep it going. Nobody OD’d, nobody drove their car off a bridge. It’s just remarkable that of all those bands, we’re pretty much the last ones left. That’s what I think about. It’s hard to fathom how we would be that lucky, but here we are.

Is there any unreleased material from the Top Jimmy sessions or other documentation of a band that might see the light of day?

We found a lot of live performances when we were putting it together. My understanding is that there might be some releases of that, because there were some really good sounding live tapes from that era. But in the studio, no. Everything that we recorded was on the record; there were no outtakes.

Not long after I finished the record, I joined The Blasters—it was more or less right at the same time. My involvement with the band more or less stopped right around when the record was finished the first time. There might have been other recordings that the band did that I wasn’t aware of because I wasn’t really in or around the band very much. Once I joined The Blasters, and then I joined Los Lobos, I was gone. I was on the road almost all the time. I kind of lost contact with the guys, so there might be other stuff that I’m not aware of. But as far as the stuff that I was involved with, everything we recorded is on that record. The only other thing that we have is the live stuff, which I hope will come out, because if people are into this, I think they’d enjoy the live show too.

Are you working on new material right now for your own project, Los Lobos, or other projects?

I’m always working on other projects; that’s what I do. I have four or five of them going right now. Los Lobos is not doing anything new right now. We have a documentary that’s going to come out in the next couple of months, so we’re focused on supporting that. But I have about six different records in varying stages of production myself.

Photos courtesy of Steve Berlin

Matteo Damiani

Matteo Damiani is an Italian photographer and author. Curator of the sites Retrofuturista.com; weirditaly.com; china-underground.com and others