Nurse the Hate: Hate Surf Music

When we played Southgate House the other night, I saw a really good surf band called The Madeira.  I recognized the sound of the lead guitar player, but it didn’t hit me until later that he was from the Space Cossacks, one of the noteworthy bands from what I think of as The Second Golden Age Of Surf.  Yes, there was once a time in the mid to late 90s when if you threw a rock, you’d hit a surf band.  It was likely a reaction to the Garage Rock Revival mixed with Pulp Fiction.  Suddenly, great surf bands were everywhere.  The Phantom Surfers, Galaxy Trio, Laika and the Cosmonauts, Phantom 5ive, Exotics, Volcanos, and the Bomboras all come to mind.  There’s another dozen I’m forgetting at the moment.  Then suddenly, they were gone…

The Phantom Surfers had a record from that time called “The Great Surf Crash” that made light of it.  The wheels just completely came off.  Like a meteor that came to earth killing the mighty dinosaurs, the Surf Revival disappeared.  It happened all at once too, sort of like when swing died.  It was everywhere and then gone.  I always loved playing with surf bands as I think their often grand cinematic style is a good ying to our yang on a double bill.   

When surf modestly came back that first time, many of the legends of the original movement suddenly found themselves in demand.  We played on bills with Davie Allen and the Arrows and The Trashmen.  The Ventures hit the road.  However, the biggest and most important name of them all was Dick Dale.  Dick Dale isn’t called the King of the Surf guitar for nothing.  He was, and is, a monster player that revolutionized the entire idea of surf music.  I remember how psyched we were to play with him the first time.  I assumed that it would be a one time deal, that we would never have that chance to see or play with him again.  That was probably 1996.

The first time we played with him was at Wilbert’s.  That was a great club during its run, but it was not blessed with the largest stage.  When we arrived to the club for the show with Dick Dale, we discovered that he and his band had already set up his gear and soundchecked.  They left the gear on stage leaving us literally no place to set up.  Whereas they could have pushed the amps and drums back even 18 inches to allow us a modest area to stand perfectly still and play, they didn’t even allow that.  I was forced to go speak to Dick Dale’s road manager, who at the time was his young girlfriend of about 25 years of age.  “Hey, we aren’t going to be able to set up to play.  Would it be possible to move the gear back about 18 inches?  We could even do it for you and then move it back when we are done.”  The woman looked at me and freaked out.  “Oh my god!  I’m going to have to talk to Dick!”.  Her experience and role model for the position of “road manager” was Ian Faith of the band Spinal Tap.

Now I was thinking this request was no big deal.  I thought this because it literally was no big deal.  It would have required no effort on the band’s part.  Beyond that, (most) bands try to maintain a communal spirit in that we are all trying to help each other succeed.  A rising tide raises all boats.  This was a different animal as I discovered.  I watched from across the room as Dick, his girlfriend, and his band huddled for 15-20 minutes.  It was an animated conversation.  I have no idea what could have taken so long.  Ultimately the girlfriend was sent over to tell us in a very terse voice “We are willing to move back six inches, but THAT’S IT!”. 

This had somehow managed to reach a compromise that solved nothing. I watched the guys in his band move his amps back the prescribed six inches and still leave multiple feet of absolutely dead space between the back wall and amp. It was totally pointless.  The six inches did not provide the additional space we needed so we could set up our drums.    They were also pissed because we were not acting deferential enough.  I then sidled up to Mike Miller, the owner of the club, and told him we couldn’t play because we literally couldn’t all stand on the tiny space they had allotted us.  A second summit was convened.

The solution that Mike and Dick Dale’s girlfriend came up with was for several milk crates to be pushed to the edge of the stage.  I was to stand on these four wobbly crates, making the ultimate low budget catwalk jut out slightly from center stage.  This was deemed to be a more logical solution than to move three pieces of equipment and additional 18 inches within the four feet of space available, and move them back prior to Dick Dale’s performance.  It was probably the most outrageously stupid rock show thing I have ever been or will be a part of.

After the show everyone was more relaxed.  Dick Dale was awesome.  He came out and blew through all the monster instrumentals, just destroying.  I spoke to him briefly and said how much we enjoyed his show.  Dick Dale looked at me and said something like, “Well, Dick Dale loves to play for people.” as if he wasn’t Dick Dale.  I had not heard third person being spoken like that since Allen Iverson.  I wasn’t really sure how to respond and gave out some complimentary double talk.

It was about 9 months later when we played with Dick Dale again, this time at the beloved Stache’s in Columbus.  It was a much bigger stage at Stache’s, but we still had to deal with limited space in front of their set up.  As we had been expecting it and somehow survived the Wilbert’s show, this seemed like being placed out on a sports arena stage.  I could really get into it with some rock star moves up there, as long as I limited them to two steps in either direction.

I don’t recall very much about that show.  I’m sure Dick was good.  He’s always good when he crushes his best originals.  The thing I remember best was after the gig standing with him backstage.  It was just the two of us.  I had not spoken to him to that point and he looked at me.  He must have remembered the cowboy hat.  “You know, when Dick Dale saw that you guys were on the bill, Dick Dale wasn’t too sure about it.  Dick Dale remembered having a hard time with you guys last time.  But Dick Dale didn’t have any problem tonight.”

I looked at Dick and said, “Hey, that’s great.  We had a great time tonight.  But I am a little confused.  You keep talking about “Dick Dale”…  I thought YOU were Dick Dale.”  I kept my face completely expressionless.  Dick looked at me sort of incredulously and then with a flash of anger.  I just stared back.  He suddenly broke into a little grin.  “Oh…  I see now.  I see.  You’re being funny!”.  He slapped my shoulder.  “Dick Dale thinks you’re OK.”

We probably played with him another 10 times with varying degrees of successful interaction.  We got yelled at once because he thought we had delayed a veggie pizza he had ordered, though it didn’t make sense as to how. He once insisted we only play a 25 minute set and then waited 75 minutes to go on after we had finshed.  I did have some wild deep conversations with him after shows at the Grog Shop.  He had a deep spiritual bent, and a great interest in native culture.  He’s an interesting man.  We played with him a few years ago and he was still as good as he ever was, this despite me knowing and reading about multiple health threats.  I read an interview he gave recently about how even at 80 years old he needs to stay on the road to fund his medication and treatments he needs to stay alive.  Dick Dale should be able to choose when and where he’d like to play at this point, not have to play by necessity.  I’m sorry he’s in that situation.

Right before I ducked out of The Madeira’s set, the guitar player announced to the crowd with a big smile.  “Do you know what yesterday was?  It was a very important day.”.  As the day prior was May 4^th, I was thinking I was about to see a very unlikely surf cover of Neil Young’s “Ohio”.  “It is Dick Dale’s birthday!  He is 81!”  The crowd all applauded and then they played a Dick Dale obscurity.  It was nice to hear them toss a nod to Dick Dale.  It was even better to hear live surf music being done that well.  I’ve missed it.