Surf Report
Published May 1995, Uptown Magazine, San Diego, CA
There exists a strange and timeless world where the people are relaxed, the players are cool, and the surf is always up. In this world everything is swathed in reverb; every sound tells a story of lazy summer days. As the plaintive wail of a distant guitar strums a warbling, tremolo intro chord, another guitar enters the aural landscape with "Dooga-Dooga-Dooga-Dooga-Do" -- that telltale lick that signals the arrival of the bass and drums. Then the action starts.
This is the world of surf music. Something about it says "freeze right there" ("Walk, Don't Run" if you will). Evolution has taken a back seat in the Jimmy, and there is no longer room for the passage of time, reality, lyrics.
Local band Surf Report is a group well-equipped to take an audience into this unique world. Possessing an innate ability to know what works and what doesn't, the band's 90s take on the classic California sound provides the listener with a refreshing alternative to standard live music, combined with the familiarity of an established genre. As a result, though having been together only a year, the band has managed to play at nearly every compatible venue in the county (playing surf music, of course, dramatically ups the number of venues which can be deemed compatible), have developed a reputation with the local clubs, and have even been paid to play (more of a rarity than most people know). In their first few months together they made enough money to finance their first album, "The Bikini Island Experiment," which features original tunes with classically cryptic surf-type monikers like "Naugahyde," "Hot Pockets," and "Yummy!"
For guitarist Rick Wilkinson the idea -- and the band -- crept up like an addiction. The day he learned to play "Walk, Don't Run" was but the first step in his steady course toward being a full-blown resurgent surf junkie. The next thing he knew, he was buying surf compilation albums at used record stores. Then he moved to the hard stuff -- starting a band. He and guitarist Ryan Ruiz learned a few tunes Rick had written, enlisted the aid of friend and bass player Steve Van Wyk, found a drummer and off they went.
"We made this little demo in my garage -- live to 2-track," says Rick of their earliest efforts. "We brought it around to a couple of places and got this gig at Hennessey's Tavern in Pacific Beach. The guy who owned the place really liked surf music. He said, 'Can you guys play on Friday?' and we're all like, 'Well ... yeah.' So that week we threw like 30 cover tunes together and made them longer so we could play the night."
"You played a full night?" I ask surprised. Usually a band only has to play maybe 40 minutes.
"Yeah, we played a four hour set," says Ryan.
Needless to say, it's insanity to try to remember 30 similar sounding single-note guitar riffs in a week. Then there's the additional problem then of trying to remember which riff goes with which song title, since there aren't any lyrics to remind one of the connection. Tough task.
"We just went through and learned a whole bunch of songs," says Rick. "They're relatively simple tunes. We'd just go, 'Here's how this one goes. Let's extend this part ....' Sort of hit and miss. Plus we played songs over."
The result was the band played full nights once or twice a week for a couple of months, which certainly helps to tighten a band up and expand a repertoire.
Now the band plays twice a week on the average, and while the seemingly quick move from garage band to in-demand surf group has its elements of good luck, its also results from lots of hard work and an attitude toward getting gigs which could be characterized as "Annoying the clubs into submission."
"When I get home from work I send tapes and press clippings to magazines and to places we want to play, and eventually we get called back," says Rick, explaining that his drive stems partially from the fact that he has no life. "People will call back and say 'Yeah, we wanna book you' without even hearing us, but just listening to the tape."
"That's really something," I say. "Usually a tape doesn't even get listened to. But I assume now you're sending out the new tape."
"Well, we hand-delivered the demos," Rick says. "We would just say [to club owners], 'Here's where we are. We're a surf band.' And then I would just bug the shit out of them for a month." Rick does his telephone voice, quick and to the point, with his hand to his ear. "'Hey, it's Rick from Surf Report. When do we get a show there? I'm making up a calendar for this month.' And finally someone would give us a show."
"They acquiesced so you wouldn't annoy them anymore?" I ask.
"Some of them, I'm sure," Rick replies. We played the Belly Up and I called them like every other day. I just kept calling them: 'Hey, Rick from Surf Report. Got any shows for us?' and they finally said 'Yeah, we could squeeze you in.'"
While a surf band, by nature, isn't the most visual of enterprises, Surf Report makes up for it in pure musicality. The tunes themselves are mesmerizing, having the effect of taking you into another realm of spaciness, and watching the guitars work together is entrancing. It's innocuous background music that demands your attention. (Damn oxymorons again.)
Steve's bass and the drumming of newest member Jason Schooler lay down the somewhat limited, but always appealing bottom end of the surf genre: that double hit of the snare; the driving rhythm that forces one along yet seems so relaxed.
It's the guitar work of Ryan and Rick that really hooks in the unwary listener. These two guys don't compete, they compliment each other. (Which is the way it's supposed to be but almost never is when two guitarists occupy the same stage.) Working off each other with sometimes intricate, and generally aurally pleasing lines, the juxtaposition of the parts creates a complex series of riffs that keep a listener's interest, even in face of no vocals.
Ryan's guitar sound is clean and pure -- albeit adrip in reverb -- and at times sounds almost like a piano, while Rick's tone is more ... well, scratchy. Both tones can be attributed to the custom, outboard spring-reverb units Rick built. Reverb is the cornerstone of that surf guitar sound, and with the custom units, the tone and distortion levels of the reverb itself can be adjusted without affecting the guitar's original tone. (Plus, mid-song a guitarist can lean his foot back on the reverb and rattle the springs to create that wonderful electric splash sound that so many guitarists have spent years trying to avoid.) The result is unusual guitar tones that perfectly augment the group's modern take on the genre, or as Rick puts it: "Classic surf music, but a bit punky."
New drummer Jason had only been with the group three weeks at the time of the interview. Grinning and a bit bemused during the entire interview, Jason admits he has never rehearsed with the group. "We're supposed to rehearse on Thursday, but so far every Thursday we've had a gig.
"So what do you do?" I ask. "Just play and hope for the best?"
"Yeah, pretty much," he says quietly. "Rick's been giving me tapes and I'm supposed to be learning them but, with so many other things going on I end up just faking it. I actually took a few hours the other day and charted all the songs down on paper," he says chuckling. "But when I got to the gig it was too dark and I couldn't read them. So I just said, 'Screw it, I'll just fake it.'"
On stage, Jason's newness creates both an interesting effect, and confirms the musical abilities of the group. Rick calls off the name of the song, which is no help at all to Jason, then says, "That's the one that goes 'ba-dumm-dum-dum-ba-dumbilly-dum.'" If that doesn't work, the band just begins, and they chalk it up to a new intro.
When asked why surf music seems to be acceptable to all types of crowds, Ryan says, "It's just a good alternative -- something different. It's not hard on the ears ... there aren't a lot of vocals you have to sift through." (In Surf Report's case, NONE actually).
"You don't have to try to figure it out," adds Rick. "It's just music." He tells of the couple of times they have played on the Boardwalk in Mission Beach. People of all ages (and sizes and shades I imagine) would gather to watch, and the band managed to draw quite a holding crowd. "We don't offend anybody," Rick sums. "We're not pissing anyone off."
"The Bikini Island Experiment" can be found in several local record stores, and a cut off of it is slated for use in the soundtrack of an upcoming long-boarding video. The tape itself is in essence a live recording. The band borrowed an 8-track recorder from a friend and recorded the entire tape in Rick's parents' garage over a weekend. There are no overdubs, so everything you hear happened at the same time in the same room (another rarity, for those who aren't familiar with the recording process). "We just did three takes of each song, then picked the best one," says Rick. "Actually," laughs Ryan, "we just used whatever version we made it all the way through."