There are a lot of surf festivals. I try to pay attention, but it’s hard to keep track. But the biggest most significant of them in the US is the Surfguitar101 Festival. Even if it weren’t a big ol’ 3-day event with multiple groups from all around the globe, it’s at the epicenter of surf music in Southern California. Put on by Jeff “BigTikiDude” Hanson, Art Bourasseau, and (as Jeff put it) a lot of cool friends, it’s not only a fantastic opportunity to see the best surf bands in the world, but it’s a chance to meet and greet with other surf nerds.
Last year’s lineup was going to be hard to beat. And I suppose if we’re going by ticket sales, it wasn’t beaten. But there were some really enticing marquee groups from abroad. Three bands from Japan, and arguably the three you’d want to see: Fuzziyama Surfers, Jackie and the Cedrics, and Surf Coasters. The Space Agency. Scariest Band in the world, Deadbolt. Jimmy Dale, the prince of the surf guitar, finally greets his subjects! Frustratingly, two of the exciting international headliners backed out last minute because of political climate in the US: LHD and I. Jeziak and the Surfers. But as you’ll see, there were a bunch of down-ticket groups that really knocked it out of the park.
My original plan was to come in Thursday evening and either rally for the pre-show gig at The Barkley or… sleep and bathe. I was coming straight from a family camping trip in Long Island, New York (beach in Long Island to Long Beach!) and most of my clothes had been worn twice at this point.
And some of you have observed: there’s always something with me and this festival. There was something this year, and to put it shortly, I did not arrive on Thursday but thankfully made it in time. I’ll tell you the details, but if you don’t care, which I genuinely understand because it’s long as hell and has nothing to do with surf music, just go ahead and skip to the next heading. Seriously, save yourself the time.
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OK here goes. My scheduled flight was supposed to go out at 2:30pm from LaGuardia airport in NYC with a two-hour layover in Houston. I had about two hours of driving to do from where I was staying, but that all went smoothly. However, I saw that my flight had been delayed. Whatever, still have a one-hour cushion in Houston. It’s gray outside but nothing crazy.
I get a text: another delay. Now I have less than a half hour connection time. That looks iffy. I talk to a Southwest gate agent and they switch me to a Dallas flight with a big cushy layover. That Barkley show is looking unlikely, but I can live. And then everything gets delayed. And I mean everything at the airport. There’s ball lightning and no planes are coming in or out. My flight is being pushed back almost every fifteen minutes and at this point I’m thinking let’s just hope I get somewhere tonight, then maybe I can pick up the next leg in the morning. Or I can sleep on the plane. Some planes are going out, it seems like maybe this’ll happen, just very late. I occasionally stop by and talk to a Southwest gate agent to see if I have better options, but at this point they don't recommend anything.
At ten thirty at night my flight is canceled. Most of the flights in the airport are. I get a text from Southwest saying they’re trying to book another flight for me, but that I’m also eligible for a refund. I look at their other flight options. All of their Friday AND Saturday flights are unavailable, presumably booked. I get in a line just to see if maybe an agent can do something else. I’m looking at other non-Southwest flights to book, but I don’t want to pull the trigger before I talk to a Southwest agent. These other flights are rapidly disappearing though as other affected people snatch them up, and the rest are going for a thousand dollars or more. I begin to book one promising relatively inexpensive one right as I get to the desk agent. The agent can’t find anything for me, and as I’m talking to her I’m filling in credit card information the flight on another airline that should get me to Long Beach by around noon. By the time I hit submit, the flight is no longer available. At some point I text Jeff Hanson to let him know that I likely won’t be able to DJ Friday night as planned.
Luckily, my wife’s cousin reaches out to tell me her boyfriend Eric is still in her apartment in Manhattan, and there’s an air mattress with my name on it. I'm still scheming, but it’s good to know. And then I hatch an insane plan:
I book a flight out of Bradley airport in Hartford, CT, two hours away, for 7:30am. I need a way to get there. I book a rental car, scheduled to pick up in 30 minutes at 11pm. The only company offering is Ace Rental Cars. I’m going to drive deep into the night, sleep for like 3 hours, possibly in the rental car in airport parking, then hop on an early flight.
I go to the rental car place and the line is moving at a glacial pace. Every minute is another minute of not sleeping. I’m deeply regretting locking myself into this absurd idea, and my wife, texting me, is clearly concerned for me in several ways. And then I realize something: this car rental agency doesn’t have an office near Bradley airport. I can’t return my car. This whole plan is a bust. I’ve wasted a few hundred dollars on the flight and the rental car. I’m up at the counter. I confirm my discovery with the rental car agent. He tries to help: says if he makes a note that I’m declined on credit I should get my money back from Priceline. As of typing this, it hasn’t worked yet, but it was a cool move. I get a text form my wife. There’s a flight that must have just opened up. Frontier Airlines, crack of dawn, should get me there before the festival. I pounce on it, and send a text to Eric with the air mattress that I’m hopping on a Lyft to crash with him. I tell my wife go to bed, should be uneventful until morning.
Haha, wrong! Shortly after I get in my Lyft, we hear sirens. My driver was caught taking an illegal u-turn. He pleads to the officer that it’s only a 30 dollar fare, but the officers take license and registration and walk back to their car. The driver turns to me and begs, “Say you told me to take the u-turn. They’ll throw it away. If you don’t they’ll give me a ticket for $500!”. I’m already so frought, so exhausted, and this is too much. I say “I’m sorry, I’m not really in the habit of lying to police” and he continues to beg. I don’t know what to do. I sputter, “I don’t know, we’ll see”, which isn’t good enough for him. The officer comes back and tells the driver he’s decided to let him off today. The rest of the ride home was awkward silence. I get to the apartment, I tell Eric “I wish we could catch up, but I need to get as much sleep as possibly and slink out in the dead of morning”. He gets it, he’s tired too. I set my watch alarm for 4:45 am, I arrange a Lyft pickup for 5am. I go to sleep.
I wake up at 5:15am. I have no idea why my alarm didn’t go off, I even remember seeing it on the watch face as I went to sleep. That’s alright, I should have time. I’m in a Lyft within ten minutes. I get to the airport at about 5:50. Should be fine for my 7:30 flight.
It’s not a 7:30 flight. I had gotten it confused with my Hartford flight. It’s a 6:30 flight. I haven’t even checked in. The doors to the plane close at 6. Why even put 6:30 then? But with ten minutes to doors closing, the gate agent won’t check me in.
I am sunk. I cry a bit right in front of this lady.
She rebooks me on a flight for noon Saturday for $16 more. I’d miss all but one day of the festival but what can I do? I walk to the line for Southwest ticket help right around the corner. My flight from yesterday is still eligible for rebooking, maybe they can do something today that they couldn’t do yesterday. The line is slow, so I call Southwest too. They say I should get through in one to two hours. Whatever. I’m literally not going anywhere.
And folks, here’s where my tale of woe turns around and hopefully makes all this reading worth it for you. The ticket counter agent finds a flight that would get me in Saturday morning. I think maybe I can do better but she urges me not to ask for a refund until long after this ordeal is done, you never know what will happen. I take it, expecting to rebook or cancel later.
I look to the person at the counter to the right. That dude was a gate agent the entire time yesterday when everything was being delayed. He had changed my flight to Dallas, and I had spoken to him at least two other times. Not only did I remember that his nametag said Mike, but I noticed he had a button on his lanyard that said “I have CRAMPS” with the lettering looking like the the band logo. I had thought earlier: what the hell does that mean? Is he a Cramps fan? Is he familiar with the low-brow stippled works of Stephen Blickenstaff??!? I ask “Hey, weren’t you here last night? When did you sleep?!” He laughs, and somehow recognizes me! “Yellow shirt?” he asks. Yep. By the way surf nerds, it was a Nebulas shirt. He motions for me to get in line behind the people he’s currently helping.
When I’m at the counter, he does me a solid by printing out three $15 meal vouchers because he knew how long I’d been at the airport. Y’all, that meant a lot, Mike would have been a hero right there. But he takes a glance at flights, and another one has opened. A three-leg flight that would get me to Long Beach that evening around 7pm. Well absolutely, let’s do it! “And while you’re here, do you want to try a standby flight that goes through Denver? It would get you in to Long Beach at 2pm.” Why not? He books me. At this point, I’m drowning in boarding passes. I shake his hand and tell the next person “be nice to this guy”.
I figure with all of these people that are looking for flights after the cancellations, I have no chance of standby panning out. I’m wrong. I’m the only person accepted from the standby list. Holy shit, this is happening. I’m walking onto the plane to Denver. This is Southwest Airlines with open seating, and I’m the last person on, so I’m told to take the first middle seat I can find. I’m expecting back of the plane. These two older women have put their stuff in the middle seat in row one. The flight attendant tells them to move it. They’d rather sit together than have somebody between, so I get the window. Y’all, not only am I sitting on a plane I never thought I’d be on, but I’m somehow in seat 1A. I’m having a ball, and these ladies were great company too.
Not five minutes after I land in Denver, I get a call from Southwest Airlines. It’s my dude in LaGuardia. Mike. He saw that I got on the Denver flight, and he’s currently booking my next leg. He tells me to see a gate agent to print out my boarding pass. I’m going to arrive in Long Beach shortly after 2pm. I have never been taken care of by somebody like this. I am moved, and I tell him so.
A few hours later I land in Long Beach, drop my luggage off in my motel, repack my backpack for only things I need for the festival (camera gear etc) and head to the Golden Sails hotel. A bit drained, certainly a bit poorer, but in great spirits, armed with a lot of gratitude. I did not think I’d be here today. The festival starts at 4pm. Aside from a few pre-show festivities, I had missed nothing.
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Before the Music Started
Doors to the main hall open an hour before the first band, so for many people this is an opportunity to say hello and catch up with friends. Normal people. However, those people can wait, I'm a record ghoul. I’m scanning vendors for viyl, targeting rare or cheap ones that others might be me too. In previous years when there have been Japanese bands, they tend to bring a few general eleki records that you can snatch up for much less than Discogs prices. This would prove to be true later, but tonight didn’t have any Japanese bands, and yet I picked up a bunch from a vendor named Warren. There were a few other notable finds: MuSick records had made it clear that a new Fathoms record was really actually genuinely going to appear soon and, lo and behold, the vinyl was at their table. Bob Dalley of the Surf Raiders was selling off a lot of rare vinyl, CDs, and most interestingly, memorabilia. There was a brand new not-yet-sent-out copy of Colorado Instrumental Fanzine, CDs of the new Frigidaires album (vinyl does not yet exist), and the vinyl of the new Woodhavens would appear later that evening. I don’t know how many others have the kid-in-candy-store attitude that I approach the vendors with, but coming back half my roller bag was loot.
But now it was time for the music.
The Bands
Tonight was all bands from Northern California, and while that may not be as flashy as, say, bands from Japan, I kind of liked having a theme. Not to mention many of these groups had famililarity with each other, and it was fun seeing the threads between them.
The NovaRays
The NovvaRays were supporting a great album that’s still pretty fresh, being released maybe a month ago. Lewis Bailey was on lead guitar and, in-between songs, the microphone, keeping things lively. He also gave the first of many mentions of “The Surf Police”. Looking impeccable in matching red, they kicked off the festival well with a modern-trad sound, great energy, and great musicianship.
The Greasy Gills
I've appreciated recorded material from The Greasy Gills, but had heard enough mentions of their live show to be extra curious. Sure enough, they’re a magnetic combo, with a driving bounce to them that’s infectious. You could bet Insect Surfer Dave Arnson was already in motion, and maybe I was too. One standout was "Fistful of Rumble", which cleverly smushed Link Wray into Morricone, and that rawness sounded great live.
Oh look, I have a video!
Chillingsworth Surfingham
I had met John Ashfield at previous SG101s and he’s the sort of person you can clock instantly as a warm, friendly personality. But I don’t know why I even bring this person up, as we were here to see his ursine friend that just happens to dress very similarly to him. Chillingsworth’s band looks awfully familiar to The NovaRays but musically they hardly compare. As expected from his LP Mavericks, this big ol’ bear’s music is much more progressive than most bands on the bill, and can be quite different from song to song. However, each displays some impressive guitar work, especially when you imagine the poor visibility this bear has through his sunglasses on this dark stage.
The Aqua Velvets
Performing with their original four members! I think of them as a band with a moodier, film-noir approach, but their set started in a much more energetic manner before cooling off. Guitar duties were shared between the sedentary Miles Corbin and the quite animated Hank Maninger. I particularly loved watching Hank, whose rough-and-tumble vibe and animated facial expressions were food for my camera lens. They sounded great, and for many this set was the highlight of Friday night.
Frankie and the Pool Boys
Frankie and the Pool Boys were another group supporting a new LP. By now I’ve seen The Pool Boys a bunch of times, but they’re such a ray of sunshine that I’m always game. This was hardly a live performance of a new LP, with many old favorites of theirs thrown in (not to mention they opened with "Nomad" by The Aqua Velvets as tribute). I was kind of surprised they didn’t try to lean into the album's rotating drummer angle, as they would have access to several other drummers here, if not necessarily the ones on the album. But that’s not to say they were devoid of surprises. Their grand finale was “Surf Party” made into quite a party, being joined by Danny Snyder, Fritz Greenbaum and Sam Benedetti, with all of them (including Danny with his handheld keyboard) sweeping their instruments from right to left in coordination.
I should mention somewhere that I was “deejaying” in-between sets, which really meant putting in one of two mix CDs I hastily burned before my trip and hitting the play button on the next track when a song ended. As much as I prefer to spin 45s, Jeff wasn’t sure he’d have turntables by Friday night, and admittedly I was relieved to relinquish the logistics of lugging two boxes of my favorite 45s to the campgrounds of Long Island, then all the way to the opposite coast. I mention this because in the DJ area I got to spend some time with David Greenfield, who would be Djing the next two nights. I had always wanted to meet him because on social media he seemed like the only person I’ve found that knew anything (in fact much more than me) about Malaysian instrumental 45s. And having Jeff announce my existence to the crowd meant meeting many more interesting folks.
The Bloat Floaters
The Bloat Floaters gave a noisy end to the evening, one of the few punk-tinged groups of the festival, and yet another group supporting a new album. I like this group, and I stayed for a handful of songs, but truthfully I’m amazed I lasted this far given my prior saga, and left early to make it home by midnight (3am in my previous time zone).
I had gotten to a point where I was expecting to miss this night entirely, so everything I experienced that night felt like a gift. And we were just getting started.
