HUCK Magazine The Laird Hamilton Issue (Digital Edition)

SURF SKATE SNOW TRAVEL MUSIC FILM ART FASHION

MORE THAN JUST THE RIDE

SOUTH AFRICA’S HEAVIEST SURF GHETTOS

VOL. 02 ISSUE #006 JULY/AUG/SEPT 2007 made in the uk £2.95 LAIRD HAMILTON by SPENCER MURPHY

M.I.A. ED TEMPLETON TAJ BURROW CRAIG KELLY RON ALLEN NATASZA ZUREK

LAIRD HAMILTON MADE OF

W W W.GRAVISFOOT WEAR.COM CALIFORNIA

CLAIRE BEVILACQUA SANOE LAKE KASSIA MEADOR DAVID RASTOVICH KALANI ROBB

RIZAL TANJUNG BENJI WEATHERLEY

©2007 GRAVIS, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. GRAVIS IS A REGISTERED TRADEMARKS OF THE BURTON CORPORATION. AD: BURTON SYNDICATE

NATHAN FLETCHER www.analogclothing.com

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Loathe of unnecessary verbal debris, we’re gonna keep this intro short and to the point.

Issue 006 has Laird Hamilton, stoic, statuesque and simmering hot, sharing intimate details about his life. Then there’s an exclusive piece of reportage on the positive effects of surfing in the South African ghetto. Miles Masterson, our man in the rainbow nation, travelled 2000 miles across the country, visiting every relevant coastal township, to bring you this exclusive. Also: Icons of streetwear. Summer fashion. M.I.A. on her upcoming album. The world’s top snowboard filmmakers. Craig Kelly’s new biopic. And an assortment of the coolest consumer goods out there for those of you possessed by the urge to spend (pounds, dollars or whatever fictitious currency your local Central Bank happens to print).

A vigorous issue, we suggest.

Now please enjoy the rest of the mag.

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contents. huck #006 42 LAIRD HAMILTON made of stone.

50 PERRY FARRELL ready to save the planet.

52 M.I.A. global warrior, global album.

â–ź

58 ANTHONY CLARAVALL around the world on just one button.

64 TOWNSHIP SURFERS riding waves in the south african ghetto.

76 DUCT IT UP! down-to-earth gear.

78 THE MOVIE MEN snowboard film production, laid bare.

84 WASTELANDS beautiful filth, shot by spencer murphy.

86 ED TEMPLETON artist, skater, white trash kid.

RICHARD JOHNSON

92 THE STYLE MAKERS icons of streetwear.

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100 DAY-GLO OR DIE the eighties, right now.

102 FULL SPECTRUM BABY! for a multicultural wardrobe.

104 TEASING ME SOFTLY stop. resistance is futile.

â–ź

SAM CHRISTMAS

the front 18 ron allen 20 natasza zurek 22 royden bryson 26 craig kelly 30 rubbish 32 erosion 34 nicky guerrero 36 taj burrow 38 acapulco gold 40 san sebastian surfilm festibal

â–ź

GEORGE GREENOUGH

contents. huck #006

the back

116 george greenough 118 pro ride 120 albums 122 films 124 dvds 126 games 128 books 130 the man upstairs

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vol. 02 ssue 006 HUCK MAGAZINE

July/Aug/Sept 2007 www.huckmagazine.com

Editor

Vince Medeiros Global Editor

Art Direction and Design

Jamie Brisick Skate Editor

Jay Riggio

Associate Editor

Rob Longworth

Andrea Kurland

www.thechurchoflondon.com Snow Editor

Film Editor

Zoe Oksanen

Matt Bochenski

Editorial Assistant

Editorial Consultant

Ed Andrews

Michael Fordham

Translations Editor

Markus Grahlmann

Advertising Director

Advertising Manager

Publisher

European Director

Steph Pomphrey

Music Editor

Phil Hebblethwaite

Dean Faulkner

Claire Marshall

Danny Miller Text

Tracey Armstrong, Anthony Claravall, Andrew Crockett, Georgie Hobbs, David Jenkins, Ellen E. Jones, Miles Masterson, Ben Mondy, Adrian Sandiford, Cyrus Shahrad, Alex Wade Images

Janette Beckman, Terrence Chin, Sam Christmas, Anthony Claravall, Marcelo Diaz, Matt Hind, Richard Johnson, Lozza, Spencer Murphy, David Perez Shadi, Scott Sullivan, Mark Taplin, Deanna Templeton, Paul Willoughby, Tadashi Yamaoda

HUCK is published by HUCK LIMITED Studio 209 Curtain House 134-146 Curtain Road London, EC2A 3AR, United Kingdom Editorial Enquiries +44 (0) 207-729-3675 editorial@huckmagazine.com Advertising and Marketing Enquiries +44 (0) 207-729-3675 ads@huckmagazine.com ON THE COVER: LAIRD HAMILTON BY SPENCER MURPHY

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Distributed worldwide by COMAG UK distribution enquiries: andy.hounslow@comag.co.uk Worldwide distribution enquiries: paride.forte@comag.co.uk Importato da Johnsons International News Italia S.p.A. Distribuito da A&G MARCO Via Fortezza 27, Milano, Italia Printed by Mayhew McCrimmon www.mayhewprepress.co.uk The articles appearing within this publication reflect the opinions of their respective authors and not necessarily those of the publishers or editorial team.

TO BE DISCOVERED AT: AMERICA TODAY NASSAULAAN 32 1404 CP BUSSUM THE NETHERLANDS T: +31 (0) 35 626 7356 INTERSTATE 17 ENDELL STREET WC2H9BJ LONDON UNITED KINGDOM T: +44 (0) 20 783 60 421 URBAN MONKEY VIA NOMENTANA N. 111 00161 ROMA, ITALY T: +39 (0) 328 471 28 42 PLANETE SURF 8 PLACE DU 9 OCTOBRE 59400 CAMBRAI, FRANCE T: +33 (0) 3 27 74 95 95 DOUBLEIGHT EISENMANNSTRASSE 2 80331 MUENCHEN, GERMANY T: 49 (0) 89 266 099

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scared Original H-Street I’m of getting ripper Ron Allen is old. I mean, still riding harder shit, isn’t than ever. Respect. e v e r y o n e ?

It’s something I’ve always feared. Not so much because I won’t be at the cusp of what’s cool or be able to make love with teenage vigour or eat as much cheese as I want and not have to worry about having a stroke. I worry about getting old in fear that I will no longer be able to physically ride a skateboard. I know I have a long way to go, but the past twenty-eight years have gone so fast, the next twenty-eight are bound to shoot by.

But when I think about Ron Allen, living legend, OG H-Street member and now a forty-four-year-old pro skater and company owner, I’m confident that ‘forever rolling’ isn’t just some shitty T-shirt proverb.

California’s Ron Allen has been skating for over three decades. He made his way into the spotlight after his full part in the seminal H-Street video classic, Shakle Me Not, where he broke street skating boundaries with chest-high nose picks and lofty, super stylish ollies. After H-Street, Allen lent his talents to a list of board companies like Life, Fun, American Dream and Heeterz, taking ownership duties in the latter three.

His involvement in some of skateboarding’s most seminal moments is impressive, but what’s most impressive is that Ron Allen’s actually still doing it. “I love skateboarding. And I don’t care if I’m going to wake up and get paid for it or not, ’cause I’ve done it for less and that doesn’t matter. What matters mostly is that it’s so fun,” he says.

Recently, Oakland’s Clean Skateshop approached Allen about having some of his artwork on display. The result was a super successful showcase of Ron’s career entitled Twenty Years Of Ron Allen. “I held onto all this stuff from all the different years and from all the different riders. I have so much stuff, like a McDonald’s napkin that I drew on for one of John Reeves’ graphics,” says Allen. “I loved doing the companies so much that it was really hard to let go of some of that stuff because of the riders and the people that I knew.”

Today nothing much has changed. Ron has resurrected the board company American Dream, and has started a second board brand, Energy. Aside from his ownership duties, he’s riding for Satori Wheels and is in the process of developing his own signature line of sneakers for Osiris. If that wasn’t enough, he continues to work in conjunction with various California cities, travelling to parks and teaching skateboarding to young kids. “I kind of give kids the opportunity to hear from somebody who’s been doing it for a while and help out and get them stoked on skateboarding,” he says.

By the sounds of it, Ron is just as psyched on skating as he’s ever been. “I don’t have a hundred tries in me,” he says about landing that next trick. “I have maybe twenty or so, but I’m definitely more determined than ever to make it.”

text Jay Riggio photography tadashi yamaoda

www.osirisshoes.com

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home sweet home text Andrea Kurland

up, who wants to be snowboard FILM Hands a pro snowboarder? It’s the PIONEER NATASZA ultimate dream, right, ZUREK STORMS getting paid to shred.

HER BACKYARD. The attractive paycheques,

nomadic freedom and rock star status are enough to make even the most content desk-jobber daydream valuable business hours away.

It’s refreshing, then, amid so much fantasy, to meet someone like Natasza Zurek – a pro rider as honest as she is talented. Admired as a major force in the progression of female snowboarding, Natasza has been living the dream for more than fifteen years. Today, at twenty-nine, she’s brave enough to stand up and say: it don’t mean shit if you can’t have fun.

“I expected to go into the season with the same motivation that I had the last four years to film and do contests,” she says candidly. “But I realised it was really hard for me this year because my motivation was low. So I just decided half way through to not force it, but rather take it easy.”

Behind the mellow Canadian drawl, the Polish-born Natasza is one seriously self-assured girl. She’s not afraid to admit her season wasn’t laden with competition results. But with Olympic experience and World Cup wins under her belt, and Whistler in her backyard, spending time at home makes perfect sense.

“I spent most of my time learning new tricks for next season, instead of having to film the same things all over again.” says

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Natasza, whose commitment to progression had her conquering frontside nines and switch backside sevens.

Having just filmed with Leanne Pelosi’s crew, Runway Films, Natasza’s quietest season is still more productive than most. And as the rider claiming ending parts in both As If! and Ro Sham Bo by Misschief Films, her pioneering move into filming has provided an open invitation for other females to share her self-belief: “Typically girls have had to compete. I’m breaking away from that, and as long as I’m having fun and progressing with filming, there’s no reason why girls can’t start their careers only filming, like guys do.”

It’s this resolute attitude that allows Natasza to seek only the approval of herself. “Snowboarding has such a short attention span – if you’re not around in the media for one season they kind of forget about you. But that’s not something I really worry about, it’s like the last thing I care about,” she says so softly it must be true.

“I need to know that I am having fun, and if I worry too much about the sponsors, it takes the fun out.”

When you’re in tune with yourself like Natasza is, the ride truly can be for life. “Even though the motivation might be dipping,” she says, “just listen to what your body is doing and what your mind is thinking. It’ll keep you healthy and it’ll keep you stoked on snowboarding.”

Look out for Natasza in the Runway Films project this autumn, www.runwayfilms.com.

For the full interview with Natasza check out www.huckmagazine.com. www.nikitaclothing.com www.burton.com

demon slayer text Miles Masterson photography Richard Johnson

ROYDEN BRYSON BEATS THE ODDS AND GUNS FOR THE TOP.

Five years is a long time to try something and not succeed.

It’s testament then to his inner strength that South African pro surfer Royden Bryson, after spending a tough quintet of seasons on the World Qualifying Series (WQS), finally made the cut for the 2007 Foster’s World Tour.

Despite their recent resurgence into world surfing, South African surfers have had to slug it out harder than most. Granted, it’s not easy for anyone, but with a piss-weak currency, they have had to graft twice as hard to achieve professional surfing success – something Royden’s story perhaps embodies more than any of his compatriots.

In late 2004, despite holding a lucrative international sponsorship from Oakley, Royden nearly succumbed to the myriad of temptations on the road. Although he was still posting the odd good result and ripping harder than ever, his mind wasn’t on the job. The nocturnal vices of the tour – which have crippled many a weaker-willed surfer – began to take precedence.

But when he reached his lowest point Roy had an epiphany, realised his folly, and supported by his sponsors, family and numerous friends, committed himself to overcoming these distractions. He returned home from Brazil that year to deal with them head on, rather than go on to the next leg in Hawaii.

His demons slayed, Roy then went back to the WQS and in 2006, with a victory in Japan, finally secured his long-dreamed qualification.

Royden is quick to cite his small-town roots as helping him on his circuitous path to surfing success. The working-class Eastern Cape of East London has produced proportionally more SA surf champions and World Championship Tour qualifiers than anywhere else, and their most promising surfers have always had competitive fitness and discipline bred into them.

For Roy, this combination of a close blue-collar community, family-orientated environment and generations of surfing wisdom provided the groundwork for his rise as a junior. Later on, they became the source of his salvation from a premature retirement.

It would have been a damn shame if this prodigious talent had been wasted. Spend one surf session with Roy hucking and spinning over your head and you’ll realise this. If nothing else, at the very least he’ll be remembered for progressing surfing in the air.

Like many of 2007’s rookies, Royden draws his inspiration from other boardsports, but adds that surfing’s terrain makes the quest much harder. “Surfing is more restricted,” he says in his soft-spoken Saffa lilt. “Every time you paddle out, the waves are different and only certain sections offer ramps. We’ve got to combine what we do with the ocean… there’s always that element of unpredictability.”

Royden professes a love for nature, art and photography and is inspired by his namesake grandfather, a wellknown South African painter. He feels that this creative side influences his approach to riding waves.

As far as the newfound fame, Roy plays it down. “I got mobbed by a bunch of kids at this one spot, but I’m sure they just saw the wetsuit and reckoned I was someone special,” he says without irony.

“This is a very humbling thing, and I realise I am living most surfer’s dream,” he goes on, as if someone might pinch him and he’ll wake up to a lesser reality. “If I didn’t surf I’d be in the gutter. Surfing has given me everything and I would be nothing without it.”

Whether Royden lives up to his amazing potential remains to be seen. But either way, he will definitely make an impact on the sport he loves so much.

He’s simply worked too hard not to.

www.oakley.com

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text ZOE OKSANEN

one and only time I ever saw New biopic The Craig Kelly, I felt slightly daunted by brings his presence. It was, after all, Craig Craig Kelly Kelly – the man whose name was, back to life. and still is, synonymous with the very

soul of snowboarding. I feel a similar sensation writing about him now, five years on from his untimely death in an avalanche. His presence is, clearly, as strong as ever.

Craig was a pioneer of the sport and probably the first real professional snowboarder – for so many of us the best to ever have stepped on this earth. Starting out in Mount Baker at fifteen years old, Craig fought for snowboarding to be accepted in resorts across the US. After fifteen incredible years of professional riding, with four World Championships and three US Championships to his name, he walked away from the competitive scene forever, taking his notoriously smooth style to the backcountry to work as a mountain guide. It was there that he seemed to find his true calling in life, along with a strongly developing sense of spirituality.

It is no surprise that Craig’s life, and death, has inspired a new feature-length documentary, Let It Ride, which will finally bring a deeper insight into the life and psyche of the man.

French director Jacques Russo is no stranger to making movies featuring Craig. Their filming relationship began ten years earlier

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with The Smooth Groove (1989), a TV documentary that widened the appeal of snowboarding. But Let It Ride is different. “Let It Ride is about Craig,” he says. “But it’s also about the early days of the sport and its evolution, and it’s about the world around him.

Lots of people have told me that they felt they had met Craig from the experience.”

Being so close to Craig, it can’t have always been easy for Jacques to detach himself emotionally from the man he knew. “In a strange way, lots of times I felt his presence,” says Jacques. “It was a really special experience for me. It was like, ‘Don’t worry, what you’re doing is good, very comforting.’ I know this will sound far out for a lot of people, but it happened.”

Craig was a huge proponent of mountain safety and if anything his death, along with that of six others in the Canadian Rockies, goes to show that Mother Nature is a more powerful force than even the most powerful amongst us.

But it is with Craig’s life that we have the most lessons to learn. Jacques hopes that people will walk out of the movie feeling “inspired to do things that they thought were impossible to do. That they understand how important today is in their lives”. Through Let It Ride, Craig’s spirit continues that lesson.

Let it Ride won ‘Best Film’ at the 2007 X-Dance Film Festival. www.letitridethemovie.com

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text Ed Andrews

The British coastline has on beachgoers 1,988 items of litter per send rubbish average kilometre of beach, according back to where to a recent survey carried out by it came from. the Marine Conservation Society.

That’s nearly two pieces of rubbish every metre. The average day at the beach, it seems, is becoming less golden sand and marram grass and more soggy condoms and sour stench.

That’s why Surfers Against Sewage (SAS) have launched their clever ‘Return To Offender’ campaign. Andy Cummins, from SAS, has been leading the effort with a very simple premise: “If you find some litter with the manufacturer’s address on it, download our ‘Return To Offender’ message from the SAS website and send it with the litter back to the manufacturers urging them to do more to prevent litter like theirs impacting on the beach environment.”

Despite positive responses from PR-savvy entities such as Nestlé and Coca-Cola, some manufacturers have been less forthcoming: “A certain energy drink producer’s reply surprised us,” says Andy. “They came back with, ‘Unfortunately, and as you will appreciate, we can’t be responsible for people who have no regard for the environment or are just too lazy to throw their rubbish away properly.’ Now we’d have thought that someone who has just consumed their drink would be full of energy, not lazy.”

As Andy highlights, we must all share responsibility in preventing our beaches from resembling landfill sites: “We also encourage water users to pick up one piece of litter for every good wave they get. If they have a killer surf they should pick up armfuls of the stuff. Build up some good karma for your next surf. If you smoke or know somebody who does, get hold of an SAS pocket ashtray from our website. Cig butts are made from 12,000 plastic fibres and take fifteen years to break down. Each butt pollutes three litres of sea water – no butts on the beach!”

You heard the man: get out and get picking! www.sas.org.uk

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Keepin’ it real text Tracey Armstrong

Coastal erosion is a natural Man’s quick phenomenon that the planet has fix is endured since the beginning of destroying time. Natural forces such as our coastlines. wind, waves and currents have

sculpted our shorelines for centuries.

But, as you might imagine, it’s the evil hand of man that poses the greatest threat to our beaches. Like most quick fixes, our efforts to combat natural erosion processes often do more harm than good. Hard structures, like bulkheads, seawalls and groins, are built on beaches to reduce the impact of strong waves and prevent erosion, but they usually backfire.

Seawalls can disrupt the natural flow of sand, starving our beaches and turning naturally sculpted land into anorexic strips prone to landslides.

But there’s hope. In the US, the town of East Hampton just passed coastal legislation restricting hard structures that can, in fact, increase erosion. In similar news, the Long Island Sierra Club has joined the Surfrider Foundation in its campaign to stop the plan to re-armour Montauk Point.

The lighthouse at the point is in jeopardy from coastal erosion, and the US Army Corps of Engineers can only think of building another massive rock revetment, which would be the fifth in less than sixty years. This hard engineering technique could lead to further erosion. Instead, the community is proposing to protect the lighthouse by moving it away from the bluff.

In Spain’s Ebro delta, coastal authorities have planned a similar managed retreat in response to coastal erosion. This is encouraging, especially since a large chunk of Europe’s coastline is covered by manmade structures that are meant to protect the coastline, but in practice do little good.

This engrained mind-set about hard engineering techniques will not change overnight. Luckily, though, some people are starting to understand the benefits of managed retreat plans.

Nothing like properly fucking things up to make you stand up and mend your ways once and for all.

www.surfrider.org

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Pro Surfer Oli Adams wears Oakley Montefrio / oakley.com

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text Andrea Kurland photography Sam Christmas

The man opposite me is sipping tea. At his feet, a well-worn Skate relic lies in wait. The cap on his head says skater cool; Nicky Guerrero skateboard the bald patch it hides deserves more respect. He’s a living goes back to legend – and a walking oxymoron.

The man opposite me is Nicky Guerrero, first generation preschool.

pro skateboarder with a talent for vert. It’s also Nicky Guerrero, kindergarten teacher from Denmark with a taste for good tea (strong, one sugar).

The first Nicky has clocked up thirty years skating pro alongside every big name. He’s been crowned European Champion three times and still treks the contest trail: ”My ambition is not to be number one, it’s just to work towards a good profile.” He’s on the cusp of forty – and he rips like few in the game.

The other Nicky, meanwhile, is an educator of tiny minds: “I like the creative side. You can play a little guitar or do some drawings with the children.”

Today he’s mostly a skater. Swapping teacup for board, Nicky’s eager to dominate the indoor park that’s brought him to Leeds, England. He’s here to mark his thirtieth anniversary as a bona fide pro with a skate jam. And, judging by his calm, aggressive style, he’s keen to show the next generation what old school is really all about.

A mixed crowd has gathered: helmeted kids and middle-aged men alike, fresh and ancient skate scars worn with pride, united by their respect for a living relic from skateboarding’s past.

Nicky, meanwhile, is too busy dishing out the love to soak up his rock star moment: “I really look up to Rune Glifberg. And yesterday I was skating with Andy Scott and Peter King and they were really pushing me. It’s good to see there are people in each country keeping it alive and skating at a high level.”

But it’s when the two Nicky’s meet that everything really falls into place: “I made a project teaching kids how to skate – looking at the positives, the negatives and using the skateboard as a tool. But I still find time to compete. Sometimes skating is like surfing. When the wave or the contest or the ramp is there, you just have to go.”

Skateboarding-teachers: the perfect Yin and Yang.

For the full interview with Nicky go to www.huckmagazine.com. www.eastpak.com

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text Ben Mondy Illustration MARK TAPLIN

There is a minute to go in the Welcome to final of the 2007 Rip Curl Pro the new and at Bells Beach. Taj Burrow improved version has priority and needs a big score to take the victory of Taj Burrow.

off Andy Irons. Holding his nerve, Taj waits for the right wave and uses his superhuman surfing talent to smash it to pieces and win the event.

“Just the way it all happened with a minute to go and the score I needed, and then the wave that came through and all the people screaming and screeching on the cliff, it was amazing,” Taj tells me not long after the win that pushed him into equal first in the ratings. “I needed a foolproof score and then about halfway through the fourth turn I thought, ‘I’m gonna win this fucking thing,’ and it felt that good.”

The win only stresses what everybody already knew: that the twentyseven-year-old Western Australian is one of the most exciting, talented and high-profile surfers on the planet. With five elite tour victories, five videos and even a book to his name, the master aerialist has done just about everything – except win a world title.

His Bells victory was the vindication of a whole new approach, and in respect to his boards, a whole new technology. “I’ve put heaps of effort into my boards,” Taj says. “I’ve done so much time with Nev Hyman and Firewire over the last twelve months. The boards use new epoxy technology and they feel sick. Also, before I was breaking one board a week, so they were pretty much disposable. But these feel amazing. Really drivey and really alive.”

Not only that, but Taj has also started to focus on his fitness and on winning heats, as opposed to just blowing minds with his free surfing.

“I’ve done a lot of extra work this year. I’ve taken on a guy for the whole tour that’s doing all my physio and nutrition and fitness and I feel as good as I’ve ever felt,” says Taj. “I’ve realised I’ve had to take on that stuff to get an edge on all the guys that are surfing so well on the tour.”

So far it’s working. Before event number four at Jeffreys Bay, Taj was sitting at number two in the world, and with new boards, new hunger and a newfound realisation that it’s about time he made his talent pay, 2007 might just be Taj’s year.

No one will deserve it more. www.globe.tv www.ripcurl.com/ripcurlpro

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text JAY RIGGIO photography JANETTE BECKMAN

weed anymore.

World fashion IThedon’tlastsmoke time I did, I found domination is on myself pacing around a the horizon for vacant pool table in the back Acapulco Gold. of a bar. Stoned senseless, I

was convinced that the only way to block out the haunting image of two fornicating dolphins atop a sea of blood-coloured pudding was to circle the table. I don’t know if it worked. What I do know, though, is that I’d just smoked a potent joint’s worth of Acapulco Gold – that super rare weed from Mexico that’s supposed to mangle your psyche beyond repair.

If you’re not blazed out of your mind the way I once was, you’ll know that the Acapulco Gold I should actually be talking about is a clothing brand from Brooklyn that’s currently on the back of everyone who’s in the know.

Founded in 2006 by partners Augie Galan and Geoff Heath, the brand shot off like a goddamned bottle rocket, with their super unique and funny-as-hell T-shirt designs.

“The idea started way back when I was in Miami being searched by the police for grand theft auto,” says Heath. “As the police were taking my picture I began thinking, ‘What am I doing to myself?’”

Soon after, he began to put all of his available energy into doing something. Teaming up with Galan and graphic artists Billy Ray Valentine and Joe the Butcher, Heath launched AG. Since then, the guys have refused to slow down, pumping out an endless stream of dope-as-fuck boutiquestyle tees, sweatshirts and New Era caps.

Available in limited batches only, the brand’s restricted financial resources actually work in their favour. “We don’t have the money to produce a lot of it,” says Galan. “Doing things this way, it keeps the product fresh and always new.”

The brand’s name is based on the universal sentiment of good times and the idea that everyone has that special place in their mind that offers escape from their problems. “When you are in that place mentally, you are in Acapulco Gold,” explains Heath mysteriously.

Having collaborated with Union/NYC, Union/LA, Mass Appeal Magazine and Post O’Alls, AG plans to soon drop their first batch of denim, available in finer stores near you. “We are a small company and we care about the stuff we make. We’re trying to make nicer stuff than everyone else’s,” explains Galan.

How high can they get? “Everything takes time, and in due time we’ll prove ourselves to be more than just hats, tees, sweats, jeans and decks.

Next season we’ll add some more to the line and AG will continue to rise.”

www.acapulcogoldny.com

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it’s always better

on the big screen text Vince Medeiros photography Marcelo Diaz

“We just wanted to see our favourite Surf film movies on a large screen,” says festival rocks surf Sancho Rodriguez, San Sebastian the Basque Surfilm Festibal founder, explaining the refreshingly mundane concept Country.

behind the event. Now in its fifth year, Sancho’s grandiose little hobby, which he first organised with the help of a few close friends, has become a main reference in surf culture both in the Basque Country and across Europe.

“It started out as a humble film festival,” says Sancho, “but from the second edition on we already had still photography and other media. These days, if it’s honest and portrays the passion we all have for surfing in a truthful manner, we want to show it – be it movies, photos, music or art.”

Focusing on independent productions, Sancho tries to stay away from what’s known as surf pornography – films with a negligible narrative structure that show wave after wave of, quite literally, surf smut. “We wanted to avoid pornography,” explains Sancho, whose black hair and beard have a Che Guevara quality to them. “Those films are great to watch before you go surfing, but with the festival we wanted to show material that broke that pattern, films with stories to tell and which aren’t as common anymore.”

And indeed that seems to be the case. Riding the Wave, by American documentary maker Christopher Cutri, was the most talked about film this year. Focusing on the contradiction between surfing’s countercultural roots and its exploding popularity, Cutri invites you to question the idea of surfing as the bastion of an exclusive, free-thinking tribe, all the while asking whether it’s become yet another subcultural cliché: diluted, stripped of its rebellious essence and deeply entrenched in the economic logic of the system. With

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commentary from some of the industry’s biggest players, as well as from surfers and academics, Riding the Wave is a must-see for anyone concerned about the increasingly commercial nature of the sport.

Other highlights included a screening of Andrew Kidman, Jon Frank and Mark Sutherland’s Litmus, some breathtaking Basque tow-surfing from last year’s biggest swell, and the world premiere of One California Day, by Jason Baffa and Mark Jeremias, whose super 16mm-turned-HD raised the bar in filmmaking for the retro surf genre.

Great films, great imagery. But amazing cinematography aside, can surfing as simulacrum ever come close to the real thing? “Of course there’s nothing like the pure experience,” says Sancho, dark locks flying in the afternoon breeze. “But you can try. Second Thoughts, by Timmy Turner, when we screened it, people just freaked out. You were surfing that wave in the theatre. The big-screen surfing experience is incredible. Having these theatres packed with people – it’s ironic, ’cause it’s the opposite of the sport: unlike the ocean, a crowded theatre is always cool.”

With such a killer line-up of films and a growing interest from both industry and creative types, the festival is bound to grow in years to come.

But its independent ethos, says Sancho, is set to remain: “We want to show the reality of surf film production, the trends and what people are doing – and show more and more local productions. We want it to be a place where people who are passionate about it can get together, see films, exchange ideas, and have fun.”

Nice hobby if you can get it. www.surfilmfestibal.com

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text Alex Wade photography Spencer Murphy

The world knows him as a fearless superhero who rides mountains of water. But, as Alex Wade finds out, there’s more to Laird Hamilton than massive waves and daring surf antics.

In an exclusive interview, the legendary waterman tells Huck about his estranged father, his distrust of people, his love for red wine and Jimi Hendrix, and his boundless commitment to pursue what he calls his ‘art’.

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t’s 2:15 on a Thursday afternoon. I’m in southwest France, the weather’s pretty good, and I’m about to meet Laird Hamilton. I should be stoked, not least because Laird has been a hero of mine for years. But instead I’m walking gingerly from my hotel to my meeting, head pounding, eyes squinting from the glare of the sun, body aching as if I’ve been pounded with a sledgehammer all night.

My condition, as I am about to meet the epitome of health, vitality and masculinity, could be better. The problem is that I was whisked off to a party thrown by Laird’s sponsor, Oxbow, the previous night. This shouldn’t have been a problem at all, but I am to free champagne what Laird is to big waves: totally fearless. I’ll take on as many glasses as you like. Trouble is that unlike the Hawaiian waterman, I suffer for my art. Laird is apparently indestructible but come Thursday lunchtime I’m barely capable of stringing a sentence together. Worse still, the interview – originally scheduled for Friday – has been brought forward by a day.

Spencer, the photographer, calls to tell me this.

I groan, tell him I’ll see him soon, and haul myself down to Les Cavaliers beach, the scene of the Oxbow Pro World Longboard Championships. As I’m walking along the wellheeled roads of Anglet I find myself thinking of Al Alvarez’s Feeding The Rat. Alvarez, an acclaimed writer and poet, wrote the book as a testament to his long-time climbing partner, Welsh legend Mo Anthoine. Anthoine explained his compulsion to keep pushing himself, to take ever-greater risks, by the notion of feeding a rat that lurked perpetually inside him: The rat is you, really. It’s the other you, and it’s being fed by the you that you think you are.

And they are often very different people. But when they come close to each other, that’s smashing, that is. Then the rat’s had a good meal and you come away feeling terrific.

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Just as I’m wondering if Laird’s life is explicable via the same metaphor, the man himself appears.

“Hey

guys, how’re you doing?”

So says Laird as he ambles up to Spencer and me at dead-on 2:30. Smiles all round as I lie and say, “Very good, thanks, how are you?” We shake hands and I’m relieved that the expected bone-crusher of a handshake doesn’t happen.

Laird is genial, relaxed, full of bonhomie. He is also somehow not as physically imposing as I’d imagined. Without further ado, he and Spencer set off for the photo shoot, and again Laird is all smiles and conviviality. I watch him disappear with Spencer and reflect that, actually, when all is said and done, he is huge.

He’s 6’3” tall and weighs in at 220 pounds of pure muscle. That’s a heavyweight in anyone’s books, and it occurs to me that maybe he didn’t seem overwhelming just then because he chose not to be. As I sit waiting for the shoot to end, my head starts to clear and I cast my mind back over Laird’s life. As I do so, an idea crystallises: Laird Hamilton is a man who, from a very early age, showed an almost preternatural ability to make exactly the right choices for whatever situation he happened to find himself in.

It started before he’d even got to school.

Laird and his mother, JoAnn Zyrik Zerfas, had recently moved from California to Hawaii. It’s impossible not to speculate that the move had its genesis in the ‘go west’ mantra of the American Dream: west in search of riches and betterment, and, in JoAnn’s case, the chance to start a new life after her alcoholic Greek husband walked out on her when Laird was an infant. Once in the promised land, a visit to Oahu’s North Shore gave rise to a chance meeting that would change the course of modern surfing.

Laird was bodysurfing as sixties longboard style-master and big-wave charger Bill

my condition, as i am about to meet the epitome of health, vitality and masculinity, could be better. the problem is that i was whisked off to a party thrown by laird’s sponsor, oxbow, the previous night. this shouldn’t have been a problem at all, but i am to free champagne what laird is to big waves: totally fearless.

Hamilton walked along the beach. The story has been retold by both men many times, not least in Stacy Peralta’s Riding Giants, and if Laird’s age at the time of this fateful meeting tends to vary – sometimes he is two, others three, while Peralta’s film has him as a fouryear-old – there is no doubting its essence.

Hamilton senior, one of the North Shore’s most accomplished surfers and shapers, went bodysurfing with Laird, and their bond was instantaneous. Laird, fatherless, knew exactly what he wanted. “I want you to be my Daddy,” he said to Bill, then not even twenty. He took Bill to meet JoAnn, and another immediate bond materialised: the pair fell in love and married soon after. As Bill has said of Laird: “He’s been bold since Day One.” Laird’s decisiveness continued to set him apart as he grew up on the North Shore, a Caucasian among Hawaiians, superficially the incarnation of the haoles who decimated native Hawaiian culture. He learned to stand his ground and fight, and stories abound of the times he was only too ready to shoot first, ask questions later. He hurled himself, aged eight, from high cliffs adjacent to a waterfall (as Bill looked on) and he proved himself in the coliseum that is the North Shore. He decided to quit school at sixteen and become a model, but despite being good enough for the pro surfing circuit knew even then that this would not be his theatre. To Laird, indeed, contest surfing was more in the nature of a circus. Instead, he set out on a watersports odyssey, paradoxically animated throughout by the kind of competitive drive that dominates all great sportsmen, from Muhammad Ali to Tiger Woods, Michael Schumacher to Kelly Slater.

I’m reflecting on all this and beginning to think that there might be a darker side to Laird. His life – or, as I learn is his term for it, his art – is simply too extreme for him to be merely the affable individual I met a little

earlier. Just then he reappears, all one-liners and amiability. My hangover assails me as if to remind me of my unworthiness, but I hold it together and off we go to have a coffee. Or rather, I have a coffee. “I’ve had so much coffee all day that I’m overdosing on it,” says Laird.

If

Laird escaped the contest carousel, he did not evade its close cousin – the media circus. He has been with Oxbow for sixteen years and with the release of Riding Giants acquired fame beyond the world of surfing.

He is married to Gabrielle Reece, a professional volleyball player and model, and the duo form a kind of uber-couple among celebrity pairings: she is as tall, statuesque and downright perfect as he is square-jawed, muscular and handsome. It was that streak of decisiveness that took Laird to Gabrielle: he met her when married to Brazilian surfer Maria Souza (with whom he has a daughter, Izabela), when Gabrielle interviewed him for The Extremists, an American cable TV show. Not long after the meeting Laird had left Maria to be with Gabrielle in Los Angeles.

This, though, offers a radical contrast with his avowed devotion to all things oceanic.

This is the man who pioneered the journey into ‘the unridden realm’, riding giant waves – most notably at Jaws on Maui – as if they were no more threatening than a benign sixfoot pointbreak. This is also the man who, at Teahupoo on 17 August 2000, took surfing to a place that no one could have imagined.

That day, Laird dropped into a wave of diabolical proportions, one whose lip and face was so thick and unforgiving that a fall would have meant certain death. Somehow, he conceived of a low crouch with the hand of his trailing arm almost level with the outside rail of his board, an instinctual act to counter the hydraulics of the wave and one which saw him spat out, alive and unscathed, to the astonishment of the surfing world.

And instinctual is the word, for only Laird Hamilton could have ridden that wave, in that way, at that time. For all his protestations about enjoying the responsibilities of fame, does he feel more at home in the water than on land?

A psychologist might wonder at Laird’s replication of his biological father’s behaviour, and it is said that when he returned to Maui with Gabrielle, many of his friends questioned his actions. And yet, as we get talking, it is impossible not to warm to him. He answers every question with openness and sincerity, and seems wholly at ease with an existence in the public eye. As he puts it:

“It’s true that I like to be alone too, and I get that in the ocean. The ocean gives me solitude – there’s no access, no one can get at you there. When I’m out there I feel like I wouldn’t come to shore if I didn’t have to eat and drink.” Perhaps this is why he exudes nothing but confidence when surfing at Jaws, Teahupoo or any other potentially deathly break. He is able to surf these places because, quite simply, he feels most at home in their environments.

But does he ever feel afraid?

“I like people, I like engaging with them and communicating, so I don’t find it difficult to do the promotional stuff. I appreciate the opportunity to do so – I have a responsibility to the kids and the media. It’s all part of my job. It’s an honour that people want my autograph. You should worry when people stop asking for it.”

“I feel fear – you have to. It’s part of the respect for the ocean that you have to have.

If you’re not fearful you’re ignorant and blind. So I feel afraid, yes, although I also feel totally at home in the ocean.” He adds that he also loves his family time: “When I’m back from this trip I’ll spend as much time as I can with my family.” ▼

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Laird has another daughter with Gabrielle – Reece Viola, born in 2003. As a family man myself I can empathise all too easily with the desire to get home to one’s children after time away. What I struggle to understand, though, is how you can put yourself in a near-death situation when you’ve got kids.

“That’s a fairly asked question,” says Laird. “I’ve thought about the answer a lot. I want people to value me for who I am, and the ocean is who I am. I brought my kids into the world – they didn’t ask to be born – but it seems to me to be wrong if I stop being myself because of them. It’d almost be cheating them.” He adds

he is married to gabrielle reece, a professional volleyball player and model, and the duo form a kind of uber-couple among celebrity pairings: she is as tall, statuesque and downright perfect as he is square-jawed, muscular and handsome.

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that he gets more afraid flying than surfing, and then says: “Surfing is what I do. It’s where I’m comfortable. The ocean is reliable. It’s consistent. People aren’t.”

That

Laird should characterise people as ’unreliable’ resonates with some irony given his day-to-day life as a big-wave tow-in surfer. Ever since he and an elite crew including the likes of Buzzy Kerbox, Dave Kalama and Darrick Doerner started towing in at Jaws in the early 1990s, Laird’s living has entailed placing complete trust in his fellow watermen. In other words, he needs people – those inconsistent, unreliable beings – to be as predictable as the ocean. He cites Dave Kalama – his regular tow-in partner – as the waterman for whom he has the most respect: “He’s exceptional. He respects the ocean and puts himself on the line every time. You can’t not respect that.”

Many of the eulogies about Laird talk in awed terms of how he ‘conquered’ Teahupoo and ‘mastered’ Jaws, but the man himself does not agree with such metaphors. Indeed, respect is absolutely key to Laird’s existence: “Surfing’s not about conquering the ocean.

You’re given an allowance and you survive moments. When you surf a wave well, you’re maximising the ocean’s allowance – that’s all it is. You’ve been allowed to be on that wave.

You need to keep this in mind and be careful not to set yourself up to get spanked. There’s no discrimination in the sea, no referees, no time-out, no room for being ‘too tired’, it’s just you in the sea. You don’t go around telling everyone about the big waves you’ve ridden, showing them posters – you let your actions speak louder than words.”

Laird’s latest oceanic challenge sees him reviving stand-up paddle-surfing. He has paddle-surfed big waves at Jaws and plans to do so at Teahupoo. He tells me that he

still windsurfs as much as ever, keeps fit by dragging logs in the sand, running up and down sand dunes and peddling up hills holding his breath; that he has snowboarded in Alaska for the past sixteen years and enjoys shooting a bow and arrow (though he adds that he doesn’t like killing things). He likes cycling, and loves Jimi Hendrix.

“There’s a big connection between music and surfing,” he says, his ochre-yellow eyes intense and penetrating. “They’re both about fluidity and rhythm. Especially Hendrix.

There’s a lot in Hendrix that can be applied to surfing.”

Curiously, of all the things this multi-talented waterman does, what he calls ‘normal surfing’ is not often one of them. “It’s the thing I do least of,” he says, reiterating that he sees paddle-surfing as offering “more than I can handle right now.” The reason for his gravitation to it is, though, straightforward: “It’s a way of bringing surfing back to its individual essence.”

We’re

nearing the end of a lengthy interview, one in which Laird has been loquacious and charming to a fault. I realise that my hangover vanished some time ago and wonder if Laird ever drinks too much. It doesn’t seem his style, but he says that he likes red wine, and, with a wry smile, adds that he sometimes indulges too much. He is so relaxed, so easy to talk to, that I decide to venture into potentially awkward territory.

“Did you ever meet your biological father?”

I ask.

Laird replies without hesitation. “Yes, I did. I tracked him down when I was twenty-one. It was something that I felt I had to do.”

How did it go? ▼

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PHOTOGRAPHIC ASSISTANT: ELLIOT CALDWELL

MARCELO DIAZ 48 www.HUCKmagazine.com

For once, Laird seems a little vague. “Meeting him answered my questions,” is all he seems to want to say, but then he elaborates. “A Dad is someone you have childhood memories with, but that wasn’t the case. Instead I had multiple other fatherly influences, from Bill Hamilton to Don Wildman, Brian Kennelly and Paul Miller. They were all good, positive male role models. My real Dad surfed when he was with my mother and we shared a lot of genetic similarities, but that was it. We had nothing other than genetics in common. He died a couple of years ago, when I was forty-one.”

Had his father’s early abandonment contributed to Laird’s extraordinary drive?

“I guess so. I did have some built-in resentment, yes, because he hadn’t supported my mother.”

If resentment is a factor in Laird’s achievements, those who share an element of childhood dysfunction would be doing well if they could sublimate it even half so successfully. In an age of celebrity, one which elevates the asinine to the features pages, Laird Hamilton stands apart, the embodiment of the human being whose life genuinely has become art. This, indeed, is exactly how he sees it: “Patient is the surfer who rides big waves, and I’m a patient man. I have to be.

It’s my life’s work, my art. Surfing for me is an artistic expression. It’s who I am.”

Later

that evening, I had a meal in Biarritz with Spencer. Laird’s presence, and his words, seemed to hover around us like the sea spray on the beach.

We talked in awe of his ride of the Teahupoo wave, of how he had solved an argument raging inside his mind: “Part of me kept saying ‘jump,’ another part was saying ‘don’t jump,’ and that kind of inner turmoil is normal in a

situation when you feel your life is vulnerable.

The argument inside went on, but on that wave time seemed to slow down. It was an extremely emotional situation, a dream come true, you’ve been gearing your life for this moment and suddenly you get the chance to experience it. That wave broke the barrier, it made it easier to do other things afterwards.

It was like breaking the sound barrier or the four-minute mile.”

We spoke of Laird’s views on localism: “The worst localism seems to be in places where there’s no surf. People have nothing else to do so get into the abuse of transient users, people who don’t respect the pecking order.

But there does need to be a pecking order, especially at a place like Jaws. I see a lot of guys go out at Jaws and at other breaks but they’re not experienced. This is part of the deception of tow-in surfing – you get people who aren’t that good on a wave, they get their picture taken – but they’re not really riding the wave. Often those people are jerks and they’re the ones causing hassle. You’ve got to remember that for me and other regulars there this is what we do. Waves are like gems, and they don’t come along all the time. So when they do come along the guys who’ve dedicated their lives to finding them should be respected.

A pecking order helps with this. If you respect it, you’ll be OK.” I remembered two other things. Laird does not read much – “the Bible is about the only book I read” – and he has a goal that anchors him firmly in the lineage of Tom Blake, the iconic waterman of the early twentieth century. Blake was a spiritual man and coined the idea of ‘the blessed church of the open sky’ to describe the environment in which his spirituality blossomed. This, too, is where Laird Hamilton – for all his undoubted contradictions and paradoxes – belongs. He might well have a rat inside him, gnawing away until its next feed, but it’s taken him to some very special places.

“My biggest objective is to remain passionate about the ocean and being in it,” he said, gesturing at the large surf pounding the shoreline at Les Cavaliers. “The biggest sin in the world would be if I lost my love for the ocean.”

.

Alex Wade’s new book, Surf Nation: In Search of the Fast Lefts and Hollow Rights of Britain and Ireland, published by Simon & Schuster, £12.99, is out now.

“it’s true that i like to be alone too, and i get that in the ocean. the ocean gives me solitude – there’s no access, no one can get at you there. when i’m out there i feel like i wouldn’t come to shore if i didn’t have to eat and drink.”

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THE SOLUTIONIST interview ED ANDREWS illustration PAUL WILLOUGHBY

Perry Farrell, former Jane’s Addiction frontman and founder of rock fest Lollapalooza, is back with a new project, Satellite Party. The band’s first offering features an eclectic roster of guests including Flea, Fergie and a posthumous Jim Morrison. And he’s pretty much gunning to save the world too.

Huck: How did the Satellite Party album come about?

PERRY FARRELL: I started to write in my garage about three years ago. It really was going to be house music but the more I started to write, the more it spoke to me and created its own story and myth. Each time I wrote a new song, I would write it about the previous scene. The strength of the music is the most important thing and so if that’s good, who cares what the concept is? You don’t have to know the story – or even understand English – to appreciate the music.

How difficult was it fitting the Jim Morrison track into the album?

That was tough. Obviously, he wasn’t around to speak or re-record anything. It was just a pure, pure coincidence that this very rare remaining material happened to suit the story. The material had been sitting in a vault for thirty years and I had to create a song out of it, as it pretty much wasn’t a song.

There was no verse, chorus or music. It was very appropriate that the songs spoke about the world from the point of view of an angel. We were very lucky to meet up in the twenty-first century with those words.

‘Just try and stop us, we’re going to love’, what do you think Jim meant by that?

That’s what I find to be the most remarkable aspect of it. It is basically the oldest adage in the world that love will conquer all. It takes a moment of composure and love to really conquer the issues we have today.

When did political activism become a part of your life?

It came through the Lollapalooza as I was afforded the chance to work with such great causes and inform myself about global issues. I focus on environmental issues because I feel I can do the most good if I take care of Mother Earth. This is a very bold statement but I believe we can really cure this within ten years. I know G8 say, ‘Give us until 2050’, but I think we can do it a lot quicker than that. Bono and Geldof shouldn’t wait for these guys from the G8, they are not our parents. We have every right to be angry, and I’m glad that they are there and pulling them up on their shit. But let’s do it ourselves.

Would you say that Lollapalooza is setting an example that other festivals should follow?

I would say, yes. But we don’t really point the finger. We present solutions and are proactive about them.

We are showing that we can have a festival of 200,000 people and be carbon neutral. The Satellite Party CD is a carbon neutral album as we offset all the emission. We show that it can be done.

Have you been surfing much lately?

I haven’t been in the water for a while. That said, Kelly Slater and Rob Machado are working on a new film on the origins of surf music, and we are planning a trip somewhere around the world in the next year to make music and go surfing. Kelly invited me to his private party in Tavarua with other surf legends like Mark Occhilupo. I’ve been out with some great surfers in my time, and they always blow my mind. They are on another level.

So would you say that surfers have a lot in common with your own causes?

Absolutely. To be honest, the number one reason I am so driven on environmental causes is because of my love for action sports. When I started surfing in the seventies, I never worried about pollution. I remember seeing oil slicks in Miami Beach and never paid much attention other than trying to avoid them. But now, I go surfing in Venice and I’m constantly on the lookout for oil and floating debris. I have to hand this world over to my kids, and it troubles me that they are going to have to look online just to see if it’s safe to go in the water. I can’t sit around and let that happen. It’s time to get the solutions going Satellite Party’s album, Ultra Payloaded, is out now on Columbia. www.satelliteparty.com www.lollapalooza.com

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text Phil Hebblethwaite photography Spencer Murphy

M.I.A. travels the world to bring you her new album.

M.I.A.’s staggering 2005 debut album, Arular, was an intentionally raw collage album that matched the panoramic cross-section of sounds she heard as a teenager in London with fragments of fierce, mutinous lyrics that she’d pieced together from both her own experiences and reading newspapers. It was an ode to a father she’d never known – a Tamil activistturned-militant who moved his family from London to Sri Lanka when M.I.A., Maya Arulpragasam, was six months old. He became instantly absent and wanted. The family, without him, returned to the UK ten years later and ended up non-English-speaking refugees on a rotten council estate on the outskirts of London. It was there M.I.A. began hearing hip hop and the other strains of music that would inform her debut album: ragga, dancehall, baile funk, electro and grime were all in the mix.

It was art, though, that became her first love. She studied at Central St. Martin’s College and became a respected graphic designer and documentary filmmaker before she started tinkering around with a Roland 505 beat-making machine.

Autumn sees the release of Arular’s follow-up, Kala. Named after her mother, the album is a tribute to her in many different ways – because she came up with some of the initial musical ideas when they were watching cheesy Tamil soaps together in London, but mostly because the subtext of the record is about being female.

Kala is even more of a hotch-potch than Arular but differs because the tracks are mostly built on sounds she’s been collecting this past year from around the globe, particularly India. Where Arular was synthetic, Kala is organic. It’s a distinctly M.I.A. record, but she’s worked again with a series of producers, including Switch, Diplo, Baltimore’s DJ Blaqstarr, and even high priest of the modern beat, Timbaland, who she did one song with.

During this interview, M.I.A. plays track after track from the new album. Initial impression: superb. ▼

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there’s no point in us walking around with loads of bling. we look stupid.

HUCK: Tell us about the producers you worked with on Kala.

M.I.A.: I felt like I could A&R myself with this album and that I knew more about beatology than most people. By the time I got off my tour I felt really arrogant. I was like, ‘I’m gonna make this track because there are things I’m gonna find on this planet that no one has ever heard before!’ It was true to an extent, because I was getting my influences from so many different places – places off the map that I’d seen first hand – and I wanted to dig more and more into their culture. When I was on tour, people were saying, ‘You should go back to Brazil and do another track like ‘Bucky’,’ or, ‘You should go back to the grime scene and do more stuff there.’ But I was like, ‘No, I’m just gonna get a whole new set of rules and sounds.’ I took Switch on as my technician-type person, although he was definitely over-qualified because he’s an amazing producer. That wasn’t exactly his role – I just didn’t know what to call it. What I wanted to do was make a deal with him where I was like, ‘I want to take you around the world and introduce you to things that have been a part of my life, and all you have to do is be there and technically document it.’ If I wake up at four in the morning in the jungle and hear something amazing out the window I wanted him to be there to do something about it. I went to India on my own first – well, my brother was with me – and recorded drums and did all the prep work for ‘Bird Flu’ [the first song from the LP to get released] and then I met Switch in Trinidad and he came out on the second trip.

Were you only recording drums?

No, no – strings too, anything. I wanted to get real traditional musicians to be a part of the record. With Arular, I think I proved that I could sing over anything. The question that people were asking me, and I was asking myself, was whether I was actually musical. I wanted to work with people in India who had come out of the womb knowing how to play strings and drums that are 2,000 years old and in ways that are passed down through countless generations. They look at me in really weird light – like I bastardise music – but to go to them for help was really cool. I went to see what I could learn.

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Your first record did well in the UK, but it seems like it took off better in America.

Were you surprised that the UK struggled with it?

I think I understand it better now. At the time I said the UK might find it hard because there weren’t many clubs playing that kind of music.

Everything was really segregated – you had grime clubs, you had this, you had that – but you couldn’t find a common place where you could hear anything from baile funk to Baltimore club to hip hop. Now you can. That’s what’s going on.

So the Americans were more open-minded?

Different things applied. In America, politically, it was the right time to say the things I said and do the things I did. I met Tim Robbins, the actor, who’s very political, and when he spoke to me I kinda realised what it meant to people like that and what it stood for. I think in America, people wanted somebody other to come along and spout some shit. In England, it wasn’t about that – from a musical point of view it seemed like people here weren’t ready at the time. It was too weird. But it’s different now – you can go to places and hear loads of people doing music like me.

The record seemed quintessentially London – a perfect condensation and product of the cross-cultural sounds you can hear in the city daily. You must have imagined that people would have found it natural, not weird.

That was my point and it’s still my point: this is what we can do over America. But people were so busy making fake R&B and fake hip hop. It was bullshit. The only thing we can do is the multicultural stuff, and it’s an amazing time to do it, and it’s a sensitive time to do it – and what you appreciate in people like The Clash back then is exactly stuff like that: that was what was punk. I’m not saying I’m punk and I’m not saying I’m as good as The Clash, but it’s a clash of cultures that made a band like The Clash happen. If you don’t celebrate that, and that’s what London has got to give the world, then things get pretty shit. There’s no point in us walking around with loads of bling.

We look stupid. ▼

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i think in america, people wanted somebody other to come along and spout some shit.

Put all this in the context of your new record.

Will it be different because you’ve been living in the States?

It’s got nothing to do with the States – nothing at all. I had these thoughts straight away – right after I finished touring – and I started thinking that I’d make this album about everywhere else: everywhere outside America.

Everyone was like, ‘Yeah, yeah, Timbaland, Timbaland, Timbaland,’ and I kinda waited around for him for a bit, but I couldn’t get in, so I was like, ‘You can come and meet me in Africa, but I don’t think they’ve got a helicopter pad or a mansion [laughs].’

This album is named after your mum, Kala; Arular was after your dad. What should we read into that?

Well, the first album, lyrically, was about big ideas – politics, my dad’s thing. This one is more about the minutiae – being at home and thinking the little things around you are more important. You know what I mean? You can have grand ideas and want to be the leader of the planet or be a revolutionary, but it’s also very, very important to pay attention to the little woman at home with the three children on her own trying to keep it together, especially if she’s married to someone like my dad who was never there. That situation – being a single parent with three kids in a council flat – everyone can identify with. It’s just about trying to be a good human being. So, contentwise, the record’s not very political – it kind of goes everywhere.

So no grand concept for the record?

I started off thinking that it might, but everything was changing so quickly. One moment I was sitting with Timbaland and hanging out in Beverly Hills with someone else’s credit card to go on a shopping spree with, and then I was in India sleeping on the floor with cockroaches. I was trying to make sense of everything – how my friends relate to me now and things like that. I think probably I was getting more mature and trying to find a balance. It hit me how my art and how I live had become so compartmentalised. My friends come from so many different places and, before I started making music, my life

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was so bitty and all over the world. Then everyone knew how to check up what I was doing all the time [laughs], and it was hard to make everyone feel a part of what I was doing.

It’s really hard to explain, except to say that I had to find a balance and keep everything oiled and everyone in the same context. And I had to do that without a house and on tour the whole time...

The cliché about your first record was that it was about identity – and how you were searching for who you were... ...and then I became all those people! It’s fucked. I shot myself in the foot. I became the person all those people thought I was. I was the thing people said I was, but they narrowed it down to such a specific thing, like, ‘Oh, she’s just such a wanderer of the planet.’ And that’s exactly what I’ve been doing for the last two years [laughs]. And all I want is the same bathroom and the same toothbrush, but I don’t – I have a different toothbrush every week, and it’s not because I’ve got a bit more money now [laughs].

Any contact with your dad recently?

He contacted me to tell me he wasn’t happy about me calling the record after my mum.

Didn’t he do the same thing when he found out you were calling your debut after him?

Yeah [laughs]. And now he’s like, ‘It was great you named it after me, but don’t name it after her.’ But I want to include her and I think that’s one of the values that’s fast disappearing in the West, and it’s getting worse.

Have you thought about what you want this record to do – for you, and for other people?

To me, it was really important to have opinions and be a girl in music who was as good as the boys. I want to be able to say that here’s a Timbaland track and here’s mine and it involved twenty Indian musicians and real experience. This record is my life, and people haven’t made a record like that for a long time.

It’s not a studio record – I lived it for a year

.

Kala is out on XL Recordings on August 20 in the UK, and on Interscope on August 21 in the US.

AROUND THE WORLD WITH ONE BUTTON

text and photography ANTHONY CLARAVALL

When I was a kid, photography seemed like an arcane science you were only initiated into after years of study. This was ages before digital photography, so all the buttons and dials were really mysterious to me. What did they actually do? I wanted to take photos but I had no idea how the photographers made the images that I tore out of skateboard magazines and put on my wall.

In comparison, the skate videos that I watched over and over again seemed much simpler.

It was easy to understand that you just pointed the video camera at your friend, pushed the red button while they tried to do a trick and eventually, if you were patient enough, you would get it on video. So fourteen years ago I picked up a video camera and started to film skateboarding and never looked back.

Then a few years ago, wanting to try to shoot photos again, it occurred to me to get a Polaroid camera. It was a no-brainer. It only has one button, if you shoot in good light you don’t even need a flash, and ninety seconds later you get to see the results. And because videography is my job, shooting Polaroids could just be about having fun and enjoying a simple and pure form of photography. It also doesn’t hurt that I get to shoot photos of the best skateboarders in the world. Here are some samples.

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clockwise from top left Adelmo Junior, ollie / barcelona, spain Adelmo Junior / barcelona Emmanuel Guzman, kickflip into bank / managua, nicaragua

Emmanuel Guzman / managua

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see regularly Real skateboarding isn’t what you real deal the see on the tube. If you want to you might want to watch Blueprint Skateboards’ video Lost and Found. Here Dan Magee, the man behind

Blueprint, films Blackpool’s finest, Danny Brady, backside flipping in BAO’AN, CHINA.

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clockwise from top left

Venture Truck crew / tokyo, japan Jake Nunn, ollie to fakie / tokyo Ricardo Carvalho, 360 flip / los angeles, usa Matriz crew / curitiba, brazil

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clockwise from top left

Rodrigo Peterson, switch nosegrind / shenzhen, china  LRG crew / barcelona, spain Anthony Shetler switch ollie / shenzhen Dongmen locals / shenzhen

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il to China and finding the best ledge Imagine travelling all the way from Braz spot you’ve ever seen in eighteen years of skateboarding. Then imagine that sinking feeling in your stomach when you see a uniformed guard walking towards he wants to you intent, you’re certain, on kicking you out. But this is China, and all do is watch, glad to have some free entertainment to break the day’s monotony. favourite place.

Rodrigo Peterson, making friends in his new

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Huck travels 2000 miles along the South African coast to discover a generation of young black surfers trying to escape a life of crime and gangs by making the most out of their time in the water. In a country still grappling with deep inequality and a racist legacy, surfing, says Miles Masterson, can be the levelling force that sets them on a whole new path.

Surfing out text Miles Masterson photography Richard Johnson

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not far from the surf school where he now works, moosa zwane, seventeen, clutches his board and jokes around, happy heยนs no longer aimlessly roaming some of the seedier durban streets he used to call home.

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South Africa’s vast townships are one of the most lasting and tangible legacies of the apartheid government. Through the racist ‘Group Areas Act’, people of different creeds were deemed unfit to live beside the white folk of the old republic and moved into what became known as ‘locations’. As a result, South Africa’s towns and cities are today besieged by these sprawling ghettos. While some residents have benefited from the new government through new housing, most still live in overcrowded, crumbling brick tenements or tightly packed shacks made from corrugated iron, bin liners or whatever else they can find.

In the vast open back country, the land struggles to support a burgeoning population, many of whom still exist as their ancestors did: subsistence farming or herding cattle, living without basics such as electricity or tap water. Scarred by their volatile history, these urban and farmland townships are often lawless cesspools of violent crime, disease and the inevitable social dysfunction that goes with them.

Thanks to its now global ubiquity, it was inevitable surfing would eventually be found by some of these South Africans, or at least by those lucky enough to live in coastal townships.

From Cape Town to the coast north of Durban, these surfers have finally discovered the fun and potential that lie beyond the beach.

In May this year, photographer Richard Johnson and I undertook a road trip along most of the South African coast, driving over 2000 miles to document the extent the sport of Hawaiian kings has affected the lives of black surfers caught up in the fallout of apartheid.

Durban and the Urban Kingdom of uShaka The sweltering subtropical city of Durban is a crazy mix of cultures, where Africa and Europe collide. On the outskirts of the city, chickens cluck under the feet of hordes of urban commuters at surging taxi ranks, while just a few miles away the affluent kick back in five-star beachfront skyscraping hotels and palatial mansions.

Most of the coastline around the holiday city has long been snapped up as prime real estate.

There are few poor townships close to the sea, but the business district is a magnet for Zulus, an ethnic group originating from the KwaZulu-

Natal area, who come here to escape the grind of poverty they face in surrounding small, destitute towns.

Many fail and end up homeless, and so over the years a number of projects have been instigated in the city, including surf schools, aimed at uplifting the lives of the street kids among them. Thanks to an urban renewal plan, the once seedy area of Point Road, adjacent to the harbour area of Durban, has undergone massive restoration, culminating with the construction of a new beachfront pier and a marine theme park named after the most famous Zulu warrior of all time, uShaka.

Here, beneath the faux tribal décor, we meet two Zulu surfers: Moosa Zwane, seventeen, and Bongani Mathe, twenty-three. Both are employed by Surf Adventures, which is run by the amiable Alan Wallace, a long-time white surfer who grew up alongside the likes of Martin Potter.

“They came from hell compared to what they are doing now,” Alan says as they greet us with an elaborate African handshake. “It’s a passion for them, a good lifestyle.” Moosa and Bongani are now qualified lifeguards, as well as kayak and surf instructors. They work at Alan’s beachfront concession, giving surf lessons and hosting functions, and using the boards available to sneak in the odd surf.

Both hail from inland: Moosa is from nearby Ladysmith, and Bongani from the townships of Johannesburg a few hundred miles to the north. They painfully and reluctantly relate their own tragic personal histories, woeful tales of growing up with both crime and family deaths caused by illness. Their misfortunes eventually led them to leave their homes – and seek survival alone on the streets of Durban.

Moosa, who always wanted to live near the sea, recalls how he would watch the surfers at New Pier, the epicentre of South African surfing, but how instead of doing it, he got caught up with a gang of thieves who spent their days stealing mobile phones and taking drugs. Moosa met Bongani in the derelict warehouse where they slept at night. They became friends and eventually met Alan.

Through their subsequent salaries, they were able to rent their own flats and get off the streets.

“When I started surfing, I never thought I could because I thought it was a white

sport,” explains the tall, lean and sternlooking Bongani, who is also now a seasoned competitive ocean kayaker. He soon realised white guys also struggled to learn, so he persevered and became addicted. “Surfing is the best, I like it so much,” his face then cracks into a broad smile.

Although he still hopes he might get sponsored, Bongani is already too old to seriously consider a professional surfing career, something he admits with a frown. He then goes on to explain how it is still a struggle for them to just even stay in the water. “If you ding your board it comes out of your pay,” he says. “And we can’t afford new equipment after food and rent.”

But stocky teenage Moosa, who describes animatedly how he likes to cross-train at the local park on a skateboard (albeit barefoot and only when he can borrow one), feels he still has a chance and has entered a few local competitions. He attributes his lack of success so far to not having assistance and coaching, or even someone to take more of an interest in them. “We need sponsors, we need boards,” he utters a refrain I was to hear many more times on the trip.

Although Moosa and Bongani appreciate what surfing and the beach have brought them, it seems that getting on the first rung of life is easier than moving on to the next.

“I can only do so much to assist,” says Alan as we prepare to leave uShaka. He explains how he would like to help more, but that he has a business to run and also recently adopted a twelve-year-old orphan, Anile Zulu. Anile surfs every day with Alan’s son Kyle, lives with the Wallace family, and is a little livewire who keeps Alan’s hands full.

“Once Anile moved in he dropped his clothes in front of our black maid,” Alan recounts.

“He thought he didn’t have to pick them up because he was now white. But we soon sorted that out and told him that just because he lived with us now, it didn’t make him better than anyone else.”

Just then, Anile appears and, unlike Bongani and Moose, declares without a trace of a Zulu accent: “I want to be the next Kelly Slater,” before breaking into good-natured ribbing with new sibling Kyle about who is best at surfing. As fast as they appeared, the boys run off for an impromptu surf to decide once and for all. ▼

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As the brothers dart to the beach carrying their boards, I notice Bongani staring longingly at the three-foot peeling waves. He then snaps from his reverie and gently helps a white toddler at a birthday party into a rash vest.

“Maybe I can surf later,” he says.

The Hidden Talent of Umzumbe Down from Durban, the area known as the South Coast consists mostly of pockets of the former KwaZulu ‘homelands’ and farmland Natal. The main industries here are tourism and sugar, but neither creates nearly enough employment, and the area boasts a crime rate to rival the cities. But it is also incredibly beautiful. Lime-tinted, undulating cane fields roll off into the hazy hinterland, and largefronded banana plants, filled with chattering monkeys, line the hibiscus-dotted green belts along the coast.

Our destination is the quiet hamlet of Umzumbe, which is sprinkled with guesthouses and holiday homes that stand empty most of the year. Many white surfing champions have emerged from this part of the coast, which has been home to a group of township surfers since the early 1990s. Here, with the aim of keeping the kids off drugs and developing their talent, members of the now defunct white surf club, Localism, took it upon themselves to help many of them to surf. A few of these club graduates were eventually selected for the regional ‘development’ team, which meets similar teams from around the country once a year at the Reef Wetsuits Grommet Games.

In the past, Umzumbe protégés such as Meshack Mqadi and Shadrack Cele have done well in regular junior and pro events, and Meshack’s twin brother, Cyril, is now a soughtafter ASP judge, who has travelled as far as Japan. Cyril in turn translated the ASP rulebook into Zulu for the benefit of his kin, which he felt was necessary, as they didn’t know anything about the rules of competition. “I explained that dropping in was like an off-side in soccer, and now they understand,” he says.

It’s never been easy to be a Zulu surfer. I am told that some of the earliest guys were taunted on the formerly ‘whites-only’ beaches by racist Afrikaners from up country, and

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Cyril recounts how tribal superstitions were also hauled out to scare them from going into the sea. Although they do not fear it as much as their Xhosa brethren to the south, the Zulus still believe the ocean holds much power. They use beach sand and seawater in the construction of their huts to protect them from lightning, and as ingredients in traditional concoctions. The brothers also faced extra resistance because they are twins, something revered in Zulu culture. But when the family realised how talented the kids actually were, they finally relented (although Cyril tells us how his dad once caned his feet because he surfed behind the shark nets).

Shadrack is another talent from that generation. After a spotted career surfing in contests, he ended up working as a security guard in Johannesburg for two years but recently returned to Umzumbe as he missed the sea and surfing too much. Some say he developed a reputation for partying and being temperamental at surf contests, which alienated those who tried to help him.

Whatever the case, Shadrack, Meshack and twenty-eight-year-old Dennis Hadebe seem to be the only Zulus here dedicated to looking after the current crop of teenage Umzumbe surfers. Dennis got into surfing recently when he became a caretaker at a white man’s beachfront house, and the kids now use his garden flat to store their dishevelled, yellowing quiver (consisting mainly of poorly repaired snapped boards that they use communally, taking turns).

It is Dennis’ responsibility to escort kids to competitions all around the country. As he directs us through the back roads behind the coast, with twelve kids crammed in the back of my small van, he describes how surfing is a fantastic opportunity for them. But he also adds that some of the older guys in the crew find it frustrating that they can’t take their careers much further.

We bounce down a deeply rutted dirt track and roll to a stop to take some photos. As we walk through the tall grass towards the kids’ humble homes, crickets and frogs loudly protest our arrival. Away from the plush holiday houses on the coast, it strikes me how different this environment is from the neat and orderly suburban beach town not far away, and how removed it is from my own similarly ▼

“when i started surfing, i never thought i could because i thought it was a white sport.” local ripper prince myende cracks the lip on the writer¹s borrowed board, backdropped by the umzumbe hills, where his humble rural township is located.

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although there is still only one non-white surfboard shaper in south africa, paul jeggels in jeffreys bay, the surf industry provides employment for a number of apartheidยนs disadvantaged people across the country, including this fin sander at the wedge factory in umzumbe.

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“we want to be professionals, but the problem is surfboards. we have no sponsors. some other black surfers in durban have sponsors, but we are better than them.” cushioned life at home in Cape Town. Rainbows of washing hang on makeshift lines, traditional music emanates from transistor radios, and pots cooking the staple ‘pap’ porridge bubble on wooden stoves outside the small mud-floored buildings. “I am very happy about surfing. I want him to be the first black champion,” says Mrs Makhanya, the mother of one surfer. Her son, Vumani, won the under-12 division of the most recent Grommet Games. Further along in the Umzumbe township, we meet matriarch Ruth Ntuli. She beams as we take photos of her grandson Blessing, thirteen, who also placed in his division at the Games: “I am so happy when they bring home trophy and they get nice stuff.”

some of the umzumbe groms frothing over the piles of stickers we gave them.

he says, gives him energy to surf). “We want to be professionals, but the problem is surfboards. We have no sponsors. Some other black surfers in Durban have sponsors, but we are better than them.”

In the past, some of the black kids in Umzumbe have become so frustrated with lack of sponsorship and support they once threw stones at a visiting Australian photographer.

They felt the lensman was only making money off them, and they were not benefiting from the exposure, but were soon talked out of this line of thinking.

Surfing and shooting with these guys over the next few days, I notice how athletic and naturally talented some of them are. Ten-yearold Simo Mkhize (who won surfer of the contest at the ‘07 Grommet Games), is already hoisting taildrop floaters over the Umzumbe shoredump.

Shadrack’s skills are also amazing, but twentyyear-old Prince Myende, riding my board (which he will somewhat reluctantly return to me later), is the clear standout. Despite the odd eighties head flick (something easily ironed out with some coaching), Prince’s style is silky smooth, and his trick bag includes floaters, snaps and one mental 360 under the lip.

While cultural difference, social issues and the apartheid legacy are obvious obstacles, some white locals argue that a few of the kids have been spoiled by handouts and must start saving up for their own boards instead of waiting for someone to give them stuff. Cyril admits this ‘gimme, gimme’ sense of entitlement is a problem, and whilst he’s keen to put back into the scene that gave him his chance, when he returns to Umzumbe he gets annoyed by the apathy of some of the kids. “I’m always telling them how to look after equipment, they were leaving their boards on the beach,” he says.

“The younger generation are spoiled, we have to educate them.”

Yet despite having made regional teams, and even being chosen to compete in a special national team for an event in Durban against New Zealand where he finished third, Prince doesn’t have any support. “Surfing is keeping us from bad things,” he says, medals around his neck, as he stands barefoot outside his hut chewing on a stick of raw sugar cane (which,

“You can only help them so much,” echoes white surfboard shaper Gary Maisch one afternoon in his factory, which lies among the sugar cane in the hills behind the town. The Wedge factory, the second oldest in South Africa, gave boards to the guys early on. But they too became vexed, as they saw how their freebies caused as many problems as they

solved. “They ended up fighting over them,” says Gary. “Plus, once they’ve finished school, you can’t give them too much, they need to learn to earn it themselves.”

Cyril’s twin Meshack agrees, blaming the lack of discipline of some on absent fathers.

“The kids need to learn respect,” he says.

“If you want a bright future you have to respect everyone – not just black or white or green. Only then will you be all right. Some learn, others don’t.” Meshack also tells us that of the eight friends who started surfing with him, he is the only one left, as most quit due to drinking and drugs. “They say they will come surf but they don’t,” he adds somewhat forlornly.

Issues aside, the Maisches continue to support local kids and also employ a number of Zulus in their factory, some of whom have been there for decades. One such case is forty-five-yearold Alex Madala, who has never surfed, but cuts, sands and waterpapers the precision surfboard fins this little backwater factory has become world famous for. Alex is pleased to see the kids in the water: “Surfing is a nice sport, if you do surfing then you are independent.”

Another is laminator Noel Cele, twenty-nine, who used to work in a surfboard factory in Durban, and who surfs occasionally.

Both are happy they can find meaningful employment near their families in the area, and Noel hopes to be the first Zulu from here to shape surf and kiteboards. “Then,” he says from behind his protective mask, “I would like to teach some of the kids to make their own boards.” ▼

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The Potential of Port St Johns “I feel sorry for these guys,” mutters Quinton Shabalala, a sponsored Zulu surfer who joined us in Umzumbe shortly before we left. “They’ve got such shit boards.” We met Quinton, twenty-three, on a photo shoot in his South Coast hometown of Scottburgh, and he decided to stick with us for this part of the trip.

We arrive in Port St Johns shortly before noon. The township lies between Durban and Cape Town, on the aptly named ‘Wild Coast’ – another old apartheid Xhosa ‘homeland’.

Nestled between the majestic valleys of a still unruly and untamed area, where traditional huts pepper the hills, this small town is the local seat of government and a popular tourist destination for locals as well as international backpackers.

First we meet Mike Gatke, Port St Johns’ resident white surfer, who has taken it upon himself to look after the kids. He introduces us to the posse, who stand quietly among us, their boards littering Mike’s riverside lawn. Before long, we realise that most of the surfable boards don’t even have complete sets of fins, so I scratch amongst my own stash and give them about five. Then they realise they don’t have a fin key, so I lend them mine.

Although one kid tightens a back fin on the side of his board, and Quinton has to step in to help, eventually we get fins onto about eight ramshackle boards, and head off to the beach.

Forty-year-old Mike, one of only four resident white surfers here, tells us the story of how this little scene came to be. A local entrepreneur who mainly conducts tours to local villages, he decided a few years ago to rent out boards to travellers and open a surf school, and before long was inundated with interest from some of the local kids, who had seen the odd visiting white surfer riding the beachbreak. Mike recounts how one of the kids, suffering from HIV, was cut on a dinged board: “I had no gloves or anything, I didn’t know what to do.”

Second Beach, a short trek through the jungle and across the river from Mike’s HQ, is basically a rivermouth, lined with boulders from shore to shore, so it’s easy to see why their quiver is in the state it is. Some of the kids, especially the beginners, simply ride straight up the rocks, dinging their boards and losing fins in the process. “It does get frustrating sometimes,” says Tim Whittaker, owner of

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nearby Amapondo backpackers, who is also involved. “But we are looking at getting them to somehow own their own boards, and are also getting a surfboard shaper up from Port Elizabeth to show them how to fix dings.”

Though the waves are a stormy eight feet, the kids, some wearing only boxer shorts, are all out in the water braving the heavy surf. Quinton (as well as relatively competent surfers Rich and I), paddle out to do a bit of a humble demo for them. We snag a few out back in the hope they will reform on the inside, whilst the ridiculously fit Quinton charges the huge sets like a man possessed, ripping them to pieces. Huffing and puffing, I retire to the beach where some of the kids sit, watching him and waiting their turn on a board. They seem strangely subdued, and I almost feel like we have done something to insult them. “Quinton surfs good hey?” I ask one of them, and all he does is nod slightly before turning his head away towards the sea.

Later on, Mike tells us that three Port St Johns surfers, who are only allowed to use boards if they go to school, have been selected for the regional development team, and have done well in the Grommet Games, some making the semis of their divisions. But from watching them surf, although there is some style and potential, they are obviously very raw and still need a lot of coaching. The best surfer, known only as Pitso, is a wayward kid who picked up a bodyboard about four years ago, and learned how to stand on it by himself.

Entering competitions is perhaps the best way for them to take their surfing further. Mike recounts a recent event he helped organise: “It was very successful. Twenty-three guys from here and other towns nearby entered, and the businesses donated whatever they could. We used bamboo poles with red and green T-shirts for the flags. One kid from the children’s home, thirteen-year-old Buntu Jubane, won the comp with a switch-foot move. I don’t know who teaches them this stuff.”

Avuyile, and Zama, who’s eleven. As we stand outside her spartan home, just down the road from Mike’s, Mrs. Ndamase tells us how she is not on good terms with the boys’ father, and only gets R200 (£15) in child support from the government, and that the brothers have to walk three miles each way to school every day.

“They’ve been walking from grade one,” she says, thankful that her boys can’t wait to surf when they get home and that the sport keeps them away from the ‘tsotsi’ gangsters who roam the hills. “They are good boys, staying home so they can study,” she adds. “They want computer so now they can go to website, Zigzag, Billabong…” We also find out from her that thieves steal their wetsuits and sometimes school clothes from the washing line, so she has to sit for hours and watch them dry.

As the sun slips behind the hills, we drive with Mike through the town and visit some of the other kids’ houses. These huts are just like the ones in Umzumbe, but even poorer and more rural. Fowl peck in the damp mud among the huts, their walls cracked and peeling from neglect. At first, the kids seem reluctant to show us their humble dwellings. But as the afternoon progresses, what I perceived to be a mistrustful nature (but in hindsight realise is actually only shyness), begins to bubble over, and explodes into vocal exuberance as they pose for a sunset group photo in a carpark overlooking the beach and town. Whatever reticence there was has now disappeared, and when we all finally visit the Eluxolweni Children’s Home, sanctuary to three of the kids, Luyande Nqandisa, fifteen, Zithobele Msesiwe, thirteen, and Buntu, they can barely contain themselves as they run around shouting, stirring up even more excitement among their fellows.

Besides getting a few donated magazines, the kids also won some cash, the first inkling of what surfing could mean for their community.

“It was quite a thing, first prize was R60 (£5), which is a lot of money for these kids,” explains Mike.

Tabisu Malu, general assistant, describes to us how some of them are the products of broken homes, or the usual litany of disease and abandonment we have by now gotten used to.

Some of the children, including one emaciated HIV/AIDS sufferer, play checkers with bottle tops and iron their school shirts, as the surfers revel in the attention, posing like stars. Beside their beds, the walls are decorated with pages from surf magazines, including a page with a write-up on Quinton.

Most importantly, the local community is highly supportive of the kids. “I like surfing, it gives them skills,“ says Ntombudono Ndamase, mother to two of the surfers, twelve-year-old

Later we learn from Ivy Madolo, the orphanage’s supervisor, that the kids couldn’t get to sleep and babbled about our visit all night. They are probably still talking about it. ▼

avuyile ndamase and his younger brother zama, port st johns. avuyile and zama walk three miles and back to school every day and live to surf.

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the port st johns surf posse chill post-session in a kraal of huts in the hills above second beach.

Quinton and the road back

“my friend died from a bar fight that led to a nine-bullet execution at the local school. that’s why i spend all my time at the beach.”

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“You whites have it so lucky.” As if we weren’t feeling that way already, in his easygoing way, Quinton makes sure we do now. As we all relax at Amapondo that evening, he regales his own story to us. Quinton got into surfing through lifesaving in ‘Scotties’ six years ago. He went on to place in a few local events, and now gets all his equipment for free (as well as some cash for travel and contest entries). He is much liked in South African surfing circles, where talented black surfers like him are still all too rare.

Braving the gauntlet of wandering livestock and mutts (and the bloody corpses of those who didn’t make it through the night) on the road out of Port St Johns, I recall all the drunken bodies, gyrating to thumping beats at a party in the beach carpark the day before. I hope that many of these kids can use surfing to stay clear of the ugly aspects of this wild place, and that all the negative cycles prevalent in township life will not be repeated here.

Quinton raves to us about the Port St Johns surf scene and explains how surfing has enriched his life similarly. He also tells us that in the township he comes from, school kids will shoot each other for a small wrap of drugs. “My friend died from a bar fight that led to a nine-bullet execution at the local school,” he says. “That’s why I spend all my time at the beach.”

Despite the poverty and misfortune I’ve seen on this trip, my emotions lift as I recall all the joy that surfing has brought to these kids and their families. I’m then further buoyed as I remember the words of one of the boys from the children’s home, Zithobele, which resonate in my head as we speed home: “I love everything about surfing, getting the right wave, it is a beautiful feeling.”

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Survival 101: The Kwezi Qika Story Township taxis are a uniquely South African mode of transport. Unlike your typical city cab, these minibuses could well have earth-shaking subwoofers, wry slogans slapped on the back window, an airbrushed 2Pac or Biggie on the side – and a driver who is more than likely to be armed.

They are also the only form of transport available to the majority of South African people, even though thousands die in these rolling metal coffins every year. As we approach longboard surfer Kwezi Qika’s Cape home area, Ocean View, he motions to a taxi crammed with passengers weaving through the traffic ahead. It cuts on the inside illegally and gaps a red traffic light, barely missing a truck rumbling through the intersection. “I have to catch those to the beach,” he says.

“Those drivers are crazy, it’s like a crazy extreme sport.”

When he won the junior division of the 2005 South African Longboard Championships, Kwezi became the only black person to do so in the country’s surfing history. With the victory came local media coverage and international attention from the likes of CNN and ESPN Magazine.

Suddenly, even gangs wanted to recruit him in some twisted form of marketing exercise, and his long-since absconded

father appeared miraculously. “He only wanted to know me now I’m famous,” says Kwezi with a dismissive wave of his arm.

“But I’m not interested.”

Kwezi, a smiling, energetic and slightly goofy eighteen-year-old, attributes his success to the hard work of his mother, Gladys. He says his mum is ‘his rock’, and despite some early misgivings about the safety of the sport, she has now come to fully appreciate what he does. Over the years, Mama Qika has managed to stretch her meagre wage as a domestic cleaner to send him to a decent school in the surf town of Muizenberg. Adjacent to the warm waters of False Bay, a short (but still hairy) taxi ride from his home, Kwezi got to hang on the beach in the afternoons, where he was first exposed to surfing – and immediately longed to try it.

Every day he would go to the beach before school and pester local surf camp owner Gary Kleynhans for a board and lessons. His persistence paid off, and under Gary’s patronage and sponsorship Kwezi, who now works for the school part time and stashes his own board in the shop, fast became competent at surfing.

Encouraged by Gary to enter competitions, Kwezi, whose name means ‘morning star’, dominated most local events. Before long his bedroom became

a trophy cabinet and, as he began to collect more accolades and medals, he also picked up sponsorship from surf brand Reef Wetsuits, as well as international brand PUMA, who now pay for many of his surfing expenses. PUMA also help his mother by rewarding her support with food vouchers over Christmas. These, says Kwezi, go a long way to helping his whole family.

Standing in the potholed streets of Ocean View, where gangsta graffiti declares ‘Fuck those who hate me!’, Kwezi is thankful to Gary and all those who have supported him so far.

Downplaying his status as a black surfing pioneer, he humbly recounts how one of the guys who started surfing with him is already behind bars. “When I won my title he saw me on the prison TV,” he muses.

For now Kwezi, who has already been to the US and Europe to surf in contests, just wants to finish high school, compete, travel, surf and then study further. “Once I’m done surfing,” he says, “I want to open up a business and make a name for myself in the surf industry.”

Perhaps then, he will finally be able to buy a car, which means he’ll no longer have to brave the adrenalin sport that is the South African township taxi ride. Miles Masterson

Thanks to the following backpackers for providing us with accommodation: Ubuntu Backpackers, Wavecrest, Jeffreys Bay www.jaybay.co.za Anstey’s Backpackers, Bluff, Durban www.ansteysbeach.co.za Sugar Shack, Eastern Beach, East London www.sugarshack.co.za Amapondo, Second Beach, Port St Johns www.amapondo.co.za Mantis and Moon, Umzumbe, South Coast www.mantisandmoon.net For more on Ubuntu and the other backpackers, please go to www.huckmagazine.com.

Other thanks: Mike Gatke/Back2Back Adventures, Port St Johns; Pax Nydoo; Alan Wallace; Dennis Hadebe; Roosta, Sean and the Lange family; Gary and Justin Maisch; Grant Stringer, Reef Wetsuits; Ronald Rink and Brett Bellinger, PUMA; Chris Bertish, O’Neill.

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atch.

‘Big’ watch / Sw

Military c

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Sunglasses / Nu

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Straw bag / Re

Women’s hood

ie / DVS.

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Jacket / Anal

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Sandals / Reef.

Skate de

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Women’s shoes / DV

Polo shir t / Arcus.

prausch

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Men’s ho

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At the dawn of another snowboard season, dozens of production companies promise an avalanche of fresh powder, duly burned onto DVD, for our collective appreciation.

But is it all any good? And what makes a film stand out from the crowd? Zoe Oksanen speaks to the industry’s two biggest players, Mack Dawg’s Mike McEntire and Absinthe’s Patrick Armbruster, to find out what the future holds for snowboarding’s own Tinsel Town.

text ZOE OKSANEN photography LOZZA AND SCOTT SULLIVAN

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Snowboard movies are the bloodline running through the heart of snowboarding. Take away the celluloid and the sport stops beating. It might not die altogether – thanks to the Shaun Whites of this world putting on a show in the contest field – but it would definitely lose its soul. It’s only in the arena of movies that riders can really express their style and personality, laying down tricks that would get them jack shit in a contest but are expressive and fun.

Away from the competition circuit, tricks too risky to attempt on two runs in a contest, but well worth five days of body beating, are nailed. And then there’s the deep backcountry lines riders risk life and limb to record which, without movies, would never be seen. Be it 16mm, 8mm or digi, film is our insight into the heart of snowboarding.

But the real life force is the talent behind the lens. The filmmakers who are up at 4am kickstarting their snowmobiles, who live knee deep in powder for half the year, break their backs to build kickers and, just as the riders head for their summer surf trips, lock themselves away in editing rooms for weeks on end to put it all together. Year after year, these dedicated few brace the challenges of increasingly poor snow conditions to search out fresh locations and even fresher filming angles.

Today, they face their biggest challenge yet: the Internet.

Despite the recent arrival of endless new small production companies, there is still just a handful producing A-grade movies featuring the world’s top riders. Huck nailed down two of the industry’s heaviest of heavyweights for a little backstage insight. ▼

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PATRICK ARMBRUSTER (brusti) ABSINTHE FILMS Patrick ‘Brusti’ Armbruster is a Swiss filmer and, alongside Justin Hostynek, one half of Absinthe Films. Despite only filming with Absinthe for eight years, Brusti is one of the most famous faces behind a camera. He has brought a fresh perspective to the industry, and his movies are renowned for their beauty and uniqueness. With a strong emphasis on the real mountain and its wonders, Brusti captures riders such as Nicolas Müller floating down pillow lines in Alaska in scenes that stay imprinted in your mind hours after you switch off your TV.

Huck: You seem to have introduced a refreshing style to movies by encompassing the world around snowboarding, not just the tricks. Was this a conscious effort?

BRUSTI: Justin and I both come from a photographic background and, as much as we love to capture the sickest action on film, we always had our mind set on the artistic imagery. In the type of medium that we produce, it is crucial that the cinematographer has the right eye for every situation. The combination of a sick trick together with the right eye will ultimately create a moment on film that is timeless. At the end we try to give our movies a flow that makes you dream about snowboarding and pumped to go ride.

Do you find that editing the movie in Hawaii each year with all the crew in tow fuels your creativity?

Gathering the whole crew in Hawaii is a real nice change from the winter places where we usually meet. At times it can also become challenging working in paradise and having all your friends there while fighting deadlines. It has been working out great for us though, and to edit the movie somewhere we can surf was one of the first agreements that Justin and I made when we started working together.

Do you ever feel hypocritical that snowboarders complain about the effect of global warming on the mountains and yet you are all there clocking up the gas mileage in big trucks, snowmobiles and helicopters?

Yes, and there is no argument that defends our actions. Although we could say we inspire.

What we do drives the industry, it produces

work for a lot of people within snowboard companies, stores, etc. But the bottom line is that we pollute more than your average citizen.

With our new film tour in the US [Sphere of Influence] we have big aspirations to promote environmental consciousness – make people aware of information whilst touring with a bio diesel bus.

How do you choose which riders should film with Absinthe?

I consider our crew like a little family. Lots of the riders have been with us for years and even started their careers with Absinthe. Travis Rice, Nicolas Müller, Wolle Nyvelt, JP Solberg, Romain de Marchi and others all had their first movie part with us and, for the most part, are still working with us. A lot of it is based on loyalty. If spots free up we include our main riders and filmers in the decision-making since it will be them who have to endure and ride with somebody new. Of course, to a certain extent, it also has to do with sponsors, but we would never just have somebody in the film because we get a lot of money. Skill and personality play just as much of a role.

If you had a crystal ball, what would snowboard movies look like in ten years’ time?

It’s a scary thought. It might become an even more exclusive sport, as a lot of places experience global warming. But overall I think that people will always enjoy the great imagery and exclusiveness that snowboard movies convey of the adventures, travels and locations www.absinthe-films.com

Favourite five: Transcendence (2001) Vivid (2002) Saturation (2003) Pop (2004) Futureproof (2005)

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MIKE McENTIRE (DAWGER) MACK DAWG PRODUCTIONS Known to the world as ‘Dawger’, Mike McEntire is the bona fide Godfather of snowboard movies. He’s been there from day one, making the world’s most progressive movies year after year and taking snowboarding to the next level with each movie he puts out. The influence his movies have on a rider’s career is significant – film with Mack Dawg and you’ve definitely ‘made it’.

Starting out with surf movies back in the eighties, Mike moved on to the skate world before finally reigning over the mountains. He is now at the forefront of new technology.

This year he went from the sacred 16mm to High Definition for the first time ever, and the results are going to blow away any doubts about the change.

HUCK: How has the concept behind snowboard movies changed from fifteen years ago to now?

DAWGER: The concept is very similar. First you assemble your crew on the production side.

Then you get your riders lined up. Then you get to work. That said, there are some differences, the main one being that the viewers are much more sophisticated and educated about what they are watching. In the past you didn’t need more than the basics of really good riding cut nice and tight.

Now you need to have exceptional filming and picture quality to complement the highest levels of riding. It also has to have a little something that makes it stand out from the sea of snowboard films that have been made.

Snowboarding is still progressing but not at the rate it once was. How do you plan to keep stepping up the level of the movies?

There is a group of extraordinary riders that hit the scene around ten years ago. They pushed the sport to this day with skills that are the stuff legends are made of. I think that a new crew is getting ready to take over the charge and that we will see a new sort of progression from them. I am leaving it up to this next generation to rekindle the progression.

How has Internet downloading affected your business?

Illegal downloading is really lame. It’s had a negative impact on every artist who relies on digital media to showcase their work. Our business is no different.

What first-hand experience have you had of global warming and how is it affecting the mountains you film in?

A cockroach will survive no matter what you try to do to it. A common snowboarder is

similar to that cockroach. We will survive because we are like cockroaches on steroids. We will find any snow there is and utilise it. If there is no snow we will make it. Adapt or die.

For a few years, a good movie segment was all a top pro needed for a successful career. Now, the tides seem to have turned, with more emphasis on contests and other areas. How is this affecting the time riders can devote to filming their part?

This only affects the riders that can achieve success in a contest environment. Many of the top pros do not even do contests at all.

Either you are into competition or you are not. If you are, it will affect the time you can put towards a part.

This year you surprised us all by being the first major production company to switch from 16mm to HD. What were your reasons for doing so, and where do you see the future of filming technology?

Mostly because the image quality was where I wanted it to be. The future will for sure be more resolution and new cameras that can capture it. The new cameras will also have a lot of latitude so it will benefit snowboarding films the most.

What is the future of snowboarding in your eyes?

The future is going to be absolutely insane.

There are going to be big changes in every aspect. The limits of the sport will be blown into outer space by the next generation of destroyers. We will be there to document it with our laser-guided mind-controlled cableless cameras

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www.mackdawgproductions.com

Favourite five: Hard, Hungry, Homeless (1992) Stomping Grounds (1996) Simple Pleasures (1997) Decade (1998) Follow Me Around (2006)

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DIRTY PHOTOS text Vince Medeiros photography Spencer Murphy

Spencer Murphy’s new exhibition is rubbish.

Surf photography, move over. Dirty pics are now where it’s at.

After years photographing beautiful people like Kelly Slater and arresting beachscapes such as Malibu and Mundaka, Spencer Murphy’s turned his lens onto mankind’s ugliest byproduct: trash. His new exhibition, aptly titled ‘Wastelands’, features a series of stunning photographs of landfills shot over the course of a whole year across England.

“I’ve found these places strangely attractive,” says Spencer. “They are very quiet and desolate. Photographers have always found beauty in desolate places.”

Influenced by American lensmen Joel Sternfeld and Gregory Crewdson, Spencer says that the early morning light was key to capturing the eerie beauty of waste: “What I tried to do was make it beautiful and otherwordly, ’cause these are places we don’t get to interact with in our everyday lives.”

The exhibition, comprised of twenty-two photos, is a powerful testament to the archaeology of modern man: pornography, CDs, broken glass, revolting smells and hungry rodents dance the funereal rhapsody of a civilisation that insists on flirting with its own demise.

“It was very post-apocalyptic,” says Spencer. “You look at a landfill site and there are all these codes to human life around the place. It’s like these were places left behind. It could well be a sampling of what the end of the world would look like. The strangest thing is it’s all collected in one place. You get a porn magazine next to a Tchaikovsky record – and there’s nowhere else you’d get that. I suppose if the end of the world did come, things like that would start merging together and you’d get these strange indicators left behind.”

To Spencer, landfills are beautiful metaphors for human existence: “When I look at it I see how we consume at a rate where we don’t particularly keep things for a very long time. You’re always replacing your TV sets. You’re always wanting, you’re never really satisfied with what you have and who you are.”

So as we careen towards irreversible climate change and an eventual global collapse, does Spencer’s work carry a powerful ecological message? “I’d lie if I said there wasn’t an environmental angle, but I didn’t want to go out there and be a preachy environmentalist. I think the photos would look very different if I went with that approach. I tried to go with a beautiful-photography angle in hopes that the environmental message would come through when people spent time with the photos.”

Job done, then

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’Wastelands’ opens July 17 at the Association Of Photographers (AOP) Gallery in London. You can see more of Spencer’s work online at www.spencermurphy.co.uk.

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interview Andrea Kurland

Artist and pro skateboarder Ed Templeton grew up skipping school, pretending to be a ninja and skating alongside TV star Jason Lee. In his new book, Deformer, Ed presents a series of photos, sketches and writings on his years inside the ‘suburban incubator’ of Huntington Beach.

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Deanna Templeton

“jason lee always talked about being on tv or in movies. i was pretty much a white trash kid doing bad in school.”

There’s an unspoken oath that unites all teen skateboarders: never own a suit and, most importantly, ride the crap out of that shitty homemade ramp until it becomes a viable career.

Many give in to the lure of cash bonuses, trading in ‘the dream’ for a corner cubicle and monthly paycheque. But staunch devotees like Ed Templeton never break their vow. Artist, pro skateboarder and subscriber to a life less ordinary, Ed’s unorthodox resume is the stuff schoolyard dreams are made of.

He got his first taste of urethane skating the sidewalks of Huntington Beach with teen pal, and would-be-actor, Jason Lee. In 1990, he turned pro with New Deal Skateboards and, stoked on skate’s creative juice, picked up his first paintbrush soon thereafter. Logic took lead, and in 1993 he started his own skateboard company, Toy Machine.

Today, at thirty-four, he rides for Emerica, has an arsenal of exhibitions and published works, a monumental biographical photo book due for release – and he’s saving the world, one vegan burger at a time.

In between all this beautiful chaos, he’s even got a minute to chat to HUCK.

to be when I turned pro and travelled. I wanted to be an artist. But starting Toy Machine was much more practical.

HUCK: So, you just got back from Australia.

What were you doing there?

Ed Templeton: I went for an art show that RVCA organised at the Monster Children Gallery in Sydney, and to meet up with the Emerica guys in Melbourne and do some filming. When I got to Melbourne, I sensed that the posse was lagging. So I started talking loads of crap: ‘Get your shit together, guys, let’s go skate!’ They were saying, ‘It’s too windy today.’ And I would reply, ‘Sounds like somebody needs to get some tampons.’

Then, classically, I get hurt in the first ten minutes of skating. Talked all that shit and now I am useless. So I spent that week walking, shooting, eating and being a tourist.

Do you feel that as a pro skateboarder you have certain responsibilities as a role model?

Regardless of what you think you are as a pro skater – and I hear people in skating, rap, actors, musicians saying, ‘I’m not a role model’ – the fact is, however, that if you are known and are being covered on TV and in magazines, you are a role model to someone.

I have always felt that it is better to say something rather than nothing. I think it is ridiculous to not air your views when you have a platform. People who don’t talk about their views don’t have any views. And that means that half the interviews I read are with braindead people.

As a high school kid, skating the streets of Huntington Beach with Jason Lee, what did you think you’d end up doing with your life?

I really wasn’t sure. Not as sure as Jason was.

He always talked about being on TV or in movies. I was pretty much a white trash kid doing bad in school. For all I knew, I was bound for digging ditches. Of course I wanted to go pro, so I put all my effort into skating. As far as the rest of my life, I knew how that was going

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You once said you were ‘saved by skateboarding’. What is it about skate culture that seems to have that effect on so many kids?

Well, I wasn’t doing well in school, I hated dealing with people and homework was the worst. I read books and loved to find out about things. But on the regular level, I was doing poorly, probably wasn’t going to college, and was basically a nerd. I was hanging with some kids who were into being Ninjas. We would run around in Ninja gear, throwing stars around and trying to be stealthy. I was musically void.

Then I got a skateboard for Christmas one year and watched some kids skate by. They looked so rad! I wanted to be able to cruise around like them. The only kids that were skating at my school were punkers. So I started hanging with them. The music, the community, the skating – all of this helped shape me into who I was at age sixteen, seventeen. That saved me.

Saved me from being some ninja-loving fortyyear-old construction dude!

What year did you start to take art seriously?

I suppose in 1990, after travelling to Europe, was when I decided that the best job ever would be making art. Starting Toy Machine and painting came after that inspiring trip. I don’t know if I took it that seriously until lately. It’s now a full-time job in and of itself! I was never formally trained. Everything I do, from the company to photography to painting, has been self-taught. ▼

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1998, C-print, 11x14 in.

Scotty, Suburbia

2004, ink on paper, 13x16 in.

untitled drawing

1998, C-print, 11x14 in.

Encinitas, California

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Fiber based print, 11x14 in.

2006, ink on paper, 24x36 in.

Crying Girl #3

SUBURBAN CHILDHOOD

2004, Fiber based print, 11x14 in.

Louisville, Kentucky

“i was hanging with some kids who were into being ninjas. we would run around in ninja gear, throwing stars around and trying to be stealthy. then i got a skateboard for christmas.”

Mark Gonzales, Shepard Fairey, Rich Jacobs: what is it about skate culture that seems to attract and breed creative talent?

It used to breed them, back when it was a thing that alienated people found; people who didn’t fit into the team-sport mindset. Creative types and skateboarding go hand in hand. Nobody sits you down and explains the rules to you.

You just do it. Today, I pretty much could sit someone down and tell them how it goes.

But regardless of the changes, it still rules over anything else in the world and still brings creative people out of the woodwork.

What do you make of the traditional art establishment? Do you think it embraces ‘lowbrow’ youth culture?

I try not to think of the traditional art establishment and I don’t think that it embraces anything but the flavour of the month and the famous. I don’t think that contemporary youth culture is lowbrow. It is what it is.

As an artist, is style something you are conscious of abiding by, or is it simply a happy accident?

Style should be what happens when you act the way you see fit, a by-product of what you are doing. You take bits and pieces from what you see and make it your own. That is how everything in the world progresses. Building off the general advances in any field. Style is no different.

Looking at your book, Teenage Smokers, and the many ‘zines you’ve put out, what is it about youth culture that fascinates you?

As a pro skater, I am confronted by it on a daily basis. I am the only thirty-four-year-old hanging out with fifteen-year-old kids. It is right in my face. I document it because I am in the middle of it. Youth, adolescence really, is such an awkward coming-of-age period that is very rich visually.

Pro skateboarder, artist, photographer, businessman: what aspect of your career gives you the greatest satisfaction? And in which identity do you personally feel most comfortable?

Well, I suck at being a businessman. I feel comfortable at the rest. Those other things are the same thing to me. All that stuff is wrapped into one. And everything I do is satisfying, frustrating, rewarding and a pain in the ass simultaneously.

Is it important to keep a division between your art and skateboarding?

A slight division, yes. A big portion of the skate audience is young, and a small portion of what I do is not for the young. So I try to have a little separation between them. Also I don’t want to be defined as a ‘skater-artist’, or an ‘artist-skater’. I am simply whatever I am doing at the time.

What is it that drove you to become vegan?

It started from Mike Vallely who is no longer a vegetarian. He got me to read some material.

I saw that what I read was true, and changed my actions accordingly. I wish everyone acted the same way. How many people know that buying a certain chocolate bar helps slavery in Africa, or that some retail stores support sweat-shops, and yet still buy or support these institutions? When it started it was all about animal rights, but the health benefits became just as important.

Can you tell us more about your new book, Deformer? What kind of insight into your life growing up in Huntington Beach should we expect?

Deformer is the shaping and misshaping effects of growing up a specimen in the suburban domestic incubator, and the subsequent paradigm shift that occurs when you leave that bubble. It is a photo book, but there are sketchbook pages, and letters and documents from my childhood as well. It starts with that stuff, to explain my upbringing, and then what happened once I travelled and found out for myself what the world was like.

Can you sum up Orange County in three words?

Mostly great weather.

Finally, with such a crazy schedule, what keeps you motivated?

I don’t know. I guess knowing that what I am doing is the best job ever, and that anything else will suck is the greatest motivation. I want to do what I am doing forever

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All images (except portrait of Ed Templeton) courtesy of Roberts & Tilton Gallery, Los Angeles, and Tim Van Laere Gallery, Antwerp.

Ed’s biographical photo book, Deformer, will be released March 2008 by Greybull Press/Universe. www.toymachine.com www.emericaskate.com

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In a fashion era dominated by vanishing waistlines and swollen price tags, streetwear remains a sanctuary for the truly inspired. Huck searches for the talented tribe who bring style to the street.

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dmote

TERRENCE CHIN

RVCA // ORANGE COUNTY

Australian-born Shannon ‘Dmote’ Peel is that rare beast, an artist cultivated on the street who hasn’t strayed from his roots.

Since the age of fifteen, the graff writer has been carving out his territory in the art world under the auspices of Dmote.

Today this Aussie-turned-Californian is injecting a dose of urban authenticity into streetwear as Men’s Creative Director for clothing label RVCA. “My work is a cross-culmination of all aspects of street culture,” he says. “I started skating before I started a twenty-year graffiti career, still skate occasionally, and have always been interested in clothing and sneakers.” A man with fingers in many a pie, Dmote’s resume reads like an A to Z of coolest ever jobs, including everything from book collaborations to high-end exhibitions. And, with the board series he’s due to design for Santa Cruz taking the honour of ‘childhood dream’, his best work looks yet to come. AK www.rvcaclothing.com

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andrew reynolds

Altamont // Los Angeles

At twenty-nine, Andrew Reynolds could easily pat himself on the back and retire tomorrow a happy man. It’d be premature, no doubt, but it’s a luxury afforded to skate legends such as him. Instead, the founder of Baker Skateboards and master of the frontside flip has added another string to his already massive bow. As Head Designer for Altamont Apparel, Andrew is dissipating his straight-outta-bed natural style around the globe. Founded in 2006, Altamont has the worn-as-fuck look nailed. Its second-skin jeans and throw-on hoodies could grime up the most clean-cut of Nancy boys. And yet, true to its urban roots, the range is ergonomically tailored to the life of a skater. “You can go out and rip in the clothes and look cool while doing it,” he says. With an equal measure of skate and street cred, Andrew has helped make Altamont the real deal. AK www.altamontapparel.com

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leah mcsweeney

DAVID PEREZ SHADI WWW.SHADINYC.COM

Married to the MOB // NEW YORK

Twenty-four-year-old Manhattanite Leah McSweeney is confident her gear is the shit and has no qualms about big-upping her brand. “I have the female game wrapped up,” says the CEO of Married to the MOB (Most Official Bitches). The label began in 2004 when McSweeney decided most streetwear for girls sucked. “It just clicked one day when I was chilling on my stoop. And that same night I got to it. I made four or five tee designs and had them printed that week,” explains McSweeney. “Word got around and it kind of exploded.” A tiny operation, MOB consists of Leah and only one other employee. Together, they’ve consistently inspired and blocked would-be biters with every emerging design. “Married to the MOB is not only a brand, it’s a lifestyle with real people doing real things behind it,” says Leah. “We keep shit real and I think that shines through.” JR www.marriedtothemobnyc.com

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jeff staple

staple design/reed space // new york

Hailing from the Garden State of New Jersey, thirty-two-year-old Jeff Staple made a beeline for New York City straight after high school. He enrolled in Parsons School of Design and promptly set up Staple Design on the school’s fourth floor. “I started hand-printing tees and handing them out to friends,” he says. “The original aim for the brand was to communicate concepts and ideas as directly and simply as possible.” Today Staple is way more than just your average streetwear brand.

It also functions as a graphic design studio, producing anything from start-up projects to multi-million-dollar endeavours, including streetwear boutique Reed Space in NYC and Tokyo, as well as collaborations with brands like Nike. “We have our hands in more pots than most,” says Jeff, who’s become an icon of the Sneaker Freaker collecting phenomenon. Ten years after its first tee, Staple Design continues to grow beyond city limits. JR www.stapledesign.com

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tim hoad

For exclusive interviews with more streetwear movers and shakers, check out www.huckmagazine.com.

SAM CHRISTMAS

KING APPAREL // LONDON

The people of Britain should thank this man. While their political leaders were dousing the country’s name in shit, Tim and long-time friend Paul Linton were busy resurrecting it. Together, they’re the brains and muscle behind King Apparel, a streetwear label that’s proud to be British. The brand was founded in 2002 when Tim, a former pro skater/snowboarder, joined forces with graphic designer Paul to create a clothing range that would reflect the eclectic UK scene. Uniting grime, hip hop and skate, King has helped to reaffirm London as a hub of creativity where anything goes. “We’re a cross-over brand, and the most fundamental thing is that we don’t pigeonhole ourselves in any category and don’t alienate anyone from any sort of culture from wearing our products,” says Tim. With big names in music, skate and snowboarding spreading their motto, King Apparel is bound to ‘reign supreme’. AK www.kingunderapparel.com

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t-shirt / reef

t-shirt / RUDOLPH DASSLER schuhfabrik by pu ma

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DREAM SURF, SKETCH HOLIDAY.

SURFING WITH DOLPHINS SNOWBOARDING VIRGINAL WHISTLER JESUS MAKES AN APPEARANCE ON FACEBOOK PLUS HEAPS OF MUSIC, FILMS, GAMES, BOOKS AND MO RE.

115

GEORGE GREENOUGH TAKES SURF CINEMA FAR BEYOND THE TYPICAL HARDCORE FLICK. You’re now looking at a frame grab from George Greenough’s latest film, Dolphin Glide, shot on a modified 35mm camera. Not your typical surf movie, DG might disappoint those who expect the usual X-rated waveriding fare: there’s no radical surfing, with aerials and top-turns taking a back seat to nature, art and the underwater dance of dolphins.

This might have some fans scratching their heads wondering what happened, but the truth is that Greenough’s managed to capture surfing in its purest and most elemental form. As the film starts you feel like you are being teleported into some futuristic lighting show, with a carnival of colours morphing across the top and bottom of the screen. Then a dolphin enters the scene and does the most majestic cutback, surfing, in fact, with the grace and flow no human atop a board could ever successfully replicate.

The DVD, which will be out in 2008, has a special ‘making of’ feature where viewers get an insight into how Greenough captured the footage. This includes information on the boat construction and the steering mechanism fitted to the bow, as well as the modification of the 35mm Mitchell camera used to make the film.

Freesurfing legend David ‘Rasta’ Rastovich thinks the movie can raise

awareness about the intelligent sea mammal, and even instigate research on their relationship with humans. Typically not a fan of hyperbole, Rasta qualifies his occasional brush with the swimming creature in a powerful way.

“I’ve had some cosmic experiences with dolphins, and this film is going to keep on awakening the compassion for them,” he says. “It can also lead to communication between dolphins and humans being explored.”

This is surfing from a dolphin’s point of view. Says Greenough: “It is an incredible experience to surf with a dolphin looking at me less than an arm’s length away, gliding in the wave’s energy, not swimming. Coming out of the pocket, cutting back, the dolphin moves right under me. Looking over the front of the mat, it’s so close I’m surprised its fins aren’t touching me.

Turning off the bottom and cutting back, it matches my moves perfectly.

What do these sea creatures see and experience? That is what this film is about.” Andrew Crockett An exhibition of still photos from Dolphin Glide,, along with works from Albe Falzon, Thomas Campbell and Sketch Holiday, takes place in Cornwall August 10-11 at the Zed Shed, August 17-18 at the Driftwood Gallery and August 24-25 at the LCB surf store in London. For more info, check out www.switch-foot.com.

116 www.HUCKmagazine.com

117

STILL FROM DOLPHIN GLIDE, GEORGE GREENOUGH.

THE HIDDEN RIDE PRO RIDE SNOWBOARD CAMP REVEALS ANOTHER WHISTLER.

“It’s every snowboarder’s rite of passage to hike for their powder.” Dylan’s proverb hits a collective nerve, and we propel our flailing asses up a gear.

Further ahead, his day-glo pants bounce off the snow in neon streams – a holy beacon promising virgin lines in exchange for shattered legs and breathless lungs. Anthony hits the peak and claims the honour of first glance over the crest. Screw it. I dig in my toes, take an icy breath and jog the final stretch – calf-burn and all.

Whistler, BC, is in its element. Blackcomb, the radical twin of this mountainous pair, lies freshly blanketed before us. This isn’t my first time.

Steadfast conditions, endless terrain and a burning urge to flick city life the finger had pulled me here once before. Yet, standing on this pillowed apex it suddenly hits me: I have never actually been here before.

The crew brims with anticipation – three girls, six guys, all eager to claim their line. The early morning rise and knee-high trudge are about to pay off, big time. Yet for two of the pack, the buzz is different: Dylan and Anthony know this spot well. They’ve eased over its crest, savoured its untracked belly and whispered of its secrets to a privileged few.

Pro Ride snowboard camp is Anthony’s baby. With a troop of professional snowboarders like Crispin Lipscomb as guides, it attracts an international crowd of riders trapped by the intermediate plateau. Some stay for a week, others for the season. All come to progress their park and mountain skills, often notching up another instructor level along the way. I, for one, never fancied myself as much of a camper. But, with a long string of superficial one-week stands behind me, I was now open to anything.

Yes, I’d fallen in love with countless mountains before. But my holiday romances left me unsatisfied. Bound by the trail map, I’d sample their wares but never consummate the match. Tracked out, crowded in – I craved the locals’ ride. Sometimes, when the urge got too much, the stalker in me would take hold and I’d tail natives chasing territories untouched.

Finally, here I stood: at the pinnacle of untouched. One by one my crew of campers drop in and away. Anthony leads, Dylan tailgates and I relish every second of my maiden line. With this backstage pass, Whistler’s epic season was ours for the taking.

That week we ride the sacred lines locals whisper of, but visitors never find. I return to the city heartbroken yet satisfied. I’d seen the light and converted to the church of the hidden ride. Secret stashes and pristine lines one very happy camper doth make. Andrea Kurland www.pro-ride.com

118 www.HUCKmagazine.com

119

ALBUMS JUSTICE

†/Ed Banger

It was only a matter of time before someone in France did what LCD Soundsystem have been doing in New York – flip a bunch of different influences into a mutant and very modern form of dancefloor-destroying party music. The surprise is that these two polite gentlemen from Paris were the ones to do it: they started out, almost by accident, as rent-a-day remixes of mostly rock bands and only started creating their own productions because their label boss asked them to. However, there are three golden things that Justice understand perfectly: that pop isn’t a dirty word; keeping it simple is the surest route to not fucking up; and, if you don’t really know what you’re doing, make it sound nasty. Hence, they’ve come up with an album of superbly effective bangers that are both dark and fun, and because they’re inspired by such a cross section of genres, both clubbers and rockers are claiming them as their own. A job executed with intelligence and style. PHIL HEBBLETHWAITE

BEASTIE BOYS

The Mix-Up/Capitol It starts with an instrumental track and you’re thinking, ‘Okay, reasonable intro, but let’s get on with it,’ then you eventually realise ALL -rhymes and comprised of this album is sans-rhymes entirely of songs the boys are playing themselves. They’ve become a funk group!

For the hardcore fan, this one. PH

BLANCHE

Little Amber Bottles/Loose The length of time it’s taken for the second album from Detroit’s Blanche to arrive suggested they were struggling. What they’ve ended up with is far from a flop but it lacks the sparkle and cohesion of their debut. The odd-ball country path they’re treading is familiar and there’s great stuff on here, but it’s like they’ve got their eyes on a different prize now. PH

FRANK BLACK

93-03/Cooking Vinyl So, the solo work is not as good as the Pixies material, but here’s proof that Daddy Frank is only poor when compared to himself. Songs on this long comp are culled from the nine albums he cut between ’93 and ’03 and the majority are superb. In effect, it’s a quick look back before his next album drops this autumn. PH

120 www.HUCKmagazine.com

DOGS

Tall Stories From Under the Table/Weekender Whatever you thought of Dogs first time round, there were a couple of really decent songs on their debut LP. It didn’t stop it from bombing though, and they were swiftly dropped by Island.

Album two is an attempt at sounding less boorish and more consistent, and they’ve become a tighter outfit too. However, Dogs don’t sparkle and nearly everything here is agonizingly pedestrian. Their bark is a yap and seldom a roar. PH

CLINIC

Funf/Domino A collection of odds and sods and B-sides from a band whose odds and sods and B-sides are actually worth hearing. It’s not all outstanding, but there’s more than enough of their signature psych rock, deep blues and clenched-teeth aggression to keep fans happy until new material emerges. This also plays through amazingly well. Brilliant band. PH

JENNIFER GENTLE

The Midnight Room/Sub Pop Truly eccentric fare from a once band that sounds like it ought to be woman but is now just an Italian man called Marco. I know, scary. Weird record too – the kind of stuff that could score both a contemporary dance piece called ‘Abortion’ and an arty European horror movie. Dramatic, in an amateur way, but attractive. PH

ELVIS PERKINS

Ash Wednesday/Beggars Impossible for Elvis Perkins to avoid taking on the tragic circumstances of his life – his dad, actor Anthony (Norman Bates in Psycho), died of AIDS in 1992, and his mum was a passenger in one of the 9/11 planes – and so he doesn’t. Awfully, though, it makes you think this record is better than it actually is. Arrangements: superb. Songwriting: patchy. PH

SMASHING PUMPKINS Zeitgeist/Warner

A crushing disappointment. In fact, about as bad as it could be because, not only is this over earnest and bombastic, it’s dull. Expect pseudo-political songs about Bush, just when there’s little point in slagging him off, and the unpleasant sound of a band trying to sound relevant when they’ve been away too long to remember what counts. PH

YOU SAY PARTY! WE SAY DIE! Lose All Time/Fierce Panda

What starts as a Groundhog Day of competent but prosaic indie punk takes a few interesting turns too far down the tracklisting and then unexpectedly ends with a hidden fifteen-minute soundscape. Very hard to work out what the hell it’s doing there and it does little to dispel a feeling you already had: that these Canadians are fine but have more bad ideas than good. PH

121

MOVIES SERAPHIM FALLS

Director: David Von Ancken

Seraphim Falls is an old-fashioned western, albeit one that frequently flirts with the fantastical and downright macabre. Liam Neeson is Carver, a near-wordless gunslinger stalking a bloodsoaked nemesis from the Civil War (Pierce Brosnan). A revenge epic it may be, but a rip-roaring rampage it’s not. Instead, the film takes its sweet time on a Homeric journey across the near-mythical backdrop of the American West. With two solid performances, it’s just a shame the dark secret that links the pair is not only predictable, it’s also watered down to give Brosnan’s Gideon a scarcely deserved moral escape route. This staunch and serious western deserved better. MATT BOCHENSKI

EAGLE VS SHARK

Director: Taika Cohen

This apparent clash of animals is, in fact, a heart-warming romance between a pair of social misfits – burger-flipping Lily (Loren Horsley) and shop-patsy Jarrod (Jemaine Clement). Naturally one thing leads to another and the two outsiders fall for each other while duelling over a Mortal Kombat-esque Kombat video game. Cue Kiwi hick comedy and love against the odds. Oh, how kooky! But mean-spirited mockery this is not. This is an adorable, funny and gentle slice of loserville whimsy. Rom-com just went deep into the left field – and there’s not a hipster sneer in sight. ADRIAN SANDIFORD

THE WALKER

Director: Paul Schrader

Carter Page III (Woody Harrelson) is a society ‘walker’ – a professional hagfag employed to squire the wives of Washington DC’s powerful from opera house to canasta game and back again. When one such wife, Lynn (Kristin Scott Thomas) discovers a murdered body, Page is forced to question his loyalties. But in the end, neither Harrelson nor the script’s desultory attempts at post-9/11 commentary are enough to elevate it above the level of a pretentious John Grisham adaptation. Disappointing. ELLEN E. JONES

LEGACY

Directors: Géla and Temur Babluani

Georgia, 2007 – a naïve French woman inherits a castle and, accompanied by two friends, arrives in the former Soviet Republic to claim her prize.

Armed with stolen film cameras and a hesitant translator, they meet all kinds of crazies on the two-day bus ride out of town. Alongside a mountaindwelling mute, they’re joined by a sombre grandfather and son who board with an empty casket to the sounds of a mournful live band. Taking a stab at insular communities and the unwelcome addition of moneyed Westerners alike, Legacy is a slow-burning tragedy well worth eighty-three minutes of your time. GEORGIE HOBBS

RUNNING STUMBLED

Director: John Maringouin

A tough but rewarding watch, this documentary (which occasionally mutates into fiction) follows US director John Maringouin as he returns home to visit his deranged parents, only to see them endlessly bickering over their meds and threatening to kill each other. With its bevy of truly vile ‘characters’, the film also calls into question the role of director-as-observer, as Maringouin rarely offers to lift his parents from their deep, deep rut. DAVID JENKINS

122 www.HUCKmagazine.com

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DVDS

FLAGS OF OUR FATHERS/LETTERS FROM IWO JIMA Director: Clint Eastwood

In this double-DVD, Flags of our Fathers takes the American perspective, cutting back and forth between a squad of shit-scared US marines getting mown down on the tiny island of Iwo Jima, and the Army’s use of the three surviving soldiers pictured hoisting the US flag in Jim Rosenthal’s iconic photo as a form of morale-boosting propaganda. Switching tack, Letters from Iwo Jima returns to the battle from a Japanese viewpoint, this time alongside Japanese commander Kuribayashi (Ken Watanabe), tasked with the suicide mission of defeating the invaders. Though both epic and intimate – and surprisingly fresh – neither film really questions the moral absolutism that says, ‘Yes, war is hell. But no, we ain’t changing’. MATT BOCHENSKI

IRAQ IN FRAGMENTS

Director: James Longley

Director James Longley adds his voice to the clamour of pissed-off liberals raging over the Iraq War. But this documentary is more sensitive than most.

Intertwining three stories of life on the ground, Langley’s moral outrage is adequately expressed by the simple facts of fear and suffering that characterise life on the shattered streets of the country. Iraq in Fragments is an eloquent statement of solidarity, and yet another persuasive indictment of the West’s corrupt warmongers. MB

SHOOTER

Director: Antoine Fuqua You know it’s all going to go tits up when Bob Swagger’s sniper buddy pulls out a picture of his hot fiancée just as the bad guys roll round the corner. ‘She’s gonna go to nursin’ college!’ he says. Yeah? What are the odds that you’re going to be around to see it, dipshit? Cut to a few years later and Bob (Mark Wahlberg) – minus one sniper buddy – is called out of retirement to help protect the president from assassination. You see, Bob is an Ay-merican, and he believes in stuff like ‘dooty’. But as the mission is a vast conspiracy job, Bob also turns out to be living proof that inside every good Democrat is a gun-toting murderer just itching to get out. MB

FRACTURE

Director: Gregory Hoblit Anthony Hopkins as a highly intelligent killer playing cat-and-mouse with a hotshot youngster. That ought to ring a few bells. Surplus to requirements – now that the most iconic serial killer has morphed into a teen-slasher franchise – Sir Tony pitches up in this, well, equally silly thriller about a wealthy engineer who shoots his wife in the face and proceeds to get away with it. It’s dumb good fun and sort of worth it to see the old man go toe-totoe with young buck Ryan Gosling. And that’s about it, really. MB

OUTLAW

Director: Nick Love

Outlaw offers further evidence of Nick Love’s obsession with male eroticism masquerading as violence, this time starring Sean Bean as well as usual muse Danny Dyer. Bean plays Iraq veteran Bryant (ooh, timely), who returns home only to find that nonces and benders are walking the streets of England free from a kicking. Is that democracy? Bryant thinks not, putting together a rag tag band of vigilantes to go out in a futile attempt to right the world’s wrongs with their own hands. Depressing. MB

124 www.HUCKmagazine.com

RESIDENT EVIL 4: WII EDITION ***** Wii

Some may be familiar with the Gamecube version released two years ago but fear not, Resi 4 was made to be played on the Wii. You play as Leon S. Kennedy, a member of S.T.A.R.S from the original Resident Evil.. However, he now finds himself in a remote Spanish village, investigating the kidnapping of the president’s daughter – think 24 meets H.P. Lovecraft. In this third-person shooter, you use the Wii’s intuitive controls to shoot, slash and wrestle hoards of zombified villagers, psychotic occultists and belligerent monsters. Plus, you have to negotiate many cut scenes by frantically waving the Wii-mote as commanded. The atmosphere remains thickly laden with eeriness with a huge variety of characters and environments.

Although the graphics may seem a little inadequate by today’s standards, this new version comes with bags of extras, including a whole new side-story starring the voluptuous Ada Wong. Without wanting to put too fine a point on it, this game is the nuts! An absolute masterpiece. ED ANDREWS

TRANSFORMERS: THE GAME *** Xbox 360, PS3, Wii, PSP

Like all great eighties resurrections, Transformers are back. Now you can choose to be either the do-gooder Autobots or malevolent Decepticons – defending earth or razing it to the ground. The gameplay follows standard third-person combat with the added bonus of being able to transform into a variety of vehicles such as sports cars and fighter planes to aid your mission. With fully destructible environments, bags of features and the opportunity to relive your childhood fantasies, this should keep you suitably entertained. ED A

OVERLORD ****

Xbox 360, PC

For those who admired Mussolini’s transport-planning skills or thought Stalin had a gift for strategy, Overlord lets you fulfil your despotic urges. Set in a comic, medieval fantasy world, you can pillage, plunder and generally terrorise the populace with help from your loyal band of impish minions. Overlord tests the age-old theory that absolute power corrupts, letting you be as good or evil as you like in your pursuit of power. Machiavelli would have been proud. ED A

PARAPPA THE RAPPER *** PSP

The classic button-bashing mash-up returns for an outing on PSP. This is basically the same beanie-wearing, mutt rapper that appeared on PlayStation. Apart from a few remixed songs, it offers little new for those who remember the original. But those new to PaRappa will have fun tapping away to the cartoon hip-hop beats, helping him pass driving tests and flip burgers through the medium of rap.

Witness the phatness. ED A

126 www.HUCKmagazine.com

Registration and show details at: www.the-park.biz London 5th-7th AUGUST Manchester 12th-14th AUGUST

The Park is a contemporary streetwear trade show where the environmenT reflects the true music, art and fashion personalities of the exhibiting brands.

BOOKS

SURF NATION

Alex Wade, Simon & Schuster

This is highly readable stuff and, believe you me, it’s a book about surfing. About time, right?

While Jack London, author of the seminal Learning Hawaiian Surfing, perched himself in the heart of Waikiki in 1907 to tell the story of waveriding in sun-drenched Hawaii, Alex Wade digs a rail deep into the cold breaks of Britain and Ireland to tell the tale of a growing army of surfers whose lives revolve around braving the brutal local climate in search of its waves. Only Wade does it in punchy contemporary fashion, using the keen eye of a journalist (he writes for the The Times and The Independent) to blow out of the water any doubts about the thriving surf culture that’s taken root on the northern fringes of Europe.

In 340 addictive pages, the author travels the length and breadth of Britain and Ireland, from Cornwall to Porthcrawl, Sligo to Jersey. Along the way, he takes us to the localised enclave of the Badlands, checks out the legendary reef break of Porthleven, catches a few lefts at a glassy Sennen Cove, braves the gelid surf of the Orkney and Shetland Isles and descends down the vertical drops of the Cliffs of Moher.

Slowly introducing surfing’s very own vernacular, Wade slips from simile to surferspeak in seamless fashion. Cornwall’s Sennen Cove is a place “where solitude is never far away, where the sense of the elemental infuses one’s soul like sea salt on a seal’s whiskers”. But it is also a beach where he surfs “on his backhand” because he’s “a regular footer” and the sandbars, when he gets there, are throwing up mainly “left-breaking” waves.

A fascinating celebration of surfing, the book sheds light on a rich, textured and oft-ignored part of the world. Lending the region’s top spots the mythical allure of the world’s canonized breaks, and bringing to life its most colourful characters, Surf Nation gives much-needed literary credibility to British and Irish surfing. It was really about time. VINCE MEDEIROS

JAY BOY

Kent Sherwood, Concrete Wave/Burning Flags Press

Jay Adams’ childhood is the stuff Hollywood lusts after. His journey from surf grom to skate god has been bottled for the screen more than once.

But the sun-bleached hair, seventies vibe and raw talent have proven beyond replication. Until now. This collection of photos, taken by Jay’s stepfather, Kent Sherwood, captures that rare strain of authenticity. With captions scribbled by Jay himself, each page springs to life in a flow of personal memories. Delicate and untainted, it’s an accidental snapshot of one boy and his friends before the world made them kings. ANDREA KURLAND

NEIGHBOURHOOD Rinzen, Victionary

Most artists take to a blank canvas like a fat kid to a Smartie. But what happens when that blank canvas is a three-dimensional cloth toy? The result is a book called Neighbourhood. Twenty featureless rag-dolls were sent to twenty artists with one simple instruction: customise to your heart’s content. Their Frankenstein creations were then photographed before being sent to their eventual demise in the hands of another artist. Tweaked or totally remade, each toy’s rebirth offers a uniquely weird insight into the creative psyche. Oh, and the book’s felt cover is irresistibly touchable too. AK

128 www.HUCKmagazine.com

FACEBOOK THE MAN UPSTAIRS A SHORT STORY

BY CYRUS SHAHRAD

I’ve been having major problems with Facebook lately. Actually, the problems aren’t strictly with Facebook. Facebook is fine. Facebook is wonderful. Facebook is all that is pure and good with the world.

The problems are with the middle-aged hippie who moved into the flat above mine last week, and who has been hammering and sawing away ever since.

As someone who Facebooks pretty much full time, I find this incredibly distracting. I gave the guy a six-day grace period after he moved in, assuming that unpacking involves a certain amount of clatter however carefully one engages in it. The seventh day, a Sunday, I woke at 7am, made myself a cup of tea and fired up the computer to check the previous night’s postings.

No sooner had I logged on (I remember being disappointed at how few updates there had been – people simply don’t take Facebook seriously enough on Friday and Saturday nights), than that infernal racket once again began shaking the thin ceiling above me. So serious was the reverb that a few flakes of plaster actually fell from around the light fitting and landed in my tea.

It was all I could take. I stormed upstairs and hammered on the door to flat nine, noticing with some concern that the new occupant had hung a wooden crucifix above his letterbox. The sawing stopped; I heard the slap of sandals on bare floorboards, followed by the door creaking open to reveal a man in his late thirties with long blond hair, a full beard and piercing blue eyes.

“How can I help you, my brother?” His smile was so sincere it turned my stomach.

“I understand you recently moved in.”

“One week ago today. Am I to assume that we’re neighbours?”

“I live in the flat below yours. My name is Silas.” I extended my hand, only to watch in horror as he took it in both of his and held it softly, never once taking those miraculous mooneyes off mine.

“I’ve come to tell you that you’re being too noisy,” I stammered, snatching back my hand and shoving it into my dressing gown pocket. “I’m finding it difficult to work with all your hammering and sawing.”

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He looked genuinely perplexed. “But surely you are not working on the Sabbath, my brother?”

“Stop calling me that. And yes, I am. I’m afraid my work is too important to take even a day off.”

“What is it that you do?”

“I work from home. Computer stuff, very crucial. National security. The economy. That sort of thing. Can’t really talk about it.”

I peered over his shoulder and saw lengths of wood propped against the walls and various primitive hand tools scattered over the floor.

“And you?”

He swept his arms outward emphatically. “I am a humble carpenter. My name is Jesus, the same as our Lord who died for our sins and rose once again.” At that very moment a stray beam of sunlight fell through the window and illuminated his upturned face.

“Wonderful,” I said, staggering backwards and nearly tripping over my dressing gown as I retreated downstairs. “Congratulations.”

“God be with you, my brother,” he called after me.

I slammed the door to my flat and buckled the chain for good measure, closing my eyes and breathing heavily while I regained my composure. Above me, the sawing had started again in earnest, this time mingled with the sound of hymns from the morning religious broadcast.

I tried finding my new neighbour on Facebook with the intention of orchestrating some elaborate online revenge. There were plenty of matches in my part of London – Jesus Wept, Jesus H. Twatbomb, Jesus Ballface – but none of them appeared to be my guy.

So I’ve come up with a more dramatic course of action. I’m pretty sure that he’s the proud owner of a clapped-out Morris Minor currently mouldering in the car park. If he doesn’t pipe down by this evening, I’m creeping out there under cover of night, letting down his tyres, smashing his wing mirrors and pouring a whole bag of sugar in his petrol tank.

It’s not big and it’s not clever, but it will make me feel better for a short while. And at the end of the day, isn’t that all that matters?

I’m sure the real Jesus would agree.