HUCK Magazine The Bam Margera Issue (Digital Edition)

VOL. 02 ISSUE #008 JAN/FEB 2008 made in the uk £3.75 BAM MARGERA by NATE BRESSLER

INCUBUS SNOW ACTION MICK FANNING PORTLAND SKATE

TREVOR ANDREW MIKKEL BANG KEIR DILLON ROMAIN DE MARCHI JP SOLBERG HEIKKI SORSA HANNAH TETER

W W W.GRAVISFOOT WEAR .COM CALIFORNIA

CHECK OUT THE SHOW FROM LES 2 ALPES AND ALL THE SWEETSPOTS FILMS AT NIKEACG.COM

ANDREAS HÅTVEIT, PERFORMING LIVE TO AN EMPTY MOUNTAIN.

CIRRO.BLACK/WHITE

www.vanssnow.com

www.vans.eu | photo: ian ruhter Š2007vans,inc.

JP SOLBERG OUT NOW

www.analogclothing.com

Photo: Vincent Skoglund

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Common sense suggests he shouldn’t do it as he’s gonna get hurt. It seriously undermines your mobility, the hot dog dress.

And yet, off he goes, smashing his face on the floor as he misses a trick. Bam’s brand of painfully funny hijinks has become the anti-ennui tonic of a whole generation hooked on self-mutilating stunts and terrorising the folks. Anti-systemic? Subversive?

Revolutionary? Hardly. But there’s a legion of kids out there rejecting maturity and the logic of capitalism (get a job, get a mortgage) by hanging on to the adolescent joy of body bashing and skating. In this issue, HUCK travels all the way to Bam’s palatial digs in West Chester, Pennsylvania, to find out what the man’s all about. It’s a killer FEATURE, it’s on page 46, and we recommend you read it. What else? We’ve got the best snowboarding action you’ll see this year, an interview with surfing’s new world champ Mick Fanning, plenty of fashion for the cold months to come and much more.

Go ahead, dig in. Nobody’s gonna get hurt. Promise.

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contents. huck #008

46 BAM MARGERA skating’s king of mischief.

56 BRANDON BOYD talking surf with the lead man from incubus.

60 SNOW ACTION amazing photos. enjoy.

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70 MICK FANNING surfing’s new world champ.

74 PORTLAND SKATE kicking it with the burnside crew.

80 THE NEW FACE OF RASTA a special investigation by sarah bentley.

88 NORTH COUNTY SAN DIEGO frothing with industry cool.

Mattia Zoppellaro

94 GLEN E. FRIEDMAN photos from the master.

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102 DEMO GEAR demand more steaze.

104 RIOT GEAR protect thyself.

106 WINTER STILLS style, captured on film.

INFO:SALES@ELECTRICVISUAL.COM

QUANG LE

22 nyjah huston 24 easkey britton 26 aaron rose 28 annie boulanger 30 save munich’s wave 32 ibon amatriain 34 probe mantis 38 joe frantz 40 brixton hats 42 creepy morons 44 eco resorts?

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contents. huck #008

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118 sewage art 120 gus van sant 122 albums 124 films 126 games 128 books 130 the 10 commandments of surf

vol. 02 ssue 008 HUCK MAGAZINE

Jan/Feb 2008 www.huckmagazine.com

Editor

Vince Medeiros Global Editor

Art Direction and Design

Jamie Brisick

Film Editor

Zoe Oksanen

Jay Riggio

Andrea Kurland

www.thechurchoflondon.com Snow Editor

Skate Editor

Associate Editor

Rob Longworth

Matt Bochenski

Translations Editor

Editorial Assistant

Markus Grahlmann

Ed Andrews

Editorial Consultant

Michael Fordham

Advertising Director

Advertising Manager

Publisher

European Director

Steph Pomphrey

Music Editor

Phil Hebblethwaite

Dean Faulkner

Claire Marshall

Danny Miller Text

Sarah Bentley, Marcelo Diaz, Garrett Faber, Emilio Fraia, Gemma Freeman, Ben Mondy, Melanie Schรถnthier, Verena Von Stackelberg, Miller Time, Karl Watson Images

Ignacio Aronovich, Jamie Beeden, Debbie Bragg, Nate Bressler, Sam Christmas, Jeff Curtes, Tara Darby, Marcelo Diaz, Donez, Glen E. Friedman, Oli Gagnon, Flo Hagena, Quang Le, Marcel Lammerhirt, Acer One, Embry Rucker, Mark Taplin, Adam Wallacavage, Tadashi Yamaoda, Marc Ziberts, Mattia Zoppellaro

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: BAM MARGERA BY NATE BRESSLER

20 www.HUCKmagazine.com

Distributed worldwide by COMAG UK distribution enquiries: andy.hounslow@comag.co.uk Worldwide distribution enquiries: graeme.king@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.

Photo: Tostee

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text KARL WATSON photography TADASHI YAMAODA

It was a warm summer evening in the Bay Area when they made their discovery. Nyjah, twelve, Ahbi, fifteen, and sixteen-year-old Jahmai Huston (three of the Huston seven) were about to cross the San Francisco Bay Bridge with dad Adeyemi when they spotted a perfect full pipe. They stopped to gaze in awe at how smooth and skateable it looked. Instantly, it became their mission to ride it.

After having dinner at one of our favourite Ethiopian restaurants in Berkeley, we decided to go back and check the place out. Personally, I thought it was going to be impossible to thrash their amazing find because what they saw as a perfect full pipe was in fact a column for the new bridge being built. Naturally, I assumed the area would be heavily guarded. But Adeyemi was eternally optimistic about the risky adventure.

So off we went, across the bridge towards San Francisco. Upon

Nyjah Huston and clan conquer the bridge.

entering the city we noticed police on every corner directing traffic caused by the construction of the new bridge. I thought for sure we weren’t going to be able to skate – but knew we were going to try anyway.

As we walked up the hill towards the building area we heard loud noises and saw bright lights. We made a run for the full pipe and arrived unnoticed. With no time to spare we called the photographer and gave him the green light to come over. Next thing you know the generator was being charged up and some amazing skating was taking place.

Despite our luck with the cops, we did still fear that construction workers were going to give us a hard time. Instead, it was the exact opposite. One guy even drove by on some huge tractor-type vehicle and gave us a nod, suggesting that he was totally cool with our mission.

In the end, Nyjah and co. put on an unforgettable nighttime session by the bridge: testament, once again, to skateboarding’s imaginative appropriation of urban debris. www.elementskateboards.com www.esfootwear.com

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easkey would tow text Michael Fordham photography Tara Darby

The wave rolled in from a tightly swirling low around fifteen hundred miles west of the Cliffs of Moher. It was a magnificent beast. It was the colour of kelp-strewn rock and jacking and rearing and terrifying as it hit the reef and began to unfurl.

Somewhere to the right, the figure of Easkey Britton appeared, riding its bumpy face. As she synched with the wave’s quickly focusing power, she seemed to slow as it angled, edged and outran the maw. With that wave the twenty-one-year-old from Donegal became the first woman ever to ride this spot, and the first woman ever to surf the spot using a jet ski. “It was an incredible sensation,” she says.

“There was so much speed. I felt completely vulnerable and completely invincible at the same time.”

Fast-forward six months. Easkey Britton is diving out the door of the library of the University of Ulster’s Coleraine campus – where she is studying environmental science – to take my call. “It’s a strange one, being a sponsored surfer and travelling all over the planet,” she says. “You’re

Celtic savant pioneers a carbon-rich passion.

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aware of the damage you’re doing with all the emissions you’re producing. I suppose studying what I do is a way of assuaging my guilty conscience.”

As a member of the Britton clan, one of the founding families of Irish surfing, she’s perfectly placed to give something back to the ocean. But for now, it’s all about studying and exploring her relationship with the most powerful waves on the planet: “I don’t really think too far in advance. The winter’s coming and I need to take some exams, but I’m looking forward to using a jet ski to explore different parts of the Irish coast.”

With surfing in Ireland deep in the throes of its first boom, and the headline Irish spots reaching their own saturation point, you can see how a few hundred CCs of petroleum-based power would be difficult to resist, if not for putting yourself in the way of giants, then simply for escaping the crowds. But it’s the juice that makes Easkey feel the need for speed: “I might break up the winter with a trip to Hawaii. I just want to take advantage of every opportunity and to experience that sensation of speed again and again.”

Michael Fordham’s killer compendium of surf culture is out in May. www.bookofsurfing.com www.etniesgirl.com

text ANDREA KURLAND photography QUANG LE

‘Skaters are losers, man.’ I bet you’ve heard this before. But times, they are a changing. Thanks to an inspirational troop of artists, being a loser is finally where it’s at.

Beautiful Losers, due for release in spring 2008, is a film documenting the rise of youth subculture within the stuffy echelons of high art.

“The message of the movie is, ‘Do it yourself,’” says filmmaker Aaron Rose. “It’s a story about people who didn’t follow the rules and ended up making it their own way.”

Back in the nineties, somewhere between the West Coast world of skate and punk and the graffiti seeping onto the streets of New York, an underground art scene began to flourish. With a sixth sense for spotting talent, Aaron found himself at its centre – curating exhibitions through the Alleged Gallery in NYC. “I think I have a little ADD,” he says. “I get so inspired by things and that’s my motivation, like, ‘Oh my god, look how rad this is!

Check this out, check this out!’”

Soon enough, the art establishment began to take note of a movement founded solely on DIY attitude. “It’s like learning skate tricks,” says Aaron, explaining how doodlers with no training infiltrated a world of canapés and rules. “You have to hurt yourself over and over and over again, and then you finally get it, and that teaches you a very good philosophy on life.”

Commanding masses of respect and price tags to match, artists like

Aaron Rose’s Beautiful Losers take the art world by storm.

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Thomas Campbell, Barry McGee and Ed Templeton – just a sampling of the Beautiful Losers collective – helped make street culture worthy of gallery space. “A lot of it has to do with the generation we’re in,” says Aaron. “We’re dealing with people in power worldwide who grew up on skateboarding and graffiti, people who have made a lot of money and are now in the upper echelons of society and whose childhoods were based in skateboarding.

Obviously they want to buy art they’re into.”

Today barely a spec of popular culture remains untouched by this street aesthetic. “I remember going to a newsstand and realising half a dozen of the covers were done by people who had come out of the street culture world,” says Aaron. “I had an epiphany, like, ‘This isn’t an underground thing anymore, it’s made it into the mainstream consciousness.’ History swallows things up and they become popular culture, and then a new group of people comes along and blows the doors off of that. To try and fight that and stay underground is not really doing anyone a service. I try to help people appreciate art and realise it can be just as rewarding and exciting as the tabloids, or sport, or naked ladies – or whatever it is people are into.”

Aaron is clearly all about spreading the word. But between Beautiful Losers the exhibition, the book and finally the film, what exactly is the word he wants to spread? “Our culture is becoming more and more homogenised by the day and people are being urged to fit into little categories. So anytime people can be reminded that there’s just as much power in doing things your own way, I think it’s a good thing.”

For the full interview, check out www.huckmagazine.com.

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text ZOE OKSANEN photography OLI GAGNON

Snowboard films rock. Fact. But while I await every movie season with anticipation, by the time I have sat through about ten new films, they can often start to blur into one. You know how it is, an infinite rollercoaster of tricks that, over time, can turn even the most insane wizardry into a commonplace feat.

But this September I was shaken from my pleasant reverie halfway through Absinthe’s Optimistic when I realised that, lurking in the middle of an otherwise testosterone-filled flick, there was a girl – and this girl was absolutely killing it!

Annie Boulanger – the female rider in question – is a Canadian pro snowboarder who has been on the scene for quite some time now. She spent the earlier part of her career doing the usual contest scene and did pretty well at it, including winning two US Open events. But with a serious heel injury setting her back at the 2003 X Games, Annie’s destiny changed direction.

“Living in Whistler, I dreamed of going sledding with the guys to get some shots. But as a girl I had to do contests and nobody would ever consider inviting you to go sled,” she explains. “After the X Games injury, I took the time off riding to learn the game. It was hard, especially the sledding part, but I really fell in love with the backcountry.”

The move away from contests was a risky one as sponsors put a lot of weight on event results for women. But Annie pulled it off and this season she finally got to show the world why it was worth the gamble. “It’s really cool to be in the movie,” she says. “Maybe I should celebrate but all I can think of is how I can do better and learn more.”

Her career, of course, is not the only thing running through Annie’s mind when she launches herself off a huge cliff drop. It’s that thing called life, which can be taken away from you in a matter of seconds out there. “I had a really sketchy fall in Alaska, it’s in the movie,” she says. “I dropped in on a really long finger that had been baking in the sun all afternoon. I was pretty scared, but just dropped in. The hot pow threw me head first over my nose. I could have got really hurt on some rocks. For me, every day in Alaska is scary.”

But not scary enough to keep her from going back for more. This season, once again, she will be one of those rare specimens you find so seldom: a lonesome girl ploughing her way through the daunting, white minefield that is big-mountain backcountry.

Playing hard in the backcountry.

www.salomonsnowboard.com www.billabonggirls.com

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text Melanie Schönthier photography Flo Hagena

Stumbling out of Munich’s P1 nightclub at five in the morning, drunken stragglers and pill-eaters alike are often shocked by what meets them outside.

Wrapped in dark wetsuits, surfboardcarrying silhouettes can be seen heading down the path towards the Eisbach (‘icy creek’). They are surfers, going for a surf, in what many think is a surfless Munich.

Here’s how it happens: next to the P1 this little tributary of the river Isar rises from an underground channel system and, with enormous power, shoots over an escarpment and forms a waist-high, ten-metre wide surfable wave that breaks, would you believe it, all year round. Discovered decades ago, the wave in the Eisbach is a hit with local surfers and has turned many a head in the pro circuit. World-title-winning-machine Kelly Slater knows it, pro surfer Conan Hayes filmed a commercial on it and legends like Gerry Lopez and Ross Clarke-Jones have both surfed it and given it the thumbs up.

“It is totally different from surfing in the ocean and not as easy as it looks,“ says Clarke-Jones. “I have great respect for the locals – it is amazing what tricks they can pull on this wave.” The thing’s so cool and unusual it’s become a tourist attraction: dozens huddle on the banks of the Eisbach every day to watch the local crew do their thing.

But Munich’s city wave is now in danger. After an Australian student drowned in the creek last summer, newspapers have been reporting on the ‘deadly danger’ of surfing in the creek. Many forget to mention that the tragic accident took place one kilometre from where the wave actually breaks when the student was caught in a rip. However, fearful of future lawsuits, City Hall is proposing a total ban of surfing in the river.

Outraged locals are fighting back. “No surfer would sue the city if he got injured here. All of us surf at our own peril and I can’t understand why this dilemma can’t be solved with clear signs so nobody is irresponsible,” says Christian Schramm, editor-in-chief of Munich surf magazine TIDE. None of the surfers can understand why they should be banned from the spot after years of acceptance. A press release from an association of Munich river surfers offers a solution: “A targeted and explicit sign-board in German and English with an explanation warning swimmers about the dangerous spots… would be more useful than a general swimming and surfing prohibition… A detailed sign could [explain] the danger of the rocks and that everybody is surfing at one’s own risk.”

To convince the city of the public desire to protect the wave, Munich surfers have created an online petition. So far the petition has gathered over 6,000 signatures and is growing every day. Clarke-Jones has already signed it. He says: “Even though I am normally surfing much bigger waves, this wave is too cool and needs to be saved. Everyone should sign it.”

You heard the man.

Munich’s got a wave – but we gotta save it.

To sign the petition, go to www.rettet-die-eisbachwelle.de.

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text and photography MARCELO DIAZ

“Ibon is Ibon.” I have heard this phrase uttered on more than one occasion in the Basque Country. In its seemingly meaningless way, the short, innocuous statement actually says it all: if it’s sketchy and scary and dangerous, this humble surfer from the small Basque town of Zarautz will certainly be out there, catching the big wave of the day. Why? Because that’s just what he does.

Skating since he was five, Ibon Amatriain has always made it look easy. At six, he borrowed his brother’s board and took to the sea for the first time. At twelve, equipped with his own twin-fin, he was out at Mundaka, descending upon the world’s definitive left-hand wave long before it became a hit with the masses.

These days, if it’s big enough to scare off the crowds, you’ll certainly find Ibon out in the lineup, be it in the North of Spain, Southwest of France or even the farther shores of Portugal or the Canaries. Big-wave superstar Mike Parsons is all respect: “He has been riding giant surf for a long time and now he’s finally been recognised for it.”

Ibon Amatriain is Europe’s bigwave surfer du jour.

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He has indeed. In 2006, Ibon ran for the XXL’s top prize, which awards 50k plus to the surfer who rides the year’s biggest wave. He finished third, with his wave measuring in at a gargantuan 45 feet, the largest ever ridden in Spain. This year he entered again, being nominated for ‘Ride of the Year’ thanks to a widow-maker he caught at Agiti, the monster right just outside San Sebastian.

“I’m happier than a little kid with new shoes,” says thirty-eight-year-old Ibon about the nomination. Since the 2007 XXL appearance, his name has been a hot topic in big-wave circles around the world. So much so that he’s been invited to the upcoming Quiksilver In Memory of Eddie Aikau, arguably the world’s most prestigious big-wave event taking place at the legendary Waimea Bay. Says Ibon: “It’s a dream, one of those things that you never think is gonna happen.”

Waimea, as we all know, is pretty gnarly. So is he afraid at all? “I do know that I have to pick the right waves as a bad wipeout at the Bay can be fatal. That said, bring it on – I’m ready for it.”

Yep. “Ibon is Ibon” after all. www.reef.com www.pukassurf.com www.quiksilver.com

Silhouette International Schmied AG, adidas Global Licensee, adidas, the 3-Bars logo, and the 3-Stripes mark are registered trademarks of the adidas Group

Photo: Marcel L채mmerhirt

text ED ANDREWS photography ACER ONE

Probe Mantis, aka Ben Weaver, is a man none too pleased with the UK music industry. A former emcee from Bristol hip-hop veterans Aspects, Weaver’s been on the scene for over a decade, crafting genre-busting material with indie heroes such as The Bees and Little Barrie. Not that London’s umbilical industry paid any attention, though.

“No one put their money where their mouth is with Aspects,” says Mantis. “It’s not about a salary. We fought for Aspects in the trenches, but the industry and us reached stalemate.”

The London-centric nature of the scene is something Mantis reflects on with a tempered disdain: “In the music scene, other areas get misrepresented and grossly neglected. I quizzed a well-known pap about it once. He said, ‘South West? Mate, I won’t even do South West London!’”

No wonder he’s decided to seek a change of scenery.

Relocating to New Zealand has allowed Mantis to fully indulge another of his interests: surfing. “It’s one of the main reasons I’m here,” he says with noticeable passion. “I spent four months surfing my way through Latin America on my way down here. I’m based in Auckland now so I hit the East and West Coast beaches around the city a lot. I’ve surfed all over the North Island, most memorably Raglan, the sweetest left in the world. I’m goofy and all, so that place is Nirvana.”

Those who’ve been there know that New Zealand can have a powerful effect on its visitors – and Mantis is no exception: “It’s like a giant Cornwall with more palm trees and, believe it or not, less surfers! Less cider, more wine. Fewer cars, more skateboards. A steady hum of cicadas, not car alarms. Tui bird calls instead of police sirens. You can buy fresh organic food everywhere on the side of the road as opposed to stolen firearms.

Excuse the cynicism, I’m from South Bristol!”

Idyllic island life aside, Mantis has certainly not forsaken the mic for surfing. The recent collaborations with Evil Ed on Milf and DJ First Aid on Escapology show the same verbal dexterity and sharp wit that made Aspects stand out from the crowd. With an upcoming album, it will be interesting to see if those back in London will finally sit up and take note.

UK hip-hop dude Probe Mantis is back.

Mantis’ new EP, Meanie, feat. Butterz is out now on The Payback Project. www.myspace.com/probemantis www.thepaybackproject.com

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Photos © Alex Franklin

Addict ® Store Earlham Street London now open www.addict.co.uk

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interview Garrett Faber photography Adam Wallacavage

How did you get involved with Bam Margera and the CKY crew?

I was shooting a commercial, for Puma I think, when Bam approached me and said something like: ‘Hey, you’re the guy who shoots sixteen and thirty-five millimetre film, right? My brother is in a band called CKY and I want to make him a music video. Can you shoot it? I don’t have any money to pay you, but I just think if we shoot in film, it would be so legit. We usually shoot in video, but it looks like shit.’ Usually a filmmaker will make excuses why he can’t work on a project like that. But something told me it was the right thing to do. I showed up on that first day to shoot at Bam’s house, which was across the street from the town sewer and smelled as bad as one might imagine. Bam came out, shouting: ‘Goddamn, you’re early! You said you’d be here at 8:30 and it’s only 7:45! Fuck yeah!’ The guys and I compared notes about what to shoot, and I fitted right in, especially when Ryan got arrested making the video and I had some good advice on how to deal with the police. The video was called 96 Quite Bitter Beings, and the rest, as they say, is history. In a month, we were shooting CKY3, then Haggard, our first motion picture, followed by the HIM videos, the CKY IDR DVD, Jackass, Viva La Bam, Bam’s Unholy Union…

HUCK talks to filmmaker Joe Frantz about the life and hijinks of Bam Margera and the CKY Crew.

So what was your advice on how to deal with police?

I like the police and understand their mentality and frustrations. So when I deal with them, we usually have a good rapport. I only get in trouble while filming in places without permits, but when the cops find out I was involved with Jackass they are instant friends. We have a lot of police fans out there – they appreciate our sense of humour.

I’ve heard you studied the life and works of Hitchcock. How does that influence your work?

Hitchcock films work on so many different cerebral levels – visually, psychologically, artistically. His mastery of the craft of filmmaking, his public persona, it all overwhelms me. As for my own career, I have some scripts for noir-type films, crime dramas if you will. I believe it’s in my future to leave a few intellectually stimulating pieces to the body of work which bears my name.

Who are your personal heroes?

Orson Welles, Alfred Hitchcock, Lon Chaney Jr, Lou Ferrigno, Socrates, George Washington, Buster Keaton, Gustavé Dore, Peter Cushing, Martin Luther King, Jr., just to name a few.

What projects are you currently working on?

We’re putting the finishing touches on Minghags. Bam is directing. Brandon DiCamillo, Bam and I are the film’s writers and executive producers. I am also the cinematographer; we’re shooting in super-16 film.

What’s the film about?

A group of trailer park born-and-raised rockers Lenny (Bam) and Ponce (DiCamillo) who learn that millionaire, scumbag Rut Ru (also DiCamillo) has stolen the concept for Ponce’s new invention, the Garbage Juicer, which is a household appliance that turns garbage into delicious root beer.

Is the CKY Crew going to make any more videos like CKY2K? A lot of fans keep asking when we’re going to release a new CKY film. The thing is, if we do release one, we need to make it better than all the others.

To put out a lesser film would be self-defeating.

Out of all the music videos you’ve worked on, which is your favourite?

My favourite video I ever made is All Else Failed’s ‘To Whom It May Concern’.

The budget was very small, but that forces you to be more creative. I also just directed a Bloodhound Gang video – I can’t talk about it, but it’s in the can and I love what we shot!

Do you have any cool Ville Valo [HIM frontman] stories?

Yes, but I’m not telling them! I have a lot of respect for Ville. He’s a rock star but he’s not afraid to let his sensitivity and intelligence dominate a conversation. When he disagrees, he does so politely – and he has an overt appreciation for art, literature, politics and philosophy. He’s just a pleasure to be around.

What movies or TV shows are you really into?

Actually, lately I’ve been into non-visual storytelling. I’ve been listening to old radio dramas and comedies that aired in the 1930s, forties and fifties.

A play of voices and sound effects can do more to make one visualise than a week of passive TV viewing. One thing I could never do was stare at a television to pacify my mind and kill time. I have no patience for it.

It’s a tragic waste of life. Aldous Huxley warns society against this type of existence in his novel Brave New World.

You seem to work a lot. What was the last vacation you went on?

I never take vacations. Ever. Tomorrow is a holiday and I’ll be working.

Nothing makes me feel worse than a vacation, taking time away from work that needs me to do it. I resent vacations.

Minghags will be out in 2008.

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text JAY RIGGIO photography DONEZ

I’ve got a thing for hats. It started the summer I graduated from high school, during a weeklong vacation with my buddies in Disneyworld, Florida.

Two days into the trip, while eating mushrooms in the Magic Kingdom, I spotted a novelty baseball cap in a gift shop that in my drugged state I thought to be fantastic: a Rasta-coloured creation with fat dreadlocks sewn to its perimeter that read ‘Jamaican Me Crazy’. It was the best thing I had ever seen in my life – and I vowed to wear it all week long.

Once sober, I quickly became aware of just how wack the hat was.

I looked like an asshole, but being a man of my word still wore the thing for the duration of the trip.

I no longer have that retarded cap. Instead, I own a collection of hats that really do look amazing atop my dome, all of which are made by a company called Brixton Ltd. Specialising in fedoras and military caps, the brand was founded in 2004 during a train ride from Germany to London

by Southern California natives David Stoddard, thirty, and Jason Young, thirty-one, who met years ago while working together at

Meet the mad-hatters with that vintage touch.

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Transworld Media. “Jason and I were talking about starting our own company. We knew that we wanted to create apparel and accessories that we liked, but had a hard time finding,” says Stoddard. “I’ve been wearing hats for a while now and have always been into the old vintage styles, so that seemed like a natural place to start.”

Bringing in Mike Chapin as a third partner, the trio named their brand after the classic Clash track, ‘Guns of Brixton’.

Based in Oceanside, California, Brixton’s detailed caps focus on a style that is super clean and ultimately timeless. “We want our hats to be fashionable fifty years from now,” stresses Stoddard, who happens to be something of a perfectionist.

“It is pretty intense working with manufacturers because I am pretty particular. We have to go back and forth quite a few times until they turn out exactly how we envisioned them.”

With their extensive headwear range already stomping the hat game, Brixton’s spring ’08 collection will add a line of belts, wallets and various limited-edition goods.

My suggestion? Pop on a classy Brixton cap and leave the novelty Rasta hat to tourists and hallucinating teens. www.brixtonltd.com

text Phil Hebblethwaite photography Jamie Beeden

Nick Moron pauses and says, “I’ve figured it out. It’s been one of those things that’s bubbled away for ages – since Ben and I were kids, I think – and then there comes a time when shit fits.

So we wore it.”

“That sounds about right,” says Ben Moron. “Bubbling shit.”

“But it’s that, isn’t it?” continues Nick. “It’s one of those things that has been going on and on and on and then one day we realised what it was, and now we’re standing in our own shit.”

So this is ‘it’, then? The Creepy Morons is you in your absolute essence, but in music?

Nick: “Um, I’m not sure now. But I think it works. That’s all I know – it fits and it works.”

So goes a conversation with the thunderous London-based two-piece Creepy Morons when asked the simplest of questions: what’s this band about? The point is that they’re dead serious about what they’re doing. Both have musical histories: guitarist/vocalist Nick was the main man in superb

The Creepy Morons on the essence of music. Or something.

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garage rockers The Beatings who burned white hot in 2003/4, then burned out; Ben drummed in an early incarnation of The Duke Spirit. But now they think of those bands only as dress rehearsals.

The Creepy Morons has gestated inside the pair since they first started playing together over a decade ago and it’s taken that long to launch their spectacular debut single on the world. ‘Piece of Mind’ is a dense, rumbling slab of classy rock‘n’roll that cackles in the face of the UK’s omnipresent indie pop and revivalist post-punk bands and owes much to Nick’s apprenticeship with My Bloody Valentine legend, Kevin Shields.

“We use lots of amps, but you have to remember that I was in the studio with Kevin for a whole year during The Beatings’ days and we spent most of our time discussing what makes music sound great,” explains Nick.

“I learnt that you should set out in the opposite direction to everyone else and mostly because it’s easier. You may not need a bear in a video, but why not have a bear? I love that thing I read about Prince. He had a hotel room and everything had to be black or purple or some colour, even the M&Ms. That’s good! That’s what all musicians should be like.”

‘Piece of Mind’ is out now on Pigeon Coup Records. www.myspace.com/thecreepymorons

Style. ‘…Beauty is God’s handwriting. Welcome it in every font, every day…’

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text eD ANDReWS

global warming is messing up our winters. Fact. in face of this slowly dawning catastrophe, alpine resorts are desperately looking for ways to be more at one with Mother earth. one such resort is Falls creek in the australian alps. in 2005, it became the first alpine resort to be awarded the green globe – a benchmark for the travel industry in ecological awareness and sustainable tourist programmes – for its below-average energy and water consumption, waste management and vehicle restrictions, as well as the village itself being a plastic bag-free zone.

Not content with the accolade, it has since been upping its green credentials by using 100 per cent renewable energy to power three of its lifts, as well as installing snow fencing and twenty new energy-efficient snow cannons to help preserve what’s left of the dwindling snowfall.

Not to be outdone by such low-carbon showboating, other resorts throughout the world are jumping on the eco-bandwagon. val d’isere in France has recently announced that it will be going car-free, joining Zermatt in switzerland. likewise, the colorado resort of vail is set to build a $1 billion ‘green’ village fully equipped with subtly painted lifts, ‘energy efficient’ snowmaking and wildlife ‘corridors’ – all to be powered by wind. you can almost hear the grizzly bears breathing a sigh of relief. but is this really the answer? surely environmentally friendly development is an oxymoron in itself as, ultimately, development is the opposite of conservation? if so, it may be time the industry faces up to the fact that rampant development and floods of tourists are not compatible with the preservation of these beautiful yet fragile ecosystems. and, let’s face it, no amount of snow cannons and biodiesel is ever gonna change that.

just how eco-FrieNdly caN a ski resort be?

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kating’s KING OF MISCHIEF As the leading man of MTV’s hit series Viva La Bam, Bam Margera is one of skateboarding’s most recognisable faces. But what’s he really like?

HUCK travels to Bam’s house in West Chester, Pennsylvania, to ride his famed mega-ramp, cruise down Main Street in his Hummer, eat cookies in the living room and get up-close and personal with skating’s very own self-mutilating star. texT JAY RIGGIO photography NATE BRESSLER

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etting punched in the face fucking sucks. It’s not how it is in the movies at all, when a character gets popped super hard and is back on his feet trading punches with the enemy moments later. Real-life punching is a crippling, horrific experience epitomised by four knuckles – and maybe even a ring – connecting with someone’s soon-to-be-swollen, bleeding and agonising-in-pain face.

For this reason alone I became utterly shocked and a bit horrified when I first witnessed two individuals clock each other in the face – not maliciously, but willfully.

The two lunatics I’m talking about were Bam Margera and his friend, Brandon DiCamillo, and the video was Toy Machine’s Jump Off A Building. The array of Jackass-style buffoonery interspersed throughout Bam’s skate part would introduce the world to his demented body-destroying humour. The casual violence executed and endured by Bam and buddies made me feel stunned, appalled and intrigued. I suddenly looked at Bam, not just as an outrageously talented skater, but as completely out of his mind.

A staple in the East Coast skate scene since he was a tike, Bam made his mark in a late H-Street video doing a blunt to fakie on a giant vert wall. In time, he would make a series of appearances in mags and videos, establishing himself as a hungry amateur. But it wasn’t until Bam started riding for Toy Machine that his obsession with filming himself and his buddies acting like maniacs became televised to the public. His antics soon evolved into a series of videos dedicated almost exclusively to Bam’s signature fuck-around, hurt-yourself footage in a succession of colourful productions. The infamous Landspeed Wheels video, Landspeed: CKY, evolved into the CKY franchise, which in turn spawned MTV hit shows Jackass, Viva La Bam and, most recently, Bam’s Unholy Union.

A lot has changed since Bam’s early days as a kid known strictly in the core-skate world. He’s pretty much a household name now, has millions in the bank, his own production company, record label, tons of high-profile sponsors, a Sirius radio show, and a character in Tony Hawk’s video game. He has produced, directed, and acted, and he’s even fallen prey to the paparazzi, thanks to widespread rumours that he hooked up with Jessica Simpson.

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“I just want to make my friends laugh and MY FANS LAUGH AS WELL AND GIVE ’EM MY BEST rather than a half-assed piece of shit.”

There are a million things that could be triggered by the thought of Bam and his career, but for some reason, just one particular thought always hits me. When I think of Bam, I regularly recount the voice-over from the Viva La Bam intro going, “What will he do next?” and Bam responding, “Whatever the ‘beep’ I want.” I don’t know why I keep thinking of this succession of words. Maybe it’s because Bam Margera, at twenty-eight years of age, can in fact do pretty much whatever the fuck he wants.

t’s a warm Saturday morning as I embark on a mission to Bam’s house, aka Bamland, to see just what goes down in the real life of the skating world’s most famous masochistic celebrity. His home is a good three and a half hours away from New York City in the absolute bumble-fuck sticks of West Chester, Pennsylvania.

As the rental speeds through an infinite cattle-grazing landscape, my mind turns to a phone interview I did with Bam a few months ago. At the time, he was in the throes of locking himself within his in-home editing suite to cut his new film, Minghags, which he co-wrote, starred in, directed and completely funded. “Yeah, I’ve spent about $230,000 so far, but I own all of the equipment already so I don’t have any camera rental fees,” he told me then. The script had been sitting around for two years, but Bam was far too busy filming Viva La Bam and then Bam’s Unholy Union to work on it. “As soon as I finished nine episodes of Bam’s Unholy Union I was like, ‘Fuck it, I don’t give a shit. I’m reserving, like, three months of my life for this movie and I’m getting it done before I commit to any other project.’” The film’s now in the bag and ready for release. With any luck, I might get a sneak peek during my visit.

Upon arrival, I remember the instructions from Bam’s publicist: “Call Missy, Bam’s wife, when you get to the gate.” Bam mentioned he’d often been hounded by fans, many of whom would show up at the gate to shoot photos of themselves standing there – and then hang around for hours in the hope of getting a glimpse of him. This time, however, Bam’s pad is a groupie-free zone. I pull up and phone Missy, who promptly gives me the code. I punch it in and it slowly opens. For some reason, I drive up Bam’s driveway cautiously. To my left a giant, plastic Santa Claus is strung to a tree like some kind of effigy. Next to it sits an official-looking sign that reads ‘Serious As Shitwater’. To my right, another sign reads ‘9 of Novak’s Dicks = 1 Of Frantz’s Dicks’. The driveway has a sixcoloured rainbow overlooked by an assortment of huge, flamboyantly painted fibreglass animals.

On its outskirts sit the famous cement banks that MTV paid for. They curve around a bend leading to a strip of three garage doors, each with a strange individual painting on it. One is of Osama Bin Laden wearing a 76’ers jersey and spinning a basketball on his finger. Another, of Lance Bass from N’ Sync in astronaut attire. And the last one is of Ronald Reagan. Next to the detailed portrait sit the words, ‘Fuck Reagan, he’s a fuck-ass’.

I suddenly get a strange feeling in my stomach.

Where the hell am I?

hile most success stories are comprised of a history of trial, error and coming into one’s own, it seems that Bam didn’t have to try all that much to get to where he’s at. “I basically did exactly what I wanted to do since day one,” he says. “As soon as I put my hands on a skateboard I knew that’s what I wanted

to do and as soon as we got this haggard-ass VHS camera I was like, ‘Holy shit! You can film yourself and watch it on TV, this is awesome!’

So I knew I wanted to be on TV.” Wanting to focus on skating full-time, Bam dropped out of school on the first day of tenth grade. He considered going back when his first girlfriend’s dad convinced him that skating was a dead-end profession. “I was pretty much what you could call whipped and her dad almost talked me into going back to school. I was literally considering going to college and shit,” laughs Bam. “Three years after we broke up, I pulled up to Wawa, which is basically the East Coast’s 7-Eleven. Her dad and his wife had to watch me put gas in my Ferrari while they filled up their Chevrolet.” I suppose his ex’s dad never considered that a skater would ever make more money in a year than he could in a lifetime.

As I park and exit my rental, I take in the property. It is fucking enormous, fourteen acres in total. A friend of Bam’s lets me in and then leaves me to wait. The first floor of his home is dark and littered with pictures of Bam and his new wife, Missy, including a giant wedding photo of the two that hangs near the kitchen table.

I can’t help but wonder what Bam was thinking when he decided to tie the knot.

After all, he did just recently go through a messy break-up with his ex-fiancée and, to be honest, the guy can have sex with just about any girl he wants. “I just wasn’t into the last two years of my previous relationship. I hated it so bad,” Bam tells me about his ex, Jenn Rivell. “I just didn’t know how to end it ’cause I was scared that she would kick my Lamborghini in and break my computers and trash my house,” he says laughing. Fed up with the inconsistencies in his long-term relationship, ▼

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“i still have those bullet wounds in my stomach and there’s one on 51

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“as soon as i put my hands on a skateboard i knew that’s what i wanted to do and as soon as we got this haggard-ass vhs camera i was like, ‘holy shit! you can film yourself and watch it on tv, this is awesome!’”

Bam stepped aside and pretty much let his celebrity status work to his advantage: “Anytime I would fly to California I would have a girlfriend there. I’d fly to Barcelona, I’d have a girlfriend there, Finland… I would just have all these secret numbers on lockdown. It was pretty fun actually.”

After spending some time single and raging harder than ever, Bam was reunited with Missy, whom he’d known since the eighth grade.

Once they got together, she changed his life for the better. “When I look at Jackass Two, I’ll admit it – we were just shitbag wasted non-stop – whether it was booze or pills or whatever,” he says. Since getting married, he wakes up at a reasonable hour, doesn’t drink as much and at the end of the day is able to get more work done than he ever did before.

As I make my way up the spiral staircase, I’m greeted by a giant, lit Heartagram, the logo of Finnish rock band HIM and centrepiece of this wooden gothic interior. On the next floor up, the walls are decorated with every pro board of Bam’s. Soon enough, Bam surfaces alongside Missy and her mother. Missy mentions in passing that she wants to learn how to skate on Bam’s new ramp – the $120,000 mega-ramp that was built in his yard some seven months prior. With no sneakers to skate in, Missy and Bam decide to head to Fairman’s skate shop in town and trade in some product for sneakers. Bam’s mother-in-law is leaving hints at wanting to see Bam skate. “I’ve never even seen you skate, you know that!?” she says to Bam, wide-eyed, seemingly still star-struck by her own newly appointed son.

We head outside and Bam hops onto a fourwheeler, one of many he often rides on his backyard dirt track. As Missy and I follow on foot, the giant ramp soon becomes visible. It’s enormous – but the mere fact that his yard is the size of multiple football fields somehow makes it appear small. I survey the beautiful monstrosity that is Bam’s ramp as he warms up, taking a few

runs. “I just have fun doing miller flips on the mini ramp and doing the longest tailslide I can. I don’t know how Andrew Reynolds does it. I see him jump down stair after stair after stair. If I do that I have to prepare to start an editing project for six days ‘cause I’m not gonna be walking,” says Bam about his laid-back approach to being a professional skateboarder these days. “I really have fun skating my ramp because the only people that come to skate it are the people that know the code, which is friends.”

Bam is an impressive skater and exciting to watch. His mother-in-law is here too, witnessing him make the most of his ramp as he manhandles the transition effortlessly. After dropping in on the massive two-storey, steep-ass roll-in, Bam carves around the giant gap that bridges a good eight-foot drop. It’s insane. After doing it, he tells me how his friend Brandon Novak broke both legs trying the very same thing, bailing in mid-carve and smashing into the corner of the oncoming transition. Did I mention that Bam pretty much just woke up?

hich car do you want to take?” Missy asks as we exit through the front door, passing his massive editing room. “Let’s take the Hummer,” answers Bam. We pile in and take off. As we speed into town, I wonder if people in passing cars take notice of his celebrity. Bam points to a small body of water on our right and proudly exclaims, “I drove through that river the other night,” before giving me the blurry drunken details of the evening when his friend Ryan Gee bet him he couldn’t make it to the other side. Bam made it.

I bring up Jackass: Number Two and how I think it’s just so much gnarlier than the first. “I still have those bullet wounds in my stomach and there’s one on my hand,” says Bam about the violent rubber bullet scene. “That shit hurt so

bad. But when I got branded on the ass it hurt pretty bad, too. I wore the same jeans for ten days straight with an open wound and it got so fuckin’ infected. The infection hurt 800 times worse than the actual brand,” he says, describing how he was rushed to hospital after his mum poured peroxide on his branded ass. “She said it wouldn’t hurt, and it stung so bad. I was screaming in pain for, like, fifteen minutes.”

Unable to control my laughter, I ask why the fuck he’d want to destroy himself willingly? “I just do it ‘cause I want to one-up Jackass one and then I just want to make my friends laugh and my fans laugh as well and give ’em my best rather than a half-assed piece of shit.”

When we get back from town, Bam shows his fully padded wife how to cautiously roll up and down a small part of his ramp’s transition. After skating some more, he heads back to the house on the four-wheeler with Missy and two skateboards on the back. Once inside, I’m invited to watch a rough version of Minghags, which he had just finished cutting a few weeks earlier. As I watch intently, Bam comes and goes, sitting down in intervals, eating cookies, sometimes watching it with me. The movie is just as ridiculous as it is funny. I thank Bam for the screening before deciding that I better leave if I want to survive the unlit maze of roads before nightfall.

As I make my way towards the freeway, I think about Bam’s life. He’s doing exactly what he always wanted to – and then some. And the truth is, if he hasn’t yet accomplished something, he now has the money, contacts, resources and balls to do it. That damned Viva La Bam intro pops into my head again and echoes repeatedly to my utter dismay. Just then I recall something Bam said some time earlier when we spoke on the phone: “I just want to make funny movies and keep skating and do music videos for bands. I would prefer it without all the fanfare, but I’ll deal with it, ’cause at the end of the day, I get to do what I want to do.” www.minghags.com

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bam and ville valo, the lead singer of him, have something of a unique relationship – special, one

lucky for us, that bond was in full swing the day huck rocked up for the photo shoot at the chateau marmont, in los angeles. “from the moment we arrived, they were clearly in the middle of a major bromance,” says photographer nate bressler. “now, i’ve got scandinavian buddies, so i know all about their drunken grab-ass. these guys, though, were a little more into it – lots of hugging and caressing. no doubt the fifty beers and someone egging you on helps in getting to that stage. but bam’s a passionate guy, he goes 150 per cent all the time, so it’s no surprise that ville got all his man love.”

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INSEPARABLE THREADS Incubus lead singer Brandon Boyd on music, art, the environment and his love for surfing.

interview GEMMA FREEMAN photography SAM CHRISTMAS

Brandon Boyd is something of a Renaissance man. He may have found fame creating vocal hooks with esoteric lyrics as lead singer of Incubus, but the thirty-one-year-old is also an accomplished artist, has published two books (White Fluffy Clouds, 2004, and From The Murks Of The Sultry Abyss, 2007), and spends a fair amount of time in the water. Super mellow, articulate and exuding hippy-ish charm, Boyd tells HUCK about the inseparable threads that make up his life.

HUCK: Okay, so how did you start surfing?

Brandon Boyd: I was ten and my family took a trip north of Los Angeles. We were driving towards San Francisco and stopped at Pismo beach – a big surfing spot in California – to have lunch. There were a bunch of kids, not much older than me, surfing and walking out of the water with surfboards. I thought it looked cool, pointed at them and was like, ‘I wanna do that!’ I didn’t even see what they were doing – just walking with their boards. So my dad, brothers and I did a couple of weekends’ worth of chores – weed-pulling, vacuuming and what not – until we saved up enough money to buy one surfboard that we shared among the three of us. By the time I was eleven I was surfing quite a bit, then by twelve and thirteen I was obsessed.

Can you remember what it felt like when you first popped up?

I think my dad was filming, and so when I first stood up I started turning my board all crazy like I had seen in the Wave Warriors videos. I thought I was fucking ripping. Then I saw the video and it made me really sad.

To this day I won’t watch a video of me surfing because you always rip harder in your mind than you do in reality. I won’t watch videos of us in concert either – I rock way harder in my head than I do in real life.

Do you get a lot of time to surf when you’re at home?

Every day! When Mike was recovering from his surgery [Incubus guitarist Mike Einziger had an operation to combat carpal tunnel syndrome in his hand and couldn’t play guitar for months in spring 2007], I would ride my bike and go to the beach every day.

Have you got any plans for trips further afield?

I would very much like to surf in Costa Rica.

We were trying to organise a concert there in December, but I might just go with some friends. We went before and didn’t get a great swell, but it was fun, and the atmosphere is so cool.

Do you skate or snowboard as well, or is it all about surfing?

I didn’t snowboard when I was young because it was so expensive. My older brother actually started surfing, but then got obsessed with snowboarding so he got a job manning a lift in Big Bear. A lot of people gravitate from skating or snowboarding – there’s a lot of cross-pollination. But for me, I just love being at the beach. Before you surf, after you surf, you can sit and gaze at waves – stare off into your playing field. Seeing the water move, hearing the seagulls, smelling the salt… it’s all part of the experience. ▼

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Do you think music and surfing are creatively linked?

I think the two have a lot of differences, but the similarities are pretty obvious: they are the most spontaneous behaviour that we can engage in.

Sexuality is relatively spontaneous as well, but in surfing you’re reacting moment-by-moment, and not really sure of what you’re doing until you’re doing it. I’ve linked the two together before but I think that’s what makes them so important and why artists gravitate to such things. They’re looking for that spontaneity – that moment. You have to think on your toes constantly. And it’s a really wonderful place to exist.

opportunity, and secondly to have a lot of people who are interested.

Does surfing inspire your music?

It must! Exactly how it does I don’t know. A lot of times when I’m surfing, or getting smashed around, I’ll get weird ideas for melodies. Mike will e-mail me an MP3 or CD of a musical idea he’s had and I’ll listen to it a bunch, then on my way to the beach, or when I’m sitting in the water, his idea will be pumping around my head.

I’ve written a whole bunch of stuff in the water.

I know you were thinking of writing a novel: have you started it yet?

I’d like to – when that happens I have no idea.

I’m going to wait until I’m a more interesting individual, when there’s a bit more anger in me. [Laughs]

From The Murks Of The Sultry Abyss, a collection of photos, drawings and musings, was published earlier this year. What did you make of the incredibly positive reaction from fans?

I was not prepared for it all. It was a pleasant surprise. Like waking up and walking downstairs and you’ve forgotten that it was Christmas and being like, ‘Holy shit! Look at all these presents!’ I feel very lucky: firstly to have that

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Does it ever freak you out that fans can be so obsessive over you?

A little bit, but only when I look at my mailbox and there are people actually in there [actions someone peering through his letterbox].

I have one of those mailboxes where my mail should fall to the floor, but every so often I’ll hear it creek, and be like, ‘Is it mail time?’ Then when I go to look, I see a pair of eyes staring back out at me… My house isn’t gated or anything – it’s just on the street.

Have you got any exhibitions of your artwork coming up?

I did my first one in LA about eight months ago, and it went really well. It was with two friends of mine, a promoter/photographer named Brent Bolthouse and a professional photographer, Brian Bowen Smith. It was a small group show, which we hope to take to New York.

Any plans for Europe?

It would be amazing, it would be so cool to do that, but we’ll see how New York goes first. One step at a time…

You made the tour for Light Grenades carbon neutral using a biofueled fleet, recycling at shows, selling organic food and merchandise and educating fans. How did this come about?

We’re a band that tour, and have made our careers from focusing on live music, but we have to take responsibility that this is also highly polluting. So we needed to find a reasonable way of making the least impact – to leave the biggest impression on our audience without leaving a massive impression on the environment.

Did your fans pick up the message pretty clearly then?

Yeah. We had the option to buy a sticker at every show, and the $3 that they spent on that sticker was spent on offsetting their carbon footprint for their journey to the show.

Is this something you’d like to continue with in the future?

We’ll definitely keep up with those standards and hopefully the longer we’re aware of these things, the more we can think of cleaner ways to tour.

Is there anything you do personally?

I drive a car when I’m home – I need to as LA is big. But all of us have chosen to live in parts of California where we can do what we want to do near our home; if I can walk, I’ll walk. I recycle…

I have a collection of bikes and I’m lucky enough to live close to the beach.

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Any last words?

Yes. Buy a bike

Distributed in Europe by Fiftyseven North

Lowrider Headphones Skullcrushers www.skullcandy.eu

Tim FROZEN IN text ZOE OKSANEN

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me

A combination of nighttime and flashes creates the raw energy in this shot.

After a previous attempt was defeated by the weather, Marc Ziberts succeeds in capturing Nike ACG rider Henning Marthinsen’s BS 180 in Les Deux Alpes, France. This photo was taken during the filming of Nike ACG’s Sweetspots No.1, available online at www.nikeacg.com.

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Photography is art, and snowboard photography is no exception.

Marcel Lammerhirt captures a unique angle of rider Phillip Strauss as he slashes an ice cave with a layback in Hintertux, Austria.

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Early January, perfect snow, California? Believe it!

A rare three days of unexpected deep powder in Sonora Pass allowed Jeff Curtes to shoot this effortless BS 180 with Burton pro Jussi Oksanen.

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Hometown rails take some beating.

Curtes had been admiring this one for years since living in Boulder and finally immortalised it with pro rider Keegan Valaika.

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Curtes calls this a ‘very special shot’.

After a two-mile hike across a frozen lake, he tucked himself under an icy canopy to click Burton pro Romain de Marchi pulling off an absurdly stylish handplant backside 180 at Mendenhall Glacier, Juneau, Alaska.

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A chat with Australia’s Mick Fanning, who beat best surfer ever Kelly Slater to become new champion of the world.

interview BEN MONDY Illustration MARK TAPLIN

In October 2007 Mick Fanning won the 2007 Association of Surfing Professionals (ASP) world title. It was a win that no one deserved more. Mick’s ascent to the mantle of being called the best surfer in the world has not been without its obstacles. When Mick was only fifteen he lost his big brother and mentor Sean in a car accident. Then in 2004, he suffered a horrific injury whilst surfing, tearing most of the arse and thigh muscles off his pelvic bone. Such was the severity of the injury, doctors initially were concerned that he may never surf at the elite level again. It took Mick nine months of intensive rehabilitation just to get back in the water.

Since returning from that injury, Mick’s focus, strength and surfing have been taken to a new level. He curbed his love of beer and good times, focusing on the one thing that his natural talent deserved: a world title. In an incredible competitive run over the last twelve months, with the exception of only one event, he has placed third or better in every competition he’s entered. He wrapped up the world championship with one event still remaining and everyone in the business is in universal agreement that right now, and maybe for some time to come, Mick Fanning is the best surfer in the world. HUCK caught up with Mick to talk through his story so far.

HUCK: Okay Mick, let’s go from the start, talk us through the early years.

MICK FANNING: I was born in Penrith, in the western suburbs of Sydney, miles from the beach and then we moved to Coffs Harbour when I was really young. My dad’s from Donegal County in the north of Ireland and my mum is from England. I started surfing in Coffs Harbour, I had a tiny board and boogie boarded and surfed and mucked around in the ocean, but then we moved back to the western suburbs, to a place called Campbelltown, which is pretty much one of the biggest holes on earth. Luckily we later moved to a placed called Ballina in the far north of New South Wales (NSW).

At age ten or so I played soccer a lot – and did a bit of surfing, but I was way more psyched on soccer than surfing. ▼

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Were you any good?

We did all right. I represented Northern NSW and we ended up winning the state titles, which was a pretty big deal. I was a left midfielder.

When did the surfing bug kick in?

When I was twelve we moved up to the Gold Coast and I got sponsored by Quiksilver and that was pretty much it. I didn’t want to join a new soccer team and, yeah, surfing became everything.

When did you realise you were quite good at this surfing thing?

When I first started I made it to the state and Aussie titles when I was about fourteen, but I really didn’t know how far I was going to take it.

It wasn’t until I was seventeen that I left school and decided that that’s what I was going to do and took it from there.

Who did you look up to at that age?

Well, that was around the time of the Momentum crew, so guys like Kelly Slater, Taylor Knox and Rob Machado, and there was also guys like Occy and Matt Hoy who I looked up to. And then finally there were my mates, the guys I went to school with. Guys like Joel Parkinson and Dean Morrison – those were the guys we hung out with and surfed with each and every day.

Your first World Championship Tour (WCT) win was at Bells Beach as a wildcard. How was that win?

I wasn’t really concentrating on the world tour then. I’d narrowly missed qualifying the year before and was just working on that. I’d actually just won the previous event at Margaret River, which was a big event and I sort of went to Bells on a high and the waves were pumping and before I even knew it, I was ringing that Bell.

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You’ve now been on the WCT for five years – when did you first start to think of the world title as a serious goal?

My first year on tour I ended up fifth; for a rookie year that’s pretty good. So I suppose from the start I thought that if I could string a good year together then I’d be going close to the world title. And I’ve been in the race a couple of times up until the last few events and then fell away.

This year I had a great start and then had five solid results and just got on a roll.

How has it been being the front-runner for the first time?

There’s been times when I felt different when the pressure of leading was there, but I just looked at myself then, recharged my focus and tried to treat it like I was chasing and that seemed to work.

What is it about surfing that gives you most enjoyment right now?

The most enjoyment is just pure surfing – there is different enjoyment with different things. It might be paddling out at a fun little beach and trying different moves that I can’t do, or it might be going on trips with mates, but I also enjoy the competition side of things – just testing myself in all different conditions and against the best guys.

How much fun are those boat trips?

Just going away with your mates is pretty much the best thing there is. When I started surfing it was with my mates every day, but now it’s a career it’s hard to get those opportunities.

I guess it’s like when people graduate from university and become lawyers or tax people or whatever silly jobs there are out there and they just organise a trip or weekend away with the boys. It’s all fun and games; that’s what you live for – to get perfect waves with your best mates.

You mentioned before looking up to Kelly Slater and Occy and those guys – how does it feel now that they are your fierce rivals?

I still love watching Kelly surf and I love going up against Kelly because he brings out the best in you. I mean, going up against an eight-time world champion – that’s about as good as it gets.

And now the kids are looking up to Mick Fanning – how is that?

Yeah, it’s pretty funny. As a kid I was a bit shy around my heroes so I didn’t really run around asking for autographs, but it’s such a cool thing! I mean, you think of the times when you are doing gay photo shoots in the clothes and stuff but then a kid getting all stoked on you is a highlight.

The word everyone seems to be associating with you is focus. How did you maintain that?

I just focused on the very next heat every time, not the events down the track – you can’t put yourself in the final when you are only in the second round. It was the same with the world title race – heat by heat that was the goal all year.

You’ve toned down the partying a little as well?

I think you gotta play as well – but now I wait to the end of the event. Plus, the missus keeps me in line – you know if I’m getting a bit weird she’ll pull me into line and make me evaluate what’s going on, which is a big help.

It seems to be working…

Yeah, my life is really good at the moment, I wouldn’t change anything. I’m a world champion.

I’ve got a beautiful fiancée that I love. I’ve got some hell mates and I’ve got the best career in the world. Well, for me anyway, and enough money to live comfortably. And you know what, I’ve also got a bloody good dog too

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HUCK travels to Portland, Oregon, to skate Burnside and kick it with the locals.

photography Mattia Zoppellaro

It has none

of San Francisco’s chic, nor the grunge attitude of Seattle, much less the endless sun-bathed glitz of LA. And yet Portland, Oregon, is one of the coolest and most charming cities on the West Coast. Its uniqueness comes from deep within the pine forest that virtually swallows up the city centre, whether you’re coming from south, north or the air. Soaked with 155 rainy days a year, the

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Douglas Fir reigns supreme, its leafy ubiquity defining the city’s very identity, with hippies, lefties, lovers, druggies, weirdos and every subspecies in between calling the place home.

Portland’s progressive style has bred a strong skateboarding scene. Burnside, baby, is a Mecca for skaters the world over. Nestled under the east end of the Burnside Bridge, the park is a heaven of ramps, transitions and deep, rotund

bowls. The reverberating crunch of every grind is a vivid reminder that this is skate central and that the city embraces the scene. Open-armed.

Rain or shine. (But mostly rain.)

When the Nike 6.0 team decided to hit up Portland a few weeks ago, HUCK went along to document the trip. Camera in hand, we let the kids do the skating while the locals did the talking.

.Grom Sparrow Knox.

Board of choice Snow. .Hometown London, England. .Date of birth 19 JanuarY 1994. .

Portland local AMANDA TROXLER,. .HAIRSTYLIST:: .“I hate all sports, but skate is more. .about attitude. It’s a bit like Portland –. .arty, cool, laid-back, hip and friendly.”. .

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.Grom Matt Manzari.

Board of choice Wake, Skate. .Hometown Orlando, Florida. .Date of birth 26 September 1989. .

.Portland local Ken Hansen,. facility supervisor for theatres. .from San Francisco:. .“I like Portland’s clubs and. .restaurants. And I guess I see. .skating as a transportation. system.”. .

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.Grom Jamie Nicholls.

Board of choice Snow. .Hometown Bradford, England. .Date of birth 21 JULY 1993. .

Portland local Jake Stubbs,. .looking for a job:. .“I like Portland ’cause it’s big.. .Skating is good exercise, but. .I.quit a while back.”. .

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.Grom Nat Young.

Board of choice Surf. .Hometown Santa Cruz, California. .Date of birth 17 June 1991. .

Portland local Peter Riczko,. .born in the Bronx, NYC:. .“I like Portland’s music scene. I like. .how much skate culture has developed. .in the last fifteen years. Just the freedom. .of skating is awesome!”. .

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.Grom Matt Lemond.

Board of choice Skate. .Hometown Santa Monica, California. .Date of birth 19 October 1993. .

Portland local Yolanda Thickett,. .works in a retail outlet:. .“I’ve always supported my four kids in. .the Portland skate scene. We have. .family outings to the skate parks,. .because a family who skates together. stays together!”. .

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the new face of rasta With its zeal for system denouncing and spliff wielding, not to mention the ultimate poster boy, Bob Marley, Rasta has always had a special place in the hearts of global youth.

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But the commercial ubiquity of red, gold and green clothing, dodgy necklaces and ganja paraphernalia has led many followers to seek refuge in boboshanti, a

more orthodox interpretation of the creed. huck travelled to jamaica to find out more. text sarah bentley photos debbie bragg

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psalms and passages from the bible decorate the walls of the guards’ house and meeting room.

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ait here,” says Priest Radcliffe, a young Boboshanti Rastafarian and our guide into the camp. “Me call the lead Empress to come check you out, make sure you’re free.”

After a brisk hike up a rugged hill we have arrived outside a majestic red, gold and green wood fortress. This is Bobo Hill, the Jamaican HQ of the Boboshanti, an interpretation of Rastafari subscribed to by contemporary reggae-dancehall talents Sizzla, Capleton, Anthony B, Turbulence, Jah Mason and Fantan Mojah. Stern-faced men wearing flowing robes and tall turbans loiter near a hand-painted sign saying, ‘BLACK SOVEREIGN NATION: ETHIOPIA EMBASSY, (EGYPT) JAMAICA’. As we wait to be ‘checked out’, the atmosphere is tense. Scare stories flash through my mind: “The Bobo camp cruel ya know, they lock woman in cage fi three weeks of de month...

Take lots of money to Bobo Hill, it can be an expensive place to leave... They nah let me in, they say me nah dress modest.”

An elderly woman in robes and a flowing turban is ascending the hill clutching a cardboard calendar.

This is the camp matriarch and the woman who holds the power between admittance and refusal.

We can’t afford to be turned away (London to Bull Bay, Jamaica, is no small trip) so myself and Debbie, the photographer, have swapped our usual attire of tight jeans, Tees and loose hair for righteous ensembles of hair wraps, ankle-length skirts and tunics. I’m damn hot and I feel more

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Mormon than earth mama but if it gets us in, I don’t care. As she creaks towards us my heartbeat picks up. I’ve wanted to come here for years. No time for pleasantries as she launches straight into the fabled question, “What was the start date of your last menstrual cycle?”

New mothers face similar separation, a red flag for two months then a white flag for a third. When the white flag is hoisted, empresses can speak to any of the camp’s women, free or un-free, but cannot leave their hut or meet their partners until the end of the third month.

“Fifth July,” we squeak in unison, our pre-prepared chant timed to coincide with the camp’s draconian law. She holds our gaze for what feels like an eternity then says, “You move together closely?”

On a day-to-day basis, men and women live separately from the age of seven and, although much more lax, male camp members don’t escape rules. They pray three times a day, take part in work such as making brooms and cooking, and are forbidden from listening to music (reggae included) unless it’s traditional African drumming known as Nyabinghi.

“Yes, very close, always together.” After another penetrating stare, she turns to the calendar and, at a snail’s pace, strikes off twenty-one days from the fifth of July. The supposedly impervious yet totally fallible nature of this ritual is bemusing.

“Hmm,” she says, the sound laden with doubt.

“You are free.”

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omen, or empresses as they’re called, who live inside the Boboshanti HQ are only ‘free’ to move around the camp twenty-one days after the start of their last period, meaning an average of one week’s ‘freedom’ a month. This is known as the purification process during which women must stay inside the ‘journeying house’, a collection of huts sectioned off by a zinc fence.

Outside this area, red flags are placed by huts to denote a ‘polluted’ woman is inside. The rules of purification state un-free women only mix with other un-free women and never with the camp’s kings, meaning the men, spouses included.

Meals prepared by the camp kitchen are strictly ‘ital’, a Rastafarian term supposedly derived from the word vital, as in vital for life. A strict ital meal is devoid of all animal produce (meat, fish, dairy) and salt with a typical ital plateful containing rice and peas, plantain, homemade coleslaw (no mayo) with either veggie chunks, tofu or stew. Some rastas only eat with a spoon, the rationale for this being, “Only thing me see with fork is devil.”

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he surfing fraternity has always had an affection for Rasta. Despite their average ranking at international comps, the Rastaheavy Jamaican surf team are received as heroes and T-shirts bearing Bob Marley are sartorial staples. Some surfers like to feel they live outside ‘the system’ and many a heavy session in the water culminates with an equally heavy session passing spliffs or listening to reggae.

But much like surfing, times have changed since the movement’s purist founding years. With all the pseudo-dread hats, garish spliff paraphernalia and quasi followers who use it as an excuse to sit about talking shit and getting smashed, the potency Rastafari had when it was formed in the 1930s has been massively diluted. Mainstream perception is of ‘funky, cool, easy-going types’, a concept anathema to traditional followers and a huge motivation for the wave of Rastafarians turning to Boboshanti, the more orthodox order who wrap their dreadlocks in turbans and pay respect to a ‘Trinity’ of Haile Selassie, Marcus Garvey and founder Prince Emmanuel.

Robert Moore is a thirty-four-year-old Londonborn, Jamaican-heritage graphic designer who’s been Rastafarian since his teens. Five years ago he moved to Boboshanti. After wrapping his hair for the first time he felt “amazing” and says that he looked like his “true self” for the first time in years. “I don’t want anyone to misunderstand what I’m about,” he explains. “I’m not no funky dread. When you wrap your hair and have an untrimmed beard you can’t be perceived as some easy-going guy with locks and loose morals. I’m a

traditional African man and that’s the story I want to present. It’s a strong look. I can go anywhere in London and I won’t get bothered by kids, drunks, no one. People look at me and know what I’m about. They know they can’t mess. Just having dreads doesn’t get that reception anymore.

It used to, but not now.”

Explaining the origins of Boboshanti (also spelled ‘Bobo Shanti’) in a few paragraphs is a bit like those patronising Shakespeare-in-ten-minutes productions, but here goes. Although slavery was abolished in 1833, 1930s Jamaica remained a colonial playground where the white minority ruled and prospered while the black majority suffered and were hideously repressed. Throughout the early twentieth century, Jamaican activist Marcus Garvey preached a hard-line doctrine of black empowerment and built a strong following of supporters known as Garveyites. When he left Jamaica for the US in 1916, his parting message was, “Look to Africa for the crowning of a Black King; he shall be the redeemer.” In 1930 Ras Tafari, great grandson of King Sahela Selassie of Shoa, was crowned Negus of Ethiopia and took the name Haile Selassie. Many Jamaicans saw it as the

fulfilment of both Garvey’s and biblical prophecy and Selassie as the Messiah of African redemption, hence the seemingly quirky Rasta view that a deceased King of Ethiopia is in fact God. The founders of Rastafari are Jamaicans Leonard Howell, Joseph Hibbert, Archibald Dunkley and Robert Hinds. They claimed to have received the revelation Selassie was the Messiah of black people and set up ministries preaching this alongside ideas of repatriation to Africa and rejection of colonial rule.

The Boboshanti Order of Rastafari was formed by Emmanuel Charles Edwards in 1958. Legend has it his strict requirements of his followers came to pass in 1968 after a 3,000-strong repatriation march ended in violence. According to the Ethiopia Africa Black International Congress (EABIC) website, authorities beat and tear-gassed the crowd. Emmanuel Edwards proclaimed himself the leader and was beaten “to the point the authorities thought He (a capital H required to denote Godliness) was dead.” Emmanuel Edwards survived without a single broken bone, an incident that no doubt enhanced his status as a deity in the making. ▼

from the age of seven, boys and girls are brought up separately, the men taking care of the boys and the women looking after the girls. prior to that, the children play together.

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From then on he separated himself from those who “refused to follow the principles of The Black Christ-in-Flesh”, because he “could not allow people with unruly behaviour to jeopardise His work.” In 1972 Bobo Hill was formed in Bull Bay, ten miles outside Kingston.

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e’ve been sitting in the council room with the top dogs of Bobo Hill for forty minutes, and I’ve yet to ask a question. We’ve prayed to the east (towards Ethiopia), chanted to The Trinity, “blessed” our visit, “given thanks” for the meeting and now Priest Bobby, an elder Bobo with supreme status, is in full oratory flight. A dutiful priest with a sombre expression holds my Dictaphone level with Bobby’s mouth. Although I’m grateful to be granted the meeting (and to the Dictaphone holder), I’m struggling to find a point to Bobby’s epic monologue other than to stress the divinity of Prince Emmanuel. I try to cut in – “Do you... Have you... What do you...” – but there’s no stopping him. Every mention of Prince Emmanuel prompts the assembled priests to rise to their feet, this constant standing-up and sittingdown carrying on for the entire meeting.

Prayer, ritual and tradition are the warp and weft of life at Bobo Hill. Prayers are said in the guards’ house when you enter or exit the camp with thricedaily prayer services held in the tabernacle at morning, noon and sundown. Everyone has a title.

When a man first joins the community he is called a prophet, then makes his way up the ranks of acting priest, leading priest, apostle, disciple, then elder. Women enter as a princess then become empresses. During its formative years, the cause célèbre of Bobo Hill was lobbying the Jamaican government, the UN and the British government for repatriation back to Africa. Today the elders still talk about this although the younger priests (forty-year-olds and below) focus on the need for the black diaspora to re-connect with their African roots. The members of the Nyabinghi drumming group take great pride in the work they do in primary schools. Priest Clive says, “Most kids don’t know the first thing about their heritage, about Africa. How can you feel proud of who you are if you don’t know anything about where you’ve come from?”

Along with the purification doctrine, one of Bobo Hill’s most out-there beliefs is their refusal to acknowledge death. Priest Bobby says, “We deal with life, not death. Boboshanti and The Trinity nah die so we nah die.” A great thought in principle but one that’s proven somewhat tricky in practice, particularly in 1994 when Prince Emmanuel died, or “transcended” as is the term used at Bobo Hill, and failed to rise. Legend has it the camp’s elders waited three days by Emmanuel’s body before giving up their vigil for the body to be “dealt with”, meaning removed

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by an undertaker. But what usually happens when someone dies inside the camp? “They are left in whatever state they passed until their family or undertaker come deal wid dem.” Priest Bobby’s eyes flash seriously: “The devil here at Bobo Hill the same way he is in the outside world. It just easier to live good here than out there.”

Two hours thirty minutes later, I’ve asked just four questions. The sun’s going down fast, and Debbie looks like she’s about to have a seizure.

She’s barely taken any pictures and we’ve been here all afternoon. I wrap the ‘interview’ up. We say the obligatory meeting-ending prayers and head outside. Priest Bobby follows and launches into a hard sell of a burnt DVD of a Nyabinghi drumming performance. For fifteen minutes he pounds me about “my duty” to support the camp as I will “earn a big money from de writings”. The price is a whopping JA$6000 (£42). I gasp and tell him I left JA$4500 (£30) at the guards’ house as a donation and spent my remaining JA$700 (£5) on a Bobo hand broom made by one of the camp members. He’s visibly pissed off. “Sorry Priest Bobby,” I say, voice dripping with earnestness.

“I was so focused on preparing my body and soul to visit Bobo Hill, I didn’t think to prepare my purse as well.”

Meanwhile, Debbie is trying to get a few shots.

She fires off two snaps then, ‘Boom, boom, boom!’ a slow drumbeat thunders out. The priests turn to the east and place their right hand on their heart.

“Sundown prayers, camera down,” says Priest Radcliffe. Debbie’s face is pained. “Come back tomorrow,” he whispers. “I’ll show you around.

No meetings, just pictures. And I’ll get you a DVD.” The sound of the priests beating drums and chanting psalms in the tabernacle is carried across the hillside by the cool evening breeze. The dusk light casts a magical glow over the wooden huts,

robed men and lush vegetation. For a few moments the twenty-first century seems to slide away and I start to become enamoured by the sanctity and devotion that dominates life at Bobo Hill.

‘Be-be-be-be-beee, bee-bee-bee!’ A cell phone ring-tone of Michael Jackson’s ‘Thriller’ pierces the pious air. One of the younger priests from the meeting whips out his phone, a Nokia with a mock snakeskin handset, jabs at the off button and sheepishly slips it under his robe into his jeans pocket. After prayers I ask him how a jeans-wearing, twenty-something Michael Jackson fan finds life inside the camp. “It’s all about balance,“ he says.

“I love music so I listen to it quietly and watch music TV inside the privacy of my hut. The rules are about respect rather than restriction. People today have no respect, for themselves, each other, Jah, life, earth. They’re too busy committing sin or caught up in the rat race. Life at Bobo Hill may seem strict, but it make you feel more free.”

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hat night we hit Passa Passa, a weekly street dance in downtown Kingston, to check out the extreme polar opposite of the Bobo Hill community: the local dancehall scene. As the pounding beats ring out from towering speakers, women poured into minute pieces of Lycra display buxom bottoms, breasts and thighs for a bevy of DV cameramen jostling for the best shot. Young men trussed up in designer shades and customised blazers perform perfectly synchronised routines and fling women around like rag dolls as they work their way through Kama Sutra-inspired ‘dance’ moves.

Old dreads walk through the crowd holding bouquets of small JA$300 bags of weed and the local shop does a roaring trade in Guinness, Red Stripe and Smirnoff Ice. A couple mount the bonnet of a passing truck and perform a hilarious flurry of thrusts and bangs. ▼

priest bobby, explaining the intricacies of boboshanti beliefs in front of a portrait of the movement’s founder, prince emmanuel.

At relatively new weekly party Dutty Friday, the dances are getting more and more debauched. A move called the ‘drop dead’ sees women imitate a fit, drop down into a coffin (an actual coffin) then get ‘pseudo-fucked’ in it by a male dancer.

Another sees a double bed being wheeled out for all manner of gymnastics to go off on.

A clip on YouTube of a recent Dutty Friday party shows a middle-aged woman being aggressively thrust from behind by a young male dancer. Over the sound system, the host encourages the guy to “rip off her panty,” which he does, by yanking them up and to the side (ouch!) to expose her entire ass to the delighted crowd.

This increasingly popular X-rated behaviour is being passed down to the younger generation.

In 2005 local newspapers reported students were fornicating on packed school buses and girls were having ‘no panty’ days. The incident prompted dancehall DJ Vybz Kartel to release ‘School Bus’, a track that urged youngsters not to “fuck inna de school bus.”

Contest’, bleaching being a crude skin-lightening practise popular amongst the hardcore dancehall crowd. The prize: JA$1000 (£7). I’ve had a great night but I find this flyer depressing. Time to go back to Bobo Hill.

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he next day Priest Radcliffe and two other priests are listening enraptured to our description of Passa Passa. They’ve heard about it but never been. Radcliffe shrugs: “We don’t do anything after dark but sit in our hut, hold a meditation or watch cable. We live by the sun; once it’s dark, there’s not much to do.” I tell them there were at least thirty Bobos dotted throughout the crowd last night and that dancehall tunes by Boboshanti artists Sizzla, Capleton, Anthony B and Fantan Mojah were very popular.

“It’s easy to wrap your hair,” says Priest Dennie.

“Much harder to hold a discipline.”

It’s 8am and the Passa Passa crowd has thinned to a few hundred nutters determined to go till the last tune plays. Poe-faced women march through the remaining crowd clutching kids in school uniform. As they pass, they tut at their ghetto counterparts shimmying and shaking while their own dazed offspring hang on to their legs.

Public busses run down the street packed with expressionless passengers on their way to work – no doubt they’ve seen this scene a hundred times before.

Inside the Bobo camp the official line on reggae and dancehall is that it is heathen music and its artists – including the growing crop of Boboshanti artists that have popularised the movement, and the great Bob Marley himself – are ‘heathens’ along with it. A passing apostle hears our conversation and launches into a ‘fire and brimstone’ tirade about supposed Bobo artists like Sizzla that sing about being “under gal” yet wear the turban. Radcliffe and his friends agree with the apostle, although when he leaves they confess to liking a lot of Sizzla’s early, more political songs and the work of Bobo artists like Jah Mason and Ras Shiloh. “It’s not part of camp life but if it gives a positive message to society and help calm down the youth, I’m all for it,” says Radcliffe.

On my way out, I’m handed a flyer showing G-string-clad rumps of two faceless women.

It’s promoting a dance with a ‘Best Bleaching

Two twenty-something empresses walk past, one of them is a Caucasian woman from St Croix, US Virgin Islands, who travelled to Jamaica specifically

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to live at Bobo Hill. Radcliffe bows graciously, “Greetings Empresses. Blessed love to you on your journey today.” Sure beats ‘alright darling’, I think to myself.

“It’s not for everyone but I find a great sense of peace and divinity living this way,” explains Empress Shyro, the St Croix émigré who left a house and job as a secretary to live in a hut and fully devote herself to Boboshanti. “It can be hard but how can you be outside the system if you’re living in it?

We live like the ancient people. I spend my days tending crops, cooking, making handcrafts, raising children, reading the bible. It’s a simple life but it feels right. Empress Mazi is fifty-three, has nine children and has been happily married for thirty years. How often do you come across that in the outside world these days?” And what’s her take on all the rumours about women being treated cruelly at Bobo Hill? “People are scared of what they don’t understand. We live here by choice. If there were cages and maltreatment, we wouldn’t.

The kings at Bobo Hill respect me in a way I never felt in the outside world. Living here isn’t for all.

Empress Rose, for example, is a lawyer in Kingston so she visits with her king once a week and that works for her. Like any religion or belief, it’s different for everyone.”

Whether they’re drawn to the purification process or simply don’t want to be perceived as a ‘funky dread’, Rastas are turning to Boboshanti as a way of re-claiming the integrity of Rastafari. Says Priest Radcliffe, “Bob Marley say ‘one love’, and everyone think Rasta about one love when it’s not.

It’s about discipline, tradition, righteousness and empowerment.”

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Things you’d struggle to buy in a gift shop or put on a T-shirt

HUCK travels to North County San Diego to sip hot java and hang out with those in the know.

text ZOE OKSANEN photography Embry Rucker

Armed with a soy chai, I’m sitting at my local café and eavesdropping on the latest industry talk. I can just about work out who’s the current snowboarder to ditch their sponsor, which pro skateboarder just lost his contract and where the next secret boat trip is planned for the world’s greatest surfers.

Welcome to the Pannikin, North County San Diego’s central coffee hub for all those who live, work and breathe the action sports industry.

Over the years, the eclectic town of Encinitas and its environs have become home to a major sector of the pros from the world of skate, surf and snow, as well as the industry that surrounds them.

Whether it’s because of the perfect vert ramp at the YMCA, the endless breaks along the coastline, the fact that sponsors are just a stone’s throw away, or, let’s be honest, the fact that Southern California is a damn nice place to call home, this is action sports Mecca.

From a seemingly endless list of big players, HUCK met up with the following influential characters for a coffee and a chat – at the Pannikin, of course.

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ROB MACHADO PROFESSIONAL SURFER

Rob Machado is one of the world’s most famous surfers. With his huge-ass afro balancing over a skinny head and lean frame, he’s instantly recognisable.

But back in his hometown of Cardiff, California, Rob Machado is just Rob, and whether you bump into him at the local grocery store, at the gym or taking out his paddleboard at Cardiff Reef, the goofy-footed kingof-smooth is as casual a local as anyone else in town.

Although Rob was born in Australia (to an American father and English mother), he came to live in Encinitas – Cardiff by the Sea, to be precise – at age four and has never looked back. “It’s a pretty mellow joint,” he says. “It’s home: fun waves, good people, friends and family. The list goes on and on. I’ve travelled all over the world and I can honestly say that when it’s all said and done, I will probably live here and grow old.”

His commitment to his hometown is epitomised by the amateur surf contest he hosts annually, the Machado Surf Classic and Beach Fair. “It’s all about giving back to the community and the kids,” says Rob. “When you see those kids walking off the beach, sunburnt, with a trophy and a big smile, it definitely makes it all worthwhile.” ▼

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JUSSI OKSANEN

CHAD BARTIE

Jussi Oksanen’s hometown in Finland couldn’t be further removed from Encinitas. Think mini summers, frozen winter seas and zero surf. No wonder, then, that Jussi chose this particular part of the world as his base. But think a little further and you might question what a professional snowboarder, who spends at least seven months of the year riding in the world’s mountain ranges, is doing living in North County San Diego.

“Everyone asks me why I don’t live somewhere in the mountains, but I could only choose one place as a base and if it was a shitty snow season, then what? At least here I get to surf in the off-season.

Plus, me and my family have a sick place to live year round.” So when Jussi is not standing atop the X Games podium or jumping out of helicopters in Alaska, how does he spend his time back at home?

“Simple, really – surf, train, kick back and bump into every other pro in the industry whenever I go for a coffee at the Pannikin!”

You don’t need to know a great deal about skateboarding to know that California is a major nerve centre of the skate world. But how did Chad Bartie, Australian born-and-bred pro skater, end up living in Encinitas? “When I first came to the US fifteen years ago, this was the first place I stayed. It was a lot like home in Australia and still is: small beach town vibe with great friends and laid-back lifestyle.”

Chad is known for his consistency as a park skater, ranking in the top ten of all the World Cup Skateboarding events he has been in. But while life on the road can be fun, coming back home never fails to put a smile on his face. “The Pannikin is so tight – different times of the year give it a different feel,” he muses. “I like it when it’s a little cold and a perfect blue-sky day with sun shining bright and all the little birds are floating from umbrella to umbrella… I’m just totally sold on the Pannikin, it’s clearly where it’s at.” ▼

PROFESSIONAL SNOWBOARDER

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PROFESSIONAL SKATEBOARDER

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CHAD DINENNA

SUZANNA IZZO

Back in 1997 Chad DiNenna decided the world needed a watch brand that was aimed at the world of surf, skate and snow. Enter Nixon, the brand he created with Andy Laats, and one that took the boardsports world by storm.

Previously an ad sales manager for Transworld magazines, Chad decided to stay local and base Nixon out of Encinitas. “It was either here or San Francisco,” he explains. “I was living in Encinitas and had a leg up with more than half the industry between San Diego and O.C. Add to that the allure of warm waves and Encinitas won!”

The warehouse-style building that sits right off Highway 101 is testament to the very ethos of the brand. Step inside and you’ll see a rack of surfboards for that lunch time session, and an open, unpretentious environment. “We recognise people spend more time at Nixon than they do at home so we wanted to make sure it was a place you want to come work at,” explains Chad. “A few years ago we made the decision to move our warehouse and service centre up the road to Carlsbad, which allowed us to keep our HQ on Coast Highway giving employees close access to the waves, healthy food and local coffee shops.”

A well-adjusted North County immigrant, New York-born Suzanna Izzo earns a living by helping people make their mark on the world. With a shake of her long curly hair and a peal of infectious laughter, you realise straight away why she’s so good at her job. Sue is a people’s person through and through, and whether it’s world-class surfer Sofia Mulanovich, or snowboarders Keir Dillon or Danny Davis, she is there for them 100 per cent.

While that generally means clinching killer contracts, at times it means throwing surprise birthday parties for her athletes or putting them up for nights on end at her house.

It is, as she puts it, “all about the people.”

“I meet human beings with a dream,” she explains, “and help nurture that dream through the rollercoaster with a lot of emphasis on the human relationship.”

With an office based in the heart of Encinitas – and a buzz-generating coffee shop around the corner – Izzo has her finger on the pulse of all that’s happening in the industry: “It’s great – I can go to the Pannikin any given morning and feel like I’m right in the middle of a trade show.”

NIXON CO-FOUNDER

ATHLETE MANAGER

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has . Friedmaan E n e l G g d n in e s g Photo le areer out of showc with made a cHe’s at it once again history. st book on Fugazi. his newe

IO text JAY RIGG MAN EN E. FRIED L G y photograph

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tony hawk, early 1980s.

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black flag garage party, 1983.

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“when i travelled around the world and there were skateboarders, people knew who i was. when i went to punk shows, people would recognise me”

They that timingsay is everything.

Act at precisely the right moment and you’re bound to come up with something original, urgent and, if you’re lucky, absolutely truthful.

While many artists lack instinct, forty-five-yearold photographer Glen E. Friedman has built a career on perfect timing – knowing just when and where to capture the moment that otherwise would have gone undocumented. His impeccable eye, paired with his heart and ability to decipher between what is and isn’t genuine, have allowed him to capture some of our generation’s most important images. Skate, punk, hip-hop – Glen’s presence at the dawn of each subculture can never be replicated.

Glen was published for the first time in 1976, at the ridiculously young age of fourteen.

“It was a full-page subscription ad of Jay Adams for Skateboarder Magazine,” says Friedman.

“I got paid $40 and from that day on I’ve had a picture published every month.” Glen began hanging out in West LA, in the shitty, seedy area also known as Dogtown. It was there that he discovered skateboarding, and the personalities who drove the revolution – the kids who skated empty pools for the very first time.

By sixteen, Glen was Skateboarder Magazine’s youngest and most frequent contributor. “Skateboarding isn’t as big now as it was then, but around ’76, ’77, it was really huge and Skateboarder was the bible,” recounts Friedman. “It was the number-one selling magazine, and because of that I was able to gain a reputation. When I travelled around the world and there were skateboarders, people knew who I was. When I went to punk shows, people would recognise me from Skateboarder.” He began attending punk shows, shooting bands like Black Flag, Dead Kennedys, TSOL, The Circle Jerks, Bad Brains and Minor Threat, documenting a scene that had yet to grace the mainstream with its important presence.

Around the early eighties, punk rock began to die out. In Glen’s eyes, it was becoming stale, generic and lacked the creative energy it once had. A friend gave him some hip-hop tapes of the genre’s earliest recordings dubbed off the radio.

“I was getting turned on to this music. It was like punk rock was at the beginning, something totally insane and nothing anyone else was doing,” says Glen. Loving the new sounds he was hearing, Glen crossed over to shoot hip-hop legends like the Beastie Boys, Run-DMC, Public Enemy and LL Cool J. Once again, he found himself at the forefront of a burgeoning subculture.

It was no coincidence that Glen was drawn to these three distinct, rebellious and invaluable movements over the years, no stroke of luck that he captured the birth of each scene.

“I shot pictures of the people who inspired me because I wanted to spread that inspiration ▼

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bad brains, lower east side, new york city, 1981.

“I wasn’t trying to do some cultural snippets of some weird world. I was trying to show that this is something strong”

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around. I wasn’t trying to do some cultural snippets of some weird world. I was trying to show that this is something strong,” explains Glen. “It wasn’t like I was an outsider wanting to shoot these things,” he continues. “I was involved in these scenes. When you have these voyeurs coming in to shoot this certain thing because it’s hot or it’s what the young kids are doing, it’s fucking lame. They may get a good shot now and then, but do they really feel it?”

Having published various books containing portions of his vast archived photos throughout the years, Glen has just recently dropped his latest book, Keep Your Eyes Open, a collection of photos of Fugazi, ranging from 1986 to the band’s final show in 2002. Glen first met Fugazi frontman Ian MacKaye at a Bad Brains show in ’81 while Ian was still fronting Minor Threat.

After hearing Minor Threat’s EP, In Your Eyes, Glen was blown away. “I wrote Ian a letter which was like my first fan letter and it said that I thought it was the greatest fucking record I had ever heard,” remembers Glen. “After that, I saw Minor Threat every time that I could.”

Minor Threat would break up in ’83, leading Ian MacKaye to embark on a series of music projects, one of them being Fugazi in ’87.

“They were totally different from Minor Threat but they were like a whole new level. He had a different group of guys but still had that same intensity,” says Glen about the first time he saw

Fugazi. “I forgot my camera that first show, but I vowed to bring it to every other show to help spread their inspiration around.”

Over the following years Friedman would go on to shoot Fugazi endlessly both on and off the stage, and many of these images feature in Keep Your Eyes Open. The book contains some 200 colour and black and white shots showcasing a spectrum of moments, ranging from on-stage ferocity, to candid portraits of the guys on tour. Being close friends with the band, Glen was able to capture a certain honesty and intimacy that is carried wholeheartedly throughout the book. “They gave me total access to do or be wherever I wanted,” he says. “I could pop up in front of the microphone in the middle of the song and get a shot, just to get an interesting photo of the band.”

In a world where success and timing supposedly go hand in hand, Glen E. Friedman has added heart, soul and truth to the equation – documenting the result for the world to see

.

Keep Your Eyes Open is published by Burning Flags Press and is available from www.fugazibook.com.

All Glen E. Friedman photographs from the books Fuck You Heroes and Fuck You Too, reprinted with permission of Burning Flags Press. www.burningflags.com

Three lucky readers will win all this: a T-shirt, a city slicker jacket and a Bam Margera signature skateboard.

Don’t thank us. Thank Element – ’cause that’s a whole lot of love.

UK: Five issues for £15 EUROPE: Five issues for 30 Euros REST OF THE WORLD: Five issues for $60 Please send all cheques, PAYABLE TO HUCK LTD, to: Huck Magazine Subs Department Studio 209 134-146 Curtain Road London EC2A 3AR, uk You can also subscribe by going to our website on www.huckmagazine.com.

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by merging the two technologies of in-mold helmets and traditional hard-shell helmets, using a unique double-shell system, we have succeeded. Another requirement is to ensure that when used in water the liner does not soak up liquid and become heavy and less effective. To overcome this, we use an expanded polypropylene – able to withstand multiple impacts – to guarantee that the helmet retains the same weight no matter where it is worn.

POC is a Swedish company dedicated to doing everything we can to save lives and reduce the risk of injury when skiing through the development of highly advanced protection gear.

GUS VAN SANT: INTERVIEWED PARANOID PARK: REVIEWED TONY HAWK’S NEW GAME THE RAVEONETTES

PHOTO: IGNACIO ARONOVICH/LOST ART

SEWAGE ART AND MORE!

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GOING UNDER SEWAGE SYSTEM ART!

It’s Sunday morning and a man in yellow overalls is feeling his way through a seemingly endless underground maze. Rats keep him company as he pushes on, spray can in hand, leaving an army of crushed cockroaches in his wake. The fading sound of trundling trucks and cars are a subtle reminder of the world that lives and breathes up above; the world of men. But here, in the bowels of São Paulo, home to almost twenty million people, it is the pests that rule – them and the subterranean art of Zezão.

José Augusto Amaro Capela, aka Zezão, is a thirty-six-year-old graffiti artist from São Paulo, Brazil. For almost a decade he has used the sewage system of this overpopulated metropolis as the canvas for his spray-painted art. His trademark work is an abstract, complex and curvilinear shape; lonely, floppy and always blue.

Zezão started painting as a teenager. His first canvases were the trains and buses of the city he then loathed. “At the beginning, as an angry kid, my work was more vandalism than art,” he admits.

“I’d graffiti the subway trains a lot. It was a way to seek revenge against a city from which I felt excluded.”

Then, in 1999, everything changed. His dad had just died, his mother was ill and, as a bike courier, he made barely enough to support himself, let alone his ailing mum. “The situation at home was desperate,” he says. “I was depressed and needed to find a place to reflect and try to figure things out.”

That place was the sewage system. On a hot summer day, walking down one of the busiest roads in town, he noticed an open sewage cap and, curious, decided to look inside. The rest, as they say, is history. “I liked what I saw,” says Zezão. “These are dirty, forgotten places. I didn’t need visibility and preferred to spend time there than up on the surface.”

In seven years, Zezão has painted his trademark ‘blue flop’ in more than twenty underground ‘galleries’ across São Paulo. “At the time, my friends would ask, ‘Zezão, why did you stop painting?’ And I’d say, ‘I haven’t stopped. In fact, I’m painting a lot more than you are.’ Then I’d pull out the photos of my work and they’d be totally blown away.”

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Besides its obvious political theme (“I see the environmental tragedy caused by human waste from up close”), Zezão’s work also carries a strong sense of adventure. Traipsing through the labyrinthine sewage system of a huge city on your own can be scary enough. But what if you get lost? “My torch ran out of batteries once and I was suddenly enveloped by total, absolute darkness. Down there, cell phones don’t work and I started to yell from the top of my lungs but no one could hear me. It was like a horror film, really frightening.” And then there’s the huge downpour that sent water levels rising, almost drowning him in the process: “The water came up to my waist, kept rising and then, when I finally found the way out, I couldn’t get to it, as rubbish bags, pieces of wood and rats were tumbling in my direction and blocking my way. It was like a tsunami down there!”

Zezão’s work has finally caught the attention of art galleries both in Brazil and abroad. Earlier this year, his work was shown at the Jonathan Levine Gallery in New York. One of his paintings graced the back cover of Graffiti Brasil, a book published by Thames & Hudson. And more work is currently on display at São Paulo’s Contemporary Arts Museum, as well as at the O Contemporary gallery in Brighton, England, which shows art from the likes of Dface and Damien Hirst.

Zezão admits that the main challenge is to exhibit in a way that credibly reflects his work on the street. “My art is inherently tied to the dirt and grit; it doesn’t make sense to use canvases,” says Zezão, who will only exhibit paintings on structures found in São Paulo’s sewage. “I want to create an atmosphere that reflects the real underground gallery where most of my work is.

The sewage system is a spectacular backdrop – the waterfalls of brown water, the odd spot of outside light, the dead animal. I want to show a side of the city that no one ever sees.” EMILIO FRAIA Check out Zezão’s work at the O Contemporary Gallery in Brighton.

For more info, see www.artesubterranea.com.

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PHOTO: IGNACIO ARONOVICH/LOST ART

K C A B TO N W P-TO GUS VAN SANT TALKS TO HUCK ABOUT PARANOID PARK. Gus Van Sant is back in town. After a long stint churning out some sharp Hollywood fare (Good Will Hunting, 1997; Finding Forrester, 2000) followed by his remarkable death trilogy (Gerry, 2002; Elephant, 2003 and Last Days, 2005), Gus has made a complete return to his roots. Literally. Paranoid Park, his tale of fear and paranoia revolving around a murder at the local skate park, was shot entirely in his hometown of Portland, Oregon.

Based on a novel by Blake Nelson and set among the Portland skate community, Paranoid Park is close to his heart in more ways than one. “It’s a very special Portland scene,” he says. “I was a skater too, in the sixties – though I was never really a part of that particular crew. By the time I spent more time in Portland in the eighties there was this very intense skate community who eventually built the park where we shot the film. Now they are all in their thirties and have kids and stuff.”

While local skaters were key to getting the film made, the director says that many of them approached the project with caution.

Gus’ outsider credentials, even as a Portland resident, did not go unnoticed: “I know some of them from the music clubs but I wasn’t part of that scene. They were very helpful and interested in us shooting but there was also some scepticism going on.”

When it came to scouting for locations, the obvious choice was

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Burnside Skatepark, a Mecca for Portland skaters. Question is, did the locals have a problem with the name change? “They didn’t seem to care that we called it that,” says Van Sant. “There is a Paranoid Park in Portland but it’s not a skate park. We called it that because the guy was paranoid. Perhaps some people do care just because they don’t want people fucking with their park. It’s a bit like calling ‘Big Ben’ ‘Paranoid Ben’ and making it as if the community refers to it as ‘Paranoid Ben’.”

Paranoid Park’s lead man, Gabe Nevins, initially went to the casting – advertised on MySpace to attract skaters – to get a role as a skateboarding extra. Little did he know he was about to be cast as the main role. “He had a very easy way about him and he also had an intense visual history,” says Van Sant. “He likes acting. But he’s quite different in real life, and a lot younger than the character (fifteen at the time of filming), but comes across as a mature sixteen-year-old.”

Nevins’ performance is convincing throughout. So could this be the start of an acting career for him? “Right now he is taking his time and is not really rushing into it. It’s not like he’s going to LA trying to get work or something – but maybe some day he will.” VERENA VON STACKELBERG Paranoid Park is out now.

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ALBUMS THE RAVEONETTES

Lust Lust Lust/Fierce Panda

This third LP from Denmark’s Raveonettes marks a return to the fuzzy racket they made on their 2003 full-length debut, The Chain Gang of Love, half at the expense of the sweet pop they tried on their last record, Pretty In Black. The good news is that it starts with an absolute belter – the ferocious and delightful ‘Aly Walk With Me’ and the album’s first single, ‘Dead Sound’, is as good a track as they’ve ever written. The rest, however, leaves you wanting. It’s an album that demands repeated listens, because there’s always subtlety and precision in their songs (check the brilliant, clopping percussion on ‘Sad Transmission’), but returning to it never quite feeds you what you need. That said, there is no band around that manages to squeeze quite as much sex into their music as The Raveonettes and, in this age of dickless indie bands and over-earnest singersongwriters, that’s more than a relief. PHIL HEBBLETHWAITE

BLITZEN TRAPPER

Wild Mountain Nation/Sub Pop

Short at half an hour but packed full of crunchy, fun surprises – a Mariachi horn here, a clumsy abstract rhythm there. And yet it never strays far from sounding like beefy country rock. It’s classic songwriting put through the mincer; Grateful Dead without the solos. They’re from Portland, Oregon, this is their first official release and it’s slamming. PH

DIMENSION X

Dimension X/KML

Absolutely crackers record that sees three mad noise freaks marry excerpts of stories broadcast on cult fifties radio show Dimension X with a barrage of drums, guitars and spooky electronic effects. On paper: best record ever. In reality: twisted pop and high art at the same time. One for you weed fiends and it has gorgeous artwork, inside and out. PH

MOVING UNITS

Hexes for Exes/Metropolis

“What’s the point of it all?” asks Moving Units’ Blake Miller in the opening track of their second album. It’s a pertinent question that you end up asking yourself repeatedly while suffering the abortion that is every other song on here. Their debut had a bit of fire and punch about it. This one makes you want to punch children and set yourself on fire. PH

VIETNAM

S/T/Kemado Outta Brooklyn and hyped. I know, another one. But VietNam don’t do scratchy art punk for hipsters. The clue’s in their name: makes you think of classic rock and that’s the trench they dig – it’s oldfashioned, analogue-recorded stuff that plays well as an album and it’s mostly very good. The better songs are the raucous, horn-driven ones. Gentler, country-fried numbers suffer. PH

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MOVIES PARANOID PARK ****

Director: Gus Van Sant

“I don’t know if I’m ready for Paranoid Park,” says skater kid Alex (Gabe Nevins). “No one is ever really ready for Paranoid Park,” replies Jared (Jake Miller). Gus Van Sant’s latest, set in a notorious skate park in Portland, Oregon, depicts the fractured conscience of a teenage skateboarder who decides to keep quiet after accidentally causing the death of a railway security guard. An unknown cast of young, non-professional actors and a typically simple, excellently paced screenplay imbue Paranoid Park with a beautiful, natural quality. As the story slowly unfolds you’ll almost forgive Van Sant for the insipid mess that was Last Days. Almost. MILLER TIME

THERE WILL BE BLOOD **** Director: Paul Thomas Anderson

There Will Be Blood is a barnstorming tale of Texas wildcatter Daniel Plainview, and his Kane-like rise and fall. Daniel Day-Lewis attacks the role with the explosive energy of an oil well blowout, although a performance of this magnitude tends to suck some of the subtlety out of the film’s themes. As a study of the roots of modern America, where religion, politics and greed collapse into a civilisational struggle, There Will Be Blood clutches at the coattails of genius. But there’s a sense of the film slipping away from Anderson in the closing stages, as if he can’t control the force of nature he’d so assiduously unlocked in his lead actor. MATT BOCHENSKI

NO COUNTRY FOR OLD MEN ****

Director: Joel Coen, Ethan Coen

Javier Bardem creates one of the great screen nut jobs in Anton Chigurh – a homicidal drug dealer stalking Josh Brolin across the dust-caked southern states to retrieve a suitcase full of cash. Adapting Cormac McCarthy’s novel has brought out the Coens’ A-game for the first time in ages. This pitch-black, beautifully crafted thriller is one of their best, even if it does slip into opacity before the end. MB

IN THE VALLEY OF ELAH **** Director: Paul Haggis

It’s fun to hate Paul Haggis for Crash and Casino Royale, but annoyingly, In The Valley of Elah is really, really good. It’s a probing procedural thriller that sees Tommy Lee Jones uncovering the mystery of who killed his son – a marine recently returned from Iraq.

But more than that, it’s a powerful snapshot of a country in crisis with a devastatingly effective closing shot. MB

ALL THE BOYS LOVE MANDY LANE ** Director: Jonathan Levine

This is a bold attempt by Jonathan Levine to bring some indie cred to the slasher genre, but despite the classy soundtrack and bleached visuals it never gets going. Why? Because it doesn’t make any fucking sense. Virginal beauty Mandy Lane spends a weekend with her slut mates, all of whom get bumped off before the world’s least successful twist renders the whole thing ridiculous. MB

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S E M GA

TONY HAWK’S PROVING GROUND ***

Xbox 360, PS3, Wii, DS

Taking the prolific series back to basics, Proving Ground lets you choose the path of your skater as either a hardcore street urchin, corporate poster boy or DIY ‘skate anything’ prankster. With a few new additions like video editing, bowl carving and your very own pimped-out crib, there’s enough to entertain anyone new to the series. Older fans, though, may not be able to ignore the sound of the barrel being mercilessly scraped. ED ANDREWS

Wii ZAPPER **** Wii

While Microsoft and Sony vie to be top-nerd in technical superiority, Nintendo is busy taking gaming to the next level of playability. This nifty gadget is little more than a cheap lump of plastic but click in the Wii-mote and Nunchuk and it turns into the coolest light gun since Duck Hunt first appeared on the NES. Try it alongside Link’s Crossbow Training, a target practise game and Legend of Zelda spin-off, and you will be a super sharp shooter in no time. ED A

RESIDENT EVIL: THE UMBRELLA CHRONICLES *** Wii

Not a story about water-resistant accessories but a re-imagining of the seminal horror series Resident Evil as an arcade ‘on rails’ shooter.

Gameplay is simply a case of pointing the controller at the screen and capping every zombie, mutant and innocent bystander in sight. The game revisits all the classic locations from the series with a few new surprises in store. While doing nothing for innovation, it does provide a huge amount of gun-toting fun, especially when played with the aforementioned Wii Zapper. ED A

MASS EFFECT *** Xbox 360, PC

The words ‘epic space opera’ are not bandied around often, but this is one occasion that demands it. To say this game is immense would be an understatement. Playing as a human peacekeeper in the face of an intergalactic power struggle, you have to use all your wit, logic and firepower to fight against tyranny. In typical RPG style, it offers an almost infinite choice of tactics, combat and dialogue with literally a whole universe to explore, which should keep you busy for about a decade or so. Impressively executed, but isn’t it all a bit much? ED A

NEED FOR SPEED: PRO STREET ** PS3, Xbox 360, Wii, PSP

Those expecting to cruise the red light district with a craving for amphetamines will not be the only ones disappointed by this derivative street racer. Offering the usual fare of racing modified Ford Escorts and the like around flashy cities, Pro Street provides the ever familiar unlockable car upgrades in your quest to be global, petrol-head-rude-bwoy champion. The phrase ‘seen it all before’ springs firmly to mind. ED A

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BOOKS SEPTEMBER

Michael Fordham, September Project

“I’m extremely interested in finding a new way to live and I think that surfing could possibly be the answer.” Uttered by Andy Warhol during a visit to La Jolla in 1968, this is the opening line of September, a totally original collection of images and musings edited by magazine veteran Michael Fordham. The concept revolves around a surf trip to the West Coast of Ireland during the holy surfing month of September, when the Northern Hemisphere tips into the equinox bringing rising waves, friendly winds and everthinning crowds. The first of a series, September offers perspectives on surfing and the world at large from a troupe of creative types.

Exponents include writer Jamie Brisick, painter Sandow Birk and twilight photographer Spencer Murphy, all documenting the Irish jig through their medium of choice. ‘How you surf, so you live’ philosophises Fordham in a poignant essay. Brisick chases pints and barrels in County Donegal and Murphy captures an eerily beautiful sunrise at Easky. Available online and at the Howies shop in London, September is a wet, cold and beautiful journey through the ontology of surf. As Warhol discovered back in the day, you might just find some deep answers hidden inside. VINCE MEDEIROS www.september-project.com ww.september-project.com / www.howies.co.uk ww.howies.co.uk

BONFIRE OF THE BRANDS Neil Boorman, Canongate

What would you do if you woke up one day and thought, ‘I literally have no idea who I am?’ For Neil Boorman, the answer was simple: burn the entire contents of your life. Extreme? Perhaps. But as a self-confessed brandaholic, Neil’s mission to cleanse himself of consumer hell is an honest piece of self-inspection. Unlike his brand-bashing contemporaries (stand up, Naomi Klein), Boorman’s honesty unravels a sad truth not just about society, but about you and me and our heavily branded asses. ANDREA KURLAND

STREET SKETCHBOOK

Tristan Manco, Thames & Hudson Man, I love art -- be it canvassed for the elite or thrown on the street. My real vice, though, are sketchbook doodles, those rare seedlings of pure instinct are what I truly crave. Street Sketchbook is that fix, offering a peek inside the sketchbooks of street art’s greatest talents. Revealing the private sketchual thoughts of everyone from Banksy to Will Barras, this is art as it should be: unrestrained and uncensored. Delve in and feel dirty. AK

THE GUM THIEF

Douglas Coupland, Bloomsbury Douglas Coupland, coiner and voice of Generation X, dips into the zeitgeist once again with this listless tale of modern life’s propensity to breed loneliness and broken dreams. Middle-aged Roger and young goth Bethany have nothing in common, bar their McJobs at Staples and the ennui bred of their vacuous existence. When Bethany discovers Roger’s diary in the coffee room, the pair begin to write back and forth, indulging their darkly comical take on life. Peppered with Couplandian wit, this cynical montage should put a smile on your face. AK

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THE TEN COMMANDMENTS OF SURF GOD-DOM BY

JAMIE BRISICK THOU SHALT NEVER MISS A SWELL

Unlike most sports where the playing field is static, surfing is built upon a set of fickle variables that include swell, wind and tide. The Surf God (or SG) is therefore a slave to nature’s whims – his entire life is designed around making a beeline for the surf at the expense of everything else. Which means a steady job is out of the question (doesn’t matter, this is “the best job in the world” – though few have had any other). Which means he has far too much time on his hands. Which means a lolloping, slooow demeanour and drawling, teenage speech, thus...

THOU SHALT TALK THE TALK

Ever noticed how surfers tend to over use the words “like”, “super” and “siiick”? It’s partly due to spending too much time in the sun; partly because one can be only so acrobatic in life, and better to do it in the surf than on the tongue; and partly because, thanks to the first commandment, the myopic pursuit of surf negates the need for any other interests beyond what the waves are doing, bro. Hence, the SG has little to say for himself.

THOU SHALT DOWNPLAY ONE’S HEROIC FEATS

There is tremendous ego and braggadocio among SGs, but it is veiled in passive-aggressiveness. For instance, 12-15ft surf will be called “eight-to-ten”, a nine-second tube ride is a “semi cover-up”, a 6ft air is merely a “bunny hop” and a near-death pummelling by a Waimea Bay clean-up set is shrugged off as “no big deal, s’only water”.

THOU SHALT EXPOSE CHEST AND REVEAL A HINT OF ASS CRACK

You’re familiar with those low-slung, knee-length board shorts? Well, a little secret – it’s a serious case of form over function. They get hooked on the knees and they strait-jacket the thighs. But because surfing is as much about image as athleticism, thou shalt never be seen in Speedos or Lycra cycling shorts.

THOU SHALT ENJOY BONGS BETWEEN SESSIONS

When the yoga-practising, psychedelic soldiers of the 1970s broke new ground at Pipeline, they were often high on weed or acid. A decade later, when they brought small-wave moves to the heaving tubes of remote Indonesia, their relaxation under pressure was aided by smoking opiates. And though the sport has become somewhat puritanical in recent years, the true SG still puffs.

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THOU SHALT NOT EAT SHARK

Tuna, halibut, sea bass, swordfish and even mahi-mahi can be consumed with finger-licking gluttony. But for God’s sake, keep the man in the grey suit as far from one’s dinner plate as possible. It’s not only ancient Hawaiian superstition, it’s biblical: do unto others...

THOU SHALT BE A MESSENGER

In the same way you can hold a conch shell to the ear and hear the ocean, so too can you look into a SG’s eyes and be instantly transported to the sand, sun and surf. Some call it the “walk-onwater effect”, others simply “afterglow”. Landlocked housewives call it an aphrodisiac.

THOU SHALT BE A BIT OF A FAILURE IN THE RELATIONSHIP DEPARTMENT

This can be done a couple of ways. The SG can either remind his girlfriend verbally that surfing is No 1 (which will either kill the relationship or create distance), or he can simply become a big-wave hellcharger, which will force her to reconcile the fact that he could die at any minute and that she may as well quit now to save herself the pain.

THOU SHALT BE A SURF FUNDAMENTALIST

The SG must regard his chosen faith as the be-all and end-all and preach the good word. This is both ambassadorial and self-preservationist. Because of the tremendous sacrifice involved in rising to SG status (college, career and general interest in the world all out the window), the “endless summer” must be endlessly defended both to others and oneself.

THOU SHALT TRAVEL

Inherent to the surfing life is the Search for the Perfect Wave.

Which means today’s SG will come to know Australia, South Africa, Tahiti, Fiji, France, Brazil, Chile, Hawaii and many more exotic, wave-rich coastlines on his journey to God-dom. And this is the pay-off: when his rippled chest and dazzling cutbacks have been declared bankrupt (note the SG’s early sell-by date, as he is tossed back to civilian life in his early thirties when the next generation of whippersnappers render him obsolete), it will be these memories, this waterborne worldliness that will become his greatest asset.

Extracted from A Hedonist’s Guide to Life on sale now. www.hg2.com

Photos. IJ VALENZUELA