Dick Dale, who passed away last Saturday, was known as The King of the Surf Guitar. That was a title nobody even bothered to contest, but he was also its inventor, one of those crazy Americans we used to produce now and again and produce no more. His style was a combination of ocean roar and eastern mysticism wedded to a thirst for working with guitar manufacturers (especially Fender) who were willing to help him create an instrument that would capture the sounds in his head.
The Beach Boys, Jan and Dean, and a thousand one-offs from the likes of the Surfaris or the Trashmen are among the more obvious legions unthinkable without him, but there are significant chunks of Hendrix, metal, and punk that would go missing as well if he had never existed–what became known as shredding was his signature as far back as the early sixties.
Why the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame never got around to so much as nominating him while he was alive is mind-blowing even by that august institution’s bizarre standards.
Doesn’t really matter, though. Dick Dale’s music is like the surf he, almost alone among the musicians associated, by technique or marketing, with the sounds and visions he created, loved and lived for.
I found this on YouTube when I was searching for the right track to use for my next Late Night Dedication (which, being topical, I’ll have to post some time later tonight before everybody forgets the now two-day old event it refers to).
It made me smile, but it also ties in with a lot of themes I’ve pursued on this blog for five years and was therefore doubly appropriate for the century mark of my sort-of blog defining category (i.e., the one I can turn to when all others fail and I feel myself fading).
Mostly it’s a reminder that, in addition to all the other things they were, the Go-Go’s were one of the very greatest surf bands. Sure, they did a B-Side called “Surfing and Spying” back in the day, and Charlotte Caffey’s surf guitar was all over their epic first album….But it was only right that some day, before their final crackup (or should I say wipe out?), they’d be on stage somewhere playing “Surf City” at a Brian Wilson Tribute….and killing it.
Cross categorizing here so I can manage a tribute to Richard Hatch and start a new category as well. And why I never thought of Late Night Dedications before now is just one of those mysteries that is destined to haunt the universe down to the last days….Meanwhile.
Way back when, I liked Richard Hatch (shown at the right) in The Streets of San Francisco and the original Battlestar Galactica. But his one really remarkable performance–and his relevance to this blog–was his Jan Berry in the TV movie Deadman’s Curve which I saw when it originally aired in 1978 and never forgot. So far as I know, the movie is only available on YouTube or through various bootleg sites. That’s too bad, because Hatch nailed his fellow So Cal native to a tee and the movie caught a bit of the casual sixties’ hedonism which was intrinsic in the surf-n-car scene Jan and Dean exemplified which has rarely, if ever, been portrayed as affectionately elsewhere.
The movie is hard to see, but all you really need to know about Hatch’s performance (matched by a wonderfully callow turn from Bruce Davison as Dean Torrence) is that he caught what there was to catch about the spirit that created this, which can now be dedicated to his own ghost, as well as Jan Berry’s…and whoever that kid was who wanted to race all the way to you know where:
…And, no, I have no idea why the movie was called Deadman’s Curve instead of Dead Man’s Curve. That’s another mystery for the ages.
Per that “election” thing (going past Isaiah, who reminded us to “Put not your faith in princes”):
Point 1: Yes, there were many encomiums to how “historical’ it all was. I didn’t hear anyone say that no one else, living or dead, could have done what Donald Trump just did. This will become clearer next time around when Mark Cuban throws his hat in the Democratic ring and gets the usual four percent that Billionaire X gets when he tries to take over a mainstream political party.
Point 2: Trump’s campaign strategy was twofold and it never changed or wavered from day one. He bet that he could, by force of personality and riffing a catchy White Boy Blues on a few constant sorrows, hold the generic Republican coalition together and also pull in enough voters who came out to vote only for him to put him over the top. I suspect he didn’t do quite as well on either front as he hoped…but he still smashed the expectations of conventional wisdom. (Caveat: I encountered some of this reasoning in the fringes of the blog-world–i.e., what some people have started calling “the alt-right,”–but it was never put quite succinctly. Everybody I read either over-analyzed it or just yelled Trumpslide! at the top of their rhetorical lungs. In mainstream outlets it was never put coherently at all, being reduced to mutterings about Trump’s “hidden” voters, who no one allowed on television believed in until last night.
Point 3: Blacks and Latinos shifted a few percentage points in Trump’s favor vs. Romney four years ago. That shift is why he’s president-elect this morning. I wonder how long before Good Liberals start blaming them for averting paradise, the way Ralph Nader did in 2000?
Point 4: On the most pressing issues–immigration and the economy–Trump ran as a New Deal Democrat and Clinton as a Reagan Republican. (Woody Guthrie wrote “Deportees” about FDR’s Bracero program, not Reagan’s blanket amnesty, and it wasn’t Ms. Clinton who ran on bringing Glass-Steagall back and overturning NAFTA.)
Point 5: Trump understood that harping on “social” issues was meaningless. Yes, he had to mention them (usually when he was asked about them point blank) and yes, he got in hot water a time or two for not having developed a coherent position about abortion or gay rights or transgender bathrooms, etc. But social issues are adjudicated by Culture. Presidents play little role. That’s why the man who supposedly can’t let go of anything, kept letting go of his social-issue “mistakes” and turning them into here-and-gone twenty-four hour news cycles. Or, make that “news” cycles.
Point 6: Trump realized that, just like everyone else, present day conservatives—even church-going Evangelicals–have been roughened by the cultural collapse that has benefited him so enormously. Sorry, the little old lady in the second pew every Sunday morning at First Methodist might find talk of “pussy-grabbing” from a man on his third marriage distasteful, but she’s not shocked anymore. And just because she’s still too well bred to say, “Yeah, but will he punch those suckers in the face?” out loud doesn’t mean she’s not thinking it.
Point 7: The charismatic one always beats the stiff. Always.
Point 8: Having created a culture where “everyone has their own truth” should we be surprised by the success of a man who embodies the concept? Not that it really even does, but you didn’t think that was only going to help lonely weirdos, did you? Speaking as a lonely weirdo, get the hell up off of me.
Point 9: America’s enduring, subliminal yearning for a Royal Family has gone unremarked, no matter that Trump’s brood of tall, handsome children makes the Kennedys look like The Anaheim, Azusa and Cucamonga Sewing Circle, Book Review and Timing Association.* Camelot is taken, but don’t be surprised if Trump makes some like-minded concept stick to the national imagination like a squashed bug to a windshield. I have a sneaky feeling it will start with an aside at a press conference where President Trump starts riffing off the cuff about “This Shakespeare guy. I was reading him the other night and boy…I mean, I never had time to read him before I was leader of the free world. I was always too busy, but now I’ve read him and boy he’s really something. MacBeth, sure, who wants to be him? I say, Melania, don’t get any ideas! But Prince Hal? I see a lot of myself in that one…and Falstaff, too. What a guy! I feel like I’m both of them somehow. Sometimes I’m one, sometimes I’m the other. Sometimes I’m both at once and how great is that?” Also, don’t be surprised if the media spends a few days chaffing him for getting “off message”–they aren’t going to stop feeling superior to those they report on and report to just because they’ve been dumped under a manure truck…they’ll still come crawling back–before swallowing the narrative whole and referring to the impending Trump Dynasty as “Shakespearean Royalty” by default. Once that’s properly absorbed, liberals can start an endless stream of clever tweets about Ivanka going all Goneril on him.
Point 10: Bill Clinton has now accomplished his life’s one real goal, which was to humiliate his wife on the biggest possible stage. Wait, you thought all those well-timed “gaffes” in 2008 and 2016 were…unintentional? Please. I eagerly await the forthcoming Wikileaks release of the video showing Bubba and Trump, on the day they cooked this whole thing up, sharing a hooker and a cigar, perhaps in the Mar-A-Lago honeymoon suite where Micheal Jackson and Lisa Marie Presley once canoodled, while their mutual theme song plays….
…because there ain’t no way anybody’s gonna shut down the Lolita Express now.
*Folks, I didn’t think of that. J. Berry/R. Christian/D. Altfeld did, God bless them. For yea, verily, I say unto thee, we can all use a smile today.
And, yes, five will still get you ten that the Stones play the Inaugural. The second if not the first. By then, even Donald Trump will be able to afford them. And don’t worry, he won’t let them chicken out like they did at the Super Bowl. It won’t be “Satisfaction” and “Start Me Up” this time around. Maybe they don’t go all “Stray Cat Blues,” but I bet we at least get “Gimme Shelter.”(I’m thinking Beyonce for the Merry Clayton part. By then, he’ll be able to afford her, too.) Might even get “Brown Sugar.” Maybe with Bey going down on whatever Mick’s hanging between his legs and using for a member by then.