... without warning, a wizard walks my.
Lumpy, rolling, head-high set waves.
Pitching, disorganized mid-bar juice.
Upchucky, tough-to-nab thickish sections.
Look at that guy pull into that barrel!!
Set waves they come, offering steep fast fun lefts.
Over the ledge, race along, lip throws, close-out doom.
Suddenly we're surrounded by a large group a folk.
Must be the niceness nice people strait from the interweb.
But no matter there are plenty of lips links and lines.
Plenty of faces to tear lash and grind.
Some dude takes off late, goes over the falls.
See his body in the whiteness, sucked down with brute force.
Pelicans soar, lanky and graceful
Fog rolls right in, the eels never wasteful.
At last a steep right, spins in from the Farallons.
Pivot, stroke and i'm in, kook carving is so fun.
Look down the line and Lerm's on the same wave.
Tandem wave with a friend to the beach oh yeah.
AI won in Hosseger. States lost in the quarters. That means the title race is still on. If AI goes bananas at the last two events (Brazil and Pipe) he could still eek it out. Slates has won 4 events this year while AI has won 2. Go SLATES!!!
Paulo Mauro about to pull in
Slater late drop into the pit
Phil Macca carving hard off the bottom. Smooth, balanced, low, powerful.
Taj with a stylish carve
Inspiration, how does it happen.
From where does it come?
How do you enable it?
Adaptation as an evolutionary necessity.
Artistic expression as a celebration of life.
Artistic expression as mental exploration.
Disciplined diligence deeply hard-wired.
Muses exist in multifarious forms.
Physical, emotional, blazing, opaque.
The artist interprets their constructive fabric.
Spits it back out in personalized views.
But some find their mana in that which conspires
to lurk in the morbid, deep underworld goo.
Ancient sarcophagi, spirits transpire,
Pitter-patter unseemlies screeching for you.
Dark dreamland terror, running through woods.
An owl spins its head on its neck.
An undisclosed predator, tracking you down
Fear wins, and you hit the deck.
Now it's all screeming and slash fang erupting
Those eyes all beedy and wicked.
The time-honored struggle 'tween heaven and hell
Just turned a deep brooding red.
Nate VanDyke painting
don't forget the sandcastle contest on saturday at VFWs
surfing is fun!
An old college friend calls with a favor to ask.
He just made a fortune for his investment bank and now they're paying for him to go anywhere, with anyone he wants, but he has to leave right now. As a surfer he's keen for some waves and calls me up. Do i want to join him? All expense paid.
We get online right away and review the weather charts. The huge swell lighting up Hosseger is also exploding over all the NorthWest African points and reefs. Turns out my friend's parents are basically Senegalese royalty. They own a giant textile company there. We book a flight and arrive the next afternoon.
His parents pick us up in their plush Range Rover and drive us immediately to their little beach palace within walking distance of a character-rich right point. The swell is indeed pumping and this spot can barely handle it. Overhead++ sets march into the protected cove and peel off down the point. SURRFf!!
After a day or two of point break gluttony my friend mentions that we should probably use his parents cessna plane to fly over to Cape Verde, where he knows of a secret reef that should be all time in these conditions.
4 hours later we're camped in this lush valley looking over a crystal-clear blue ocean with a plate-glass pitching A-frame right out front!! fuck yeah! 3 days of surf gorging follow. We stay in this idyllic town with a happenin' bar/disco. Each evening the ladies swoon over my friend, being the international playboy that he is.
Dr. Deni in Japan and Hawaii
The man, the myth, the DR.!!
The arc of life.
Childhood freedoms compromised by authority figures.
Adolescent passions quelled by societal pressures.
Collegiate mayhem buffered by the grading curve.
Early 20's openness shunted by career-track realities.
Thirty-something familial tenderness sloshed by screaming babies.
Midlife royalty bleeds into the question of personal accomplishment.
Golden years afterglow.
Happiness is self defined.
Pain is relative.
Creativity come in fits and starts.
Love is what you make it.
BBR posted these fantastic shots yesterday (check out A-framemag.com)
(bbr let me know if i'm sucking too much bandwidth)
more shots from a-framemag
Glassy mega-glass peaks.
Hunt for wedges.
A bit ragged this morning.
Still a few.
Smooth skate-park weekend.
Throttling down the line.
High-octane speed runs.
Green-rooms for the crafty.
Waiting for the sets.
An A-frame approaches.
Pitchy, backdoor takeoff.
Rapid, light, quick, pouncy.
Hug the wall.
Concave, voluptuous aquatic beauty.
Pump for acceleration.
See a bankable section aproach.
Erupt into the waiting lip.
Continue on down the line.
looked a bit like this yesterday
varno photo of southern california
Katrina in Texas
Surf in the morning, surf in the evening, surf in the morning, surf in the evening.
Japan, Jersey, Java, Jenner.
Peaks march toward shore.
They trip-up on the tapered sandbars.
Thin-lipped barrels spin and churn.
A steep, powerful face stretches before me.
Sculpted, aquatic inspiration.
Green-blue gulping dream.
Turn up and bank off the top.
Stony session last night.
Spun around and backdoorishly took off on a chucky right.
Fade into the pocket and find a narrel.
A quicker and more agile surfer would've found the barrel.
Pig-dog butt-slide takeoff.
Let go of rail while travelling mach 300.
A bit kookishly race up and pivot off the inviting lip.
Pumping down the line feels good.
A bit too far inside for a couple of money sections. d'oh!
Kookish footing compromises a tasty wall on one glassy right.
Lerm floating over sections.
Great boost mobile pro photos from Awe F'shore
Ross McBride photos (from allaboutsurf.com)
fluidzone.com always has awesome photos
Svelte, silken mounds
Rounded, voluminous undulates
Loping, hypnotic bosoms.
Suckle from the grand mama's mamilla.
Syncopate with the universal rhythm.
Freefall cartwheel wipeout over the falls.
cool words from betho
i moved out here in '92. rode my bike up and down ob for 3 years until i started surfing there. didn't know about lessons, who surfed, why they surfed, i just knew that i had to be in the water (grew up next to the atlantic, a waterbaby). observed that i had to be really fit so i swam laps at garfield pool for about 6 mos before my first memorable session at ob where i got my ass handed to me over and over again. over time, i made it a point to ask the lifeguards about rips, currents, and other dangers. ten years later i wonder where i got the idea that ob was a hospitable place for a beginning surfer, but i guess i just fell in love with the beach. still have a very healthy fear for her power and still in awe of the beauty. lately i've been transfixed with how the water tensions up the face of the wave. if you haven't felt that kind of happiness, keep looking.
See that view.
Reach for lip.
Try to bash.
Ian took some killer photos in Europe. check em.
The man with the master plan
After endless months of gutless summer drivel...
After eons of onshore, ugly, flappy crud...
We got some waves!!
The south was pumping all over the jaunt.
At one point i witnessed huge waves billowing into a lined-up point. Winds whipping fractals of sprindrift off the back of double-overhead beasts.
Guys with guns air-dropping into muscular sections.
But.. with the months of starvation and the over-hyping of swell came crowds. Big crowds. Hundreds of frenzied frothers rumoured to have been charging Pleasure Point. Every little spit of reef between SLO and Pacifilus infested with groundswell-manic surfies. Such a tenuous balance. Nice to have a few people to share it with but a bummer to have more than a few.
Thanks to Mexi for hooking me into some good waves.
Then yesterday. Swell winding down but still flexing. Beach break kernals on a sunny, windless morning. Rippers gouging and smacking. Pleasant vibrations. Rippy walls and ramps.
I'm sure that many "once-a-year" spots had their day over the weekend. Good on everyone who stuck their necks out at scored the low-key goodies.
Note from Ian:
Ok, well Jon and I are leaving Ireland now, and it's been such an insanely beautiful place. The waves have been really good and it's good to be traveling with a friend finally. We've been checking out some of the big and small pubs in Dublin. We also rented a car and drove around the Island checking out all the crazy little towns and villages. I put some new pics on my website, so if you have a few minutes check 'em out. Sorry to everyone that I haven't been able to respond to, it cost about $5 an hour to use the Internet.. And, well.. I'm lazy too, sorry. We've gotten to see some amazing places, and a week and a half in Ireland isn't enough. Someone would need at least a month. A few of the places we went were Dublin, Bundoran, Donegal, Doolin, Easkey, (we didn't get to go, but we discovered where the name "the mullet" originates from, look on a map!) Galway, and Cork. Those are just a few, and we passed through tons of little villages! So, that's it, thanks again to everyone who gave recommendations on where to go, etc. I miss everyone, and hope everyone is doing alright. Sorry if the email sounds generic, but I just wanted to drop a line and say hi to everyone.
Saw Banyon on saturday night at the 12 Galaxies. Good show with Stephen Perkins (Janes Addiction) ruling on drums. Mike Watt (Minute Men?) layed down some groovy, if not too loud, bass lines while a cadre of guitarists and horn players traded leads. Nels Cline erupted through some soaring, distorted guitar solos. While the band played an artist painted graphic, sexual images onto this huge lightboard at the back of the stage. Pretty cool stuff.
AI at Lowers
Searching for swell expression.
Is it here or there?
Darkness blankets the streets.
The same ladies do their ritualistic jog.
The same dogs piss on the same hydrants.
Onshore flow into my face.
Cool oceanic breeze.
Where art thou oh waves of lore?
I wish to summit thee and ride thy crenulated breast.
Mysterious, you lurk in unsuspected corners.
Don't try too hard.
Time to skate
Slate your hate
Berate your fate
Beautiful photos by Mexi
The Advance Guard.
Exploring new territory beyond the forefront of a movement.
Moving outside of customary boundaries.
Channeling the tools of an idiom to progress higher.
Aggressive bouts of raucous improvisation.
Gentle flurries of staid nonchalance.
Reaching deep within.
Funneling the aesthetic hues that wait for expression.
Painful hemorrhaging of customary tensions.
Erotic screaming through the monochromatic night.
Energy fresh and raw, tearing supple wounds into the fabric of now.
Energy fast and smooth, writ into the vagaries of time.
Outward, upward and through, downward in and around.
Pushing for abstraction.
Pushing for novelty.
Beauty, Fear and the sublime.
Ugly, baleful and the open.
Coltrane - Interstellar Space
Few attain the lofty heights of mastery.
Slates and Tom Curren.
Stephen Jay Gould and Douglas Hoftedler.
Bach and Ravel.
Jordon and Tiger.
Yo Yo Ma and Bela.
Dostoyevsky and Herman Hesse
Boundless talent combined with absurd discipline.
Good Fortune combined with shimmering genetics.
A unique vision combined with the confidence to express it.
Those who achieve mastery often do so at the expense of other aspects of their lives.
Strained relationships, poor health, poverty, destitution, unhappiness.
But through the sacrifices come magnificence.
The shining beacons of human ability.
The apogee of mankind's fruitfullness.
As with many other things, the road to mastery is itself the goal.
Masters would rarely agree that they've finished developing.
Always pushing outward and onward.
Always pushing advancement and progression.
Sculping and molding muscle memory.
Refining higher-level modes of contemplating the discipline.
Enlarged macro views.
Nuanced micro views.
Body and mind as one.
rippin rick reese! the LEGEND!!! (thanks for inspiring me over the years with your brutal torrents of grace, style and power!! Fuck yeah Rippin!)
philip k dick
A few summertime peaks this morning.
Surfed with Christian, which is always great.
Dude generates speed from the dinkyest waves.
He smacked quite a few lips.
Didn't find too many nice ones myself.
A fun drop and a couple kooky lefts.
Yesterday went to band practice but nobody showed.
Solo seshed for almost 2 hours then went over to this little gallery/venue in Oakland (on 25th between Broadway and Telegraph) called 21 Grand. Walked in just as Fred Frith (guitar), Scott Amendola (drums) and Larry Ochs (sax) ended their first set. An absolute legend in the world of free jazz, Fred Frith specializes in pushing musical envelopes. When they began the second set Frith percussively banged the strings of his guitar a few times and then used a Line6 Looper pedal and a Volume pedal to create these swooping, ambient drones. Amendola and Ochs began this freeform, abstract improvisation that seemed to purposely avoid any set melodic, harmonic or rhythmic structure. Pushing and pushing toward abstraction. Like playing all the wrong notes. Constantly expanding past what correctly should be the next note. Expanding and delving into this turgid, dissonant beauty. Frith then began a series of ferocious finger tapping patterns while using a delay/swoop pedal. Ethereal, flittering barrages of notes filled the atmosphere. Still no groove. Avoiding the groove. Amendola using these electric nobs and buttons to create screechy, futuristic percussive nuances. Then Frith had his guitar (vintage Gibson ES-335) on his lap and he puts a rag over the strings/pickups and then picks up some drum sticks and starts banging away on his guitar!!! He wasn't mellow about it either. I cringed to see him hammering away at that beautiful, delicate instrument with a set of drum sticks!! He even broke a friggin drumstick while whacking on the neck of his guitar. WTF!! But it sounded bad-ass. He used a crunchy overdrive to accentuate the sound and this raucous, irreverent rat-a-tat-tat emanated from his amp. He then used these thin little sticks to drum on his bare strings, which created a santoor, or hammer dulcimer-type sound. really cool. The band ebbed and flowed through emotional ups and downs. really listening to each other and bobbing and weaving. Then Frith busted out this strange, hand-held LCD/Laser utensil-thing which he held next to the stings instead of picking with this right hand. Somehow this laser caused the string it was held over to vibrate and produce a sound. He ripped through these bizarre, avant-garde licks with his left hand while his right hand held this machine.. Drony, electric weirdness. Very cool. These guys were taking chances. Amendola using a brush to sizzle against his snare and then wacking the floor with a stick. Frith throwing tin cans off a table as a percussive exclamation point. Ochs not afraid to stretch into rangy, dischordant chromatic expressions. All steeped in decades and decades of ferocious jazz mastery.
So inspiring!!! I, along with everyone else there, was frickin rivited and mouth-open slack-jawwed at the vibe/jam/sound coming from the stage. I mean, total unabashed mastery! But also futuristic, edge-bleeding, 23rd century no man's land. After the show i immediately sprinted back to the studio for another hour of hard-core jammification. I pushed hard into my own boundaries of abstraction and really attempted to shirk the limits of typical groove and tone.
Magnanimous spirit binds together
Each are I are We are You are Them
No authority but our own collective creations
Spinning haphazardly through a vortex of mystery
Vehicles for genes
Past and future are products of our mind
The universe spun through our perceptive filters
All that live, die
Wrapped in the meaning of existence is non-existence.
not much on tap.
Pleasant environs if you dislike crowds.
Like a ghost town out there.
A few stumpy, inner-bar, low-tide grinders came through.
Catching waves and swimming in the ocean is always fun...
but... sleeping is fun too.
No guilt if you slept in this morning.
Lerm caught a nice left in the beginning of the session.
Occasionally things would align and a suck-up bowl would gulp and spin.
Another of the grey, summertime, onshorish messy windswell utility sessions.
Question for the Mainland Mex folks.
Is there a nice place for a family-style vacation somewhere in Mainland Mex for late next February?
- not too touristy
- ability to get a pimp house (roughly $2000/week)
- cool local towns/cultural experiences nearby
- not too dusty/dirty/grimy
Fred Frith is playing tomorrow night at the 21 Grand (416 25th St, Oakland, 510.444.7263). Dude can lay down the unusual, improvisational, dischordant, strange-but-beautiful guitar phrasings. Scott Amendola on drums too... should be a good show.
Modular Ecosystem by cas holman
With the right attitude, good times could be had out there.
I'd recommend suiting up without looking at it.
Just crank the Sabbath or Slayer or whathaveyou while slipping into your wetter, then run out there and force yourself to catch 5 rides. Guaranteed good times with guaranteed no crowd.
For those that looked first (me), it's blustery and dumpy and small and cruddy. A few potentials lined up here and there in the mix.
Happy b-day to Korewin.
Just finished "Hammer of the Gods - the Led Zeppelin Saga" yesterday while flying back from the East Coast. These guys were true rock and roll monsters. Tells the story, from the beginning, of Pagey and John Paul Jones as serious-minded studio musicians in London. Page later plays for the Yardbirds (after Clapton and then Beck leave) and then forms his own band, recruiting Robert Plant and Bonham from their obscure, up-country homes. Soon the Zeppelin has risen and the band and it's entourage are defining what it means to live and party like rock stars. Legions of groupies and nubile hangers-on waiting for the band at their hotels. "The shark incident," which involved a young, drunk red-haired lassie and a freshly caught red snapper. Huge bowls of cocaine at some pharmaceutical executive's party. John Bonham aka the Beast aka Bonzo drinking like a man posessed and then punching out innocent girls and unsuspecting journalists. Jimmy Page's interest in the occult and black magic. His collection of Aleister Crowley artifacts. His ancient and mysterious homes. His frail and shy demeaner. His shamanistic love making. His feverish work ethic. His incredible guitar playing. His overall wizardry and showmanship.
Did Zeppelin have a pact with the Devil?
Then the down side. Robert Plant's son dies. Robert's wife almost dies in a car accident. Bonham dies from an alcohol overdose. Jimmy gets addicted to heroin. Their manager Richard Cole gets arrested in Italy for cocaine and spends 6 months in a dirty Italian prison. Crazy shit.
Fights, orgies, Moroccan sorcerers, drugs, LA strippers, chartered jets, black magic, music, metal.
Sex Drugs and Rock and Roll!
AI beats Slates in Japan
Put your money where your mouth is Sally:
a few out there for the hungry.
Be thankful for waves of any sort.
Think about the East Coaster's who deal with flatness most of the summer and then freezing cold frigid temperatures all winter when the better waves happen.
Think about the high-school military kid who lived in San Diego for 3 years, got addicted to surfing, and then moved with his family to Arkansas. Bumming.
Think about the tens of thousands of folk in the delta right now. Houses ruined. Old folk neighbors maybe passed away because they couldn't evacuate. Putrid, stinky, hot, wet, disease and grime.
How about the millions of Untouchables in India living in gigantic, sprawling garbage/tent cities. No electricity or running water. Deeply entrenched, institutionalized segregation. Go take your poo out near the traintracks. Go pick through the garbage dump for your next meal. Tooth hurt? yank it out.
How about all the innocent kids living in America. Dad not around. Never was. Mom on welfare. Too many kids in the house. Mom gets drunk and slaps the kids around. Red-hot cheetoes and coke for breakfast... and dinner. The schools suck and learning is discouraged. Not many avenues out of the downtrodden, depressing neighborhood. The only people making it, then only people who seem to rise up, are slangin' rocks on the corner. Getting up on top for a brief moment by pushing others down.
Those people aren't surfing. Those people don't care if some random paddles out too close to you.
BUT!! not to be a downer.
Surfing is pretty dang fun. Love it when it's foggy and random on a Friday dawn-patrol. The buoys aren't working so nobody knows the swell. Run down and meet lerm for a mysto session. Over the highway and can't see anything. Down to the water line and it looks glassy and peaky. Paddle out and it's head-high A-frame inner bar succulence. Nobody around. Spin around, take-off on a zippy, sculpted speed-line. Pump and move with the smooth glassy skate-ramp. Wave slows down at the end so arc a full-body power carve into the face. Feel the force of the redirection press up against your quadraceps. Try to style it out. Paddle back out. Next wave a sick sick A-frame. Take off too deep going left. Backdoor pig-dog takeoff. Air-drop and just barely yank the rail up so as not to pearl. Hug your shoulder into the pocket, butt-drag and left-hand-in-wave to slow down. See the lip throw over. Barrelled. Let go of pig-dog, backside pump, bottom turn and then rage up into the lip.
i'm out until Monday. Have a nice weekend y'all.
megavolt man farking rules!