On a June night in 1998, Eric Greene approached the door at a now-defunct Austin, Texas, concert venue. Hoping to get in without a ticket, Mr. Greene flashed a little leg. The doorman glanced at his left calf, saw a rocket-ship tattoo, and waved him in.

Mr. Greene had driven more than two hours to see Rocket from the Crypt, a San Diego sextet famous for sweaty live shows, a prolific output during its mid-1990s heyday, and an implicit bargain with its most fervent fans: Those who tattooed its logo to their body could get into...