SURF SUMMIT REVIEW - December 13, 2003, New York City

How fitting that East Coast Surf Rock rose amongst the rebuilding of the Financial District in NYC. The Cat Bar, above the Pussycat Lounge, has some of the best sound reinforcement I've heard in a club in a while. Being above a go-go bar, the Degas paintings of dancers and Kimono hanging on the wall gave only a small hint of what goings-on were going on below. I think that there was a special S&M fashion show down there that night (actually, it was Fetish Night). The floor rattled all night like a stampeding heard of elephants. If you saw some of the people going in the lounge downstairs, you would know why I thought of elephants. So, hold on, I will now share my impressions of The Surf Summit as a bass player and rhythm section member. 

The first band, The Retroliners, started the Summit with their spy-influenced sound. I couldn't help but see the imagery of their music. You know, sneaking around the construction sites and empty businesses in that part of NYC wearing a fedora, dark shades and a trenchcoat with the collar up. Of course it was frickin' cold that night and any movement outside had to be calculated. Mike Welch's tangy, twangy sound from his JMaster was pure cold-war arms race vintage. I paired the sound of The Retroliners with an ice-cold shot of Stoli'. Just as that Russian water warms your stomach, I realized how important bass and drums (Mike Beckerman and Dave Schreck, respectively) are to the sound of surf. Hats off to you guys, you put the rock in the Surf Rock. Surf bass is an essential element that gets little or no recognition, so Mike B., you shook the house. To end the set, the trio did an instro tip-of-the-hat to Nirvana. 

Next up were the Howlin' Thurstons. They wore black T-shirts with a different colored circle, each representing a subway train. These guys have a tightness that comes from playing together a while and working on gettin' your shit down. They have their own brand of surf, garage, punk and Saturday morning cartoons all pulled together with the solid drumming from the Thurston known as "Train W". My fave of the night was "These Boots Are Made For Walking" (Nancy Sinatra) and that song made me believe that the Howlin' Thurstons are really cartoon characters, or maybe living evil quadruplet brothers of the M&M's you see on TV commercials. Another fave they played was "Out of Limits". The drink for this band would be a chocolate Yoo-hoo with a double shot of 151 rum over ice, in a dirty glass.

The Sharkskins: If I didn't know any better, I could swear I was bearing witness to the Astronauts or The Trashmen in their heyday. They make it look easy, dressed in matching blue blazers and Rayban-like shades. If you wondered what "First Wave" is/was, then these guys are defining it for the 00's. After listening to them play "Miserlou", I now have to go back and rethink if I want to play that song again. Buddy Luv Goo wailed on the coronet like it was the Del-Tone recording session in '62. The reason The Sharkskins are the only surf band in Philly is because everyone else has some pretty big shoes to fill. Speaking about filling, props go to The Sharkskins for shipping a contingent from Philly by limo and filling the dance floor. The drink for this band is a beer, out of a steel beer can that you have to open with a church key. 

The 9th Wave: They describe themselves as Hot Rod Surf. I call them an A-minor-esque exploration of the exhilaration and weightless you feel dropping in on a wave. Yes, there is surfing on the East Coast and the 9th Wave could very well be the sound track for that experience. Fielding a new bass player, Bud Burn'em, they picked up where they left off the last time they played the Cat Bar in November. The drink I would choose to go with the 9th Wave is an ice-cold Corona with a wedge of lime. They played the most diverse set including the only vocal, Waffle House, ("it ain't food if it ain't fried"), the tune with the flute (Surfin' the Nile), the Farfisa sound, and Oceana supplying the visuals (as Frank Wood put it). She danced up a sixties style storm, proving that you can throw down and move around at the same time. My most memorable moment of the night was when they played Creepy Crawler. It is my favorite song off the Time Tunnel CD, and got the most interesting crowd reaction. Imagine grown men dancing in a Frankenstein-esque "Freddy" dance, dragging their feet and falling on top of each other. Man, I hope my camera got those pictures. Kudos to Mike and Sandy for the technical help setting-up each band. Where do you guys get the energy? Oceana, we need you to show us the Freddy, the Frug, and the Pony among other dances, so we as the audience can complete the band/audience synergy.

I went outside after the 9th Wave finished, and on my return there was a line of people going up the stairs, saying "The Mofos" as their hand got stamped. As their crowd filled in, I knew I was in for 
something different. They are an amalgam of surf, garage, punk, metal and anything else they want to throw in. Someone brought a video camera to capture what was going on. Dressed in worn denim, the drink to go with The Mofos would be 16 ounces of something from the deli in a brown paper bag. Before the band started, the bass player warming up could have solo-ed all-night and still hold the crowd. He has a very melodic style. All three Mofos played original songs while the guitar player kneeled. I am not sure why, maybe to make fine adjustments to his pedals, or to kick back and let chordal melodies fly. Adding to the interest was the dancer, Ria, who shook on stage to accentuate the groove. I give her credit for dancing for a full set and not looking the least bit winded. I will not try to 
categorize The Mofos' sound, but if I hear of them playing somewhere, I'd see them again. If I do, maybe I can get a better idea of how to describe their sound, but then again maybe not. 

There you go, after over five hours of surf and related sound my ears were shot, I had a pocket full of crumpled dollar bills and it was frickin' cold outside. The power of East Coast Surf had risen once again. After a super show like that, I went home that night tired, but inspired and humming newly invented little surf melodies.

Review by Bill Moffat of the Brine-iacs

 
See show poster here. (Thanks to Peter Russell of The Howlin' Thurstons)

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