In February, I saw the Bay Area band Beats Antique sell out Midtown Ballroom, and came away feeling like it was the event of the year for Central Oregon’s Millennials, an uninhibited celebration of their infatuation with beat- and bass-heavy music.

And thanks to Social Distortion’s own Midtown show Wednesday night, local Gen Xers now have their rowdy, fist-pumping response.

There’s no generational war going on in Bend, mind you. But it was easy to see 50-year-old Social D frontman Mike Ness as the hardened and ultra-cool general of his own punk-rock army on Wednesday.

The guy — songwriter, survivor, punk icon — absolutely commanded a room stuffed front to back with what was, generally speaking, the oldest crowd I have ever seen at the Midtown/Domino complex. By far.

There were youngsters there, of course. I saw parents holding a 3-year-old, obviously stuck without a babysitter but desperate to see an old fave. There was also a pair of sub-5-year-old boys running around, proudly sporting mohawks. (All these kids were wearing earplugs, by the way.)

But for the most part, a Social D-in-Bend crowd was a sea of 30-, 40-, 50-year-olds and beyond in threadworn black punk shirts (Misfits, NOFX, OpIvy, etc.), all on hand to sing along and bliss out and worship at the feet of Ness and, no doubt, travel back in time, for at least one night.

Social D is one of those kinds of bands, where songs and albums are inextricably tied to visceral memories and times in our lives. Good times, usually.

We’ve gotten older. So has Ness. But he’s still one of the coolest cats around.

On Wednesday, as the Beastie Boys’ “No Sleep Till Brooklyn” blared over the loudspeakers, he swaggered out onto the stage, pounded his heart twice, pointed to the throng, and launched into “Bad Luck” surrounded by carefully placed tchotchkes — boxing gloves, vintage signs, a streetlight, a ceramic dog. (It looked like a punk-rock Applebee’s up there.)

From there, the band raced through a handful of tunes that showcased the power of an electric guitar and a good melody: the hard-charging “So Far Away,” the mobster tale “Machine Gun Blues” and the midtempo hit “I Was Wrong.”

Ness introduced one of his biggest hits by saying he almost left it off the setlist. Yeah, right. The forever-bouncy “Story of My Life” went over quite well, eliciting not only hundreds of horned hands in the air, but also the loudest singalong of the night.

Ness was in fine form all night, both vocally (though I wished his mic had been turned up a few notches) and between songs, when he surveyed the crowd, got into it with a heckler or two, told a couple stories and joked about having to spend two days in Reno, Nev., after leaving Bend. He also acknowledged that it was a weeknight, encouraging the kids to go to school the next day but the parents to play hooky.

Maybe they did and maybe they didn’t, but I know one thing: They flooded toward the back of the club during a newer, slower song called “Bakersfield,” which I now believe means “bathroom break” in Californian. Seriously, the rearward current was so strong, I wondered if someone was offering free neck tats back by the bar.

The lull was short-lived, however. Social D did another big hit, “Ball and Chain,” which everyone went nuts for (except me … I still don’t understand the love for that song), and then finished its main set strong with “Nickels and Dimes,” a classic Ness-ian hard-luck story from 2004’s “Sex, Love and Rock ‘n’ Roll” album.

Besides an ill-advised cover of Carl Perkins’ “Let the Jukebox Keep on Playing,” the encore was a scorcher. “Far Behind” was every bit as triumphant live as on record, while “Reach For the Sky” — where simple, utilitarian verses give way to a towering pop chorus — perfectly captured the sweet-and-sour blend that makes Ness such an enduring songwriter.

And then it was time for “Ring of Fire,” Social D’s ever-popular take on the Johnny Cash classic. I have heard the recorded version many times and, yes, I’m tired of it. But on Wednesday night, the band hit it with a furnace-blast of energy; it was bigger and badder and tougher than I could’ve imagined, and a tremendous way to say goodnight.

I’ve joked before that I’m no superfan of this band, but I do like “that one” Social D song. (Translation: They all sound the same.) But Wednesday’s show was a reminder of how one song is enough if it’s great and it’s timeless.

And Mike Ness writes great, timeless songs. More than one of ’em, for sure.

Relive the show!

Check out A bunch of photos of Social D and Toadies at …

www.bendbulletin.com/frequency