Category: Blogs A-J

Encinitas

The hidden gem of old Surf Route 101

Long-gone venacular architecture, Surf Route 101, Encinitas, California

Moonlight Bay, Encinitas, California, 1960s

Yogananda’s Self-Realization Fellowship, opened in Encinitas during the early 1950s. Surfers saw this sitting above one of California’s greatest surfing locations and (in a primitive manner) dubbed the spot “Swami’s,” like, “hey, that’s where the swami’s go!” In 1963, the Beach Boys referenced this in “Surfin’ U.S.A.” when they sang “at Haggerty’s and Swami’s” . . .

The terrain surrounding Swami’s. The hills curve perfectly to create a beautiful, long ride on the waves.

Surf Route 101 became the title of the Gary Usher album for the Super Stocks, and, a different song by Jan & Dean (from their Drag City album) written by Jan Berry, Roger Christian, and Brian Wilson — featuring boss spoken interludes by Jill Gibson. Usher’s Surf Route 101 album includes a song called “Oceanside,” which is also nearby in San Diego County.

The Longboard Grotto is the only place you can purchase most of the independent Surf movies from the 1950s and 1960s discussed in the article “Cat on a Hot Foam Board” from Dumb Angel #4: All Summer Long. They definitely deserve a plug . . . it’s to your benefit; call (760) 634-1920 . . . or reach them at www.thelongboardgrotto.com

The La Paloma Theater is where the Crawdaddys used to go see The T.A.M.I. Show . . . it has operated as an underground theater for years.

An excellent Psychedelic boutique with lots of Mod gear exists today in the heart of Surf Route 101, Encinitas

Flashbacks has done a great job with the design of their store posters and logos . . . a definite point of interest (and where I bought that Waltah Clarke shirt seen on the 2004 Ear Candy website).

There are two outstanding Taco joints on Surf Route 101 in Encinitas. Karina’s stands out because they make their own fantastic sauce, the shredded beef is bitchen, and they havea nice, hard shell. They also own a refreshing fruit smoothie shack right next door . . . all home made. But, as Geetz Romo said on the How to Speak Hip album, “Juiceheads are the lowest, man.â€Â

Juanitas Taco Shop is a bit more popular with the locals in Encinitas, and was featured on Huell Howser’s PBS television show California’s Gold. The sauce is in no way comparable to Karina’s, but, they make up for it with heavy doses of cheeze, lettuce, meat and a nice, crackly shell.

Superb coffeehouse Panakin is spacious, relaxed, and rests inside an old, wooden train station. Artist Mary Fleener, Folk singer Cindy Lee Berryhill, and author (plus ’60s editor of Crawdaddy! magazine) Paul Williams are some of Dumb Angel’s fave rave local residents in the Encinitas / Leucadia area.


Pre-Panakin still exists on Surf Route 101

We need more Cheese-cut architecture like this in the world.

This Modrian-logo booze shack sells a great, independent trail mix inside.

The ideal place for dry-cleaning your threads

Uh-oh . . . yes, it’s an irony-bored trailer park next to a ’70s salty sea dog-themed restaurant-bar . . . if you’re only here for the beer.

Lou’s has always been one of the best record shops in the San Diego area. This, too, can be found on old Surf Route 101, as well as some great health food restaurants, and some wonderfully-refurbished Motor Hotels on the North side of Encinitas (in Leucadia).

Without a doubt, Ducky Waddles is the most interesting book store / art gallery in the San Diego area.

Dumb Angel #4: All Summer Long will soon host an art show here featuring Mike Dormer (Hot Curl, Shrimpenstein!), Frank Holmes (the 1966 Smile album cover) plus John McCambridge and Jay Nelson of Mollusk Surf Shop in San Francisco (see January blog). Live Surf instrumentals will be provided by the Sand Devils, a San Diego combo who wow’d ’em this year at Tiki Oasis.

Art, architecture, Burlesque . . . u-name-it cool, Ducky Waddles can match any book joint in New York, San Francisco or L.A. for a groovy presentation and content . . . it’s that good.

— DOMENIC PRIORE

RECURRING BALBOA THEME

Dumb Angel is back with our fourth installment of Newport/Balboa coolness. This month, dig on some classic imagery from Corona Del Mar — a Modernist community that sits along a half-mile sandy beach framed by cliffs and a rock jetty to form the east entrance of Newport Harbor. Corona Del Mar is also a popular area for surfing and diving (see review below for Thump, a film about Corona Del Mar’s famous bodysurfing spot, the Wedge). Also, more recent finds from Balboa music venues like the Prison of Socrates and the Rendezvous Ballroom.

Just above Balboa Island lies the untouched 1950s Modern residential community of Corona Del Mar

Arial view of the vintage coastline settlement

The tides of Corona Del Mar roll in around a set of jagged rocks. This low-angle postcard suggests the Noir elements of the sea were captured perfectly with nautical blues numbers by the Stan Kenton Orchestra, such as “Taboo,” “Lamento Gitano,” and “Reed Rapture” (all recorded locally at the Rendezvous Ballroom between 1941-42).

More rugged Corona Del Mar terrain, 1960s; close enough to land’s end for teenage adventure

Overhead view of the popular public beach; the Balboa Jetty to the left is where civilization last saw Gilligan, the Skipper, Tina Louise and the rest of the castaways. The Wedge lies just to the other side of the Jetty.

Chillin’ by the groovy beach pads in Corona Del Mar, 1960s

A scene from an episode of Where The Action Is, shot in Corona Del Mar in 1965.

Thump is the only film I know of so far that is solely devoted to the Wedge, a famous bodysurfing spot in the Newport-Balboa-Corona Del Mar area, which Bruce Brown dubbed “The Dirty ol’ Wedge” in his 1965 indie-surf flick, The Endless Summer. But before you slide Thump into your DVD player, be sure to que up the grittiest LP of surf instrumental garage music you have in your collection. Try the Crossfires . . . no, better yet . . . the Original Surfaris. Yeah, okay . . . now grab that TV remote control, hit the “mute” button, drop the needle on your record player and press “play” on the DVD. Because here’s the bad news, folks . . . Thump is a near-nauseating compilation of whimpy punk-pop and heavy metal that sits behind some seriously mesmerizing footage of the Wedge. The most egregius section of this film — titled “Super-Size It!” — marries a set of amazing surfers riding perfect big waves to a backdrop of death metal music. Adding insult to injury, the title card suggests that a McDonald’s happy meal slogan best sums up the magic of the Wedge. Some of us know better than to swallow that pill. Don’t say I didn’t warn you . . . but also don’t be disuaded from buying Thump either. With a little imagination, you can make this footage work to your advantage. (Thump is available at the Balboa Pharmacy).


Mark 56 Records was best known for the 1966 Surf instrumental album Real Cool Hits by the Avengers VI (sponsored by Good Humor Ice Cream). The label released LPs for businesses who wanted to advertise via vinyl. L.A. grocery store Alpha Beta sponsored this ’40s nostalgia disc, with cheezy artwork namechecking Swing-era ballrooms of the Greater Los Angeles area. Balboa is represented by a prominent showing for the Rendezvous Ballroom, with the Balboa Beach Ballroom right above it. Also included are Huntington Beach’s Pavalon Ballroom, Anaheim’s Harmony Park Ballroom (like the Rendezvous, later a Dick Dale & his Del-Tones venue during the ’60s), The Hollywood Palladium, The Pasadena Civic Auditorium, The Glendale Civic Auditorium, The Biltmore Bowl and the Trianon . . . wait . . . where is the Palomar Ballroom? (“On Third and Vermont,” say the echos of Benny Goodman, Gene Krupa and Anita O’Day).

Fuck A Mighty Wind . . . dig Fink Records recording artist Susan Rennaker going it alone at the Prison of Socrates in Balboa. You can see her in the film Dirty Feet, playing one night only at Sponto Gallery in Venice on July 19, as the feature of Dumb Angel’s “Beatnik Beach” film event.

— BRIAN CHIDESTER

SURF CITY USA

One of our readers asked us about the recent national articles covering the controversy surrounding the “official” location of Surf City in Southern California. The naming convention had been the subject of a public squabble between Orange County’s Huntington Beach (where Dean Torrence of Jan & Dean resides) and the town of Santa Cruz to the north.

In the end, the town of Huntington Beach secured a federal trademark to use the phrase “SURF CITY USA” as a marketing slogan and money-making venture for Huntington Beach.

It’s a controversial subject . . . but in the end, it’s much ado about nothing. Huntington Beach (mentioned in the Jan & Dean song “Surf Route 101”) gets to use the phrase “SURF CITY USA” to help sell products and make money for the town, and for Dean Torrence and others connected with the #1 smash single by Jan & Dean from 1963.

Despite the controversy, it’s important for people to understand that it’s merely a marketing ploy, and that the song (by Jan Berry and Brian Wilson) was not written about Huntington Beach, or any other specific location in Southern California.

This means that the town of Santa Cruz can indeed continue to use the moniker “Surf City” in marketing its various establishments associated with the SoCal beach culture.

And it’s a safe bet that the town of Huntington Beach will not go after the beach towns on the East Coast which were incorporated as “Surf City” long before the 1960s, and long before the famous Jan & Dean song was written.

What’s in a name? . . . It just depends on where you live and who you know.

To read more about this issue, be sure to check our “Comments” section, linked at the end of this blog.

To learn more about our forthcoming Jan Berry / Jan & Dean tribute album, please visit our site on MySpace: https://www.myspace.com/jananddeantribute

— MARK A. MOORE

Return of the Son of Frank Words

    The first Friday of most every month throughout 1967 and into ’68, I was formally excused from school so that my mother could take me all the way into Toronto for orthodontic appointments.  As my due reward afterwards, I would be treated to a tasty french-fry-and-chocolate-milk lunch in the sumptuous Eaton’s Department Store cafeteria, then left for an hour alone in the adjacent Music Department while dear mom ran her errands elsewhere.

Gawd, I truly was deep in pre-teen heaven in there, believe you me:  Guitars – just like the one Tommy Smothers played on TV every week! – lining each wall, while right over there were more record albums gathered alphabetically together in one place than my wide young eyes had ever ever seen.  

But it was while methodically flipping through that “Misc. M” bin one innocent Friday in seach of the latest Monkees long-player that I came across an image which shook me to the very core of my hitherto safe, sound, Micky’n’Mike-loving spine:

A foreboding, dark purple sci-fi sky shot through with lightning bolts, beneath which were strewn an above-motley crew of comic-book cut-outs (some of whose eyes were obscured with sinister black bars!)  And in front of all that stood what appeared to be a group of bearded, ugly, definitely NON-Monkee-looking men wearing… wearing dresses and standing by a mess of rotten vegetables which for some reason spelled out the word “mothers.”

Subconsciously at least, I recognized this was sort of for some reason like the picture on front of my latest Beatle album.  But I also instinctively gathered something BAD was afoot.

So for the next several months, as if revisiting a decaying body rotting in the back woods or the scene of some other such crime, I’d patiently let Dr. Shanks, D.D.S. rip around my mouth, rush with Mom to scarf down some Eaton’s fast-food, then creep back towards those record racks to check if …IT… was still hidden there.  Why, one grave Friday I even showed the offending, but somehow alluring record jacket to my mother (who, immediately sensing things untoward indeed, said “put that down, Gary.  We’re going home.”)

 

Flash forward a couple’a years:  By now, my comparatively straight teeth and I were enrolled in the local high school, specializing in Fine Arts and pouring over my latest charcoal still-life when the most incredible music suddenly burst from the record player at the back of the room.  It was Eric Shelkey’s turn to bring vinyl in to accompany the day’s lesson y’see, and Eric, being by far the most freeeky, out-there student in all our Grade 9 Specialty Art class (I mean, the guy wore little round eyeglasses just like John Lennon, and his hair actually reached below his shirt collar!) certainly did not disappoint with his choice of music.  Yep, instead of the usual docile strains of Tommy Roe or, at “worst,” Blood Sweat and Tears, the room was this morning filled with fully- stereophonic snorks, wheezes, electronic noises (much like those the microphone made in the auditorium downstairs when it wasn’t working), and some creepy voice which kept whispering “Are you hung up?” over and over again. 

Understandably I suppose, just like my mother had back in Eaton’s music department, our hitherto pretty patient art instructor Mr. Pollard walked quickly to the back of the classroom, turned the volume all the way down, removed the offending twelve inches from the turntable, inserted it back in its sleeve, and told Eric he could pick his record up after class, thankyouverymuchnowpleasegetbacktoworkeveryone.  Of course, me being me, I made sure to follow Eric out into the hall afterwards to find out the name labelled in the middle of this wondrous, forbidden twelve inches.  Most obligingly indeed, but being careful to check both ways first to see if anyone was looking, he pulled the album slowly from his portfolio case.

AND THERE IT WAS.  That same diabolical image which had haunted my post- orthodontic Fridays all those years ago!  

Winking at me most conspiratorially, Eric invited me over to his place to listen to the entire record that day immediately after school.  I naturally saved up my allowance and bought my OWN copy a couple of months later, locked myself in my room, and it would be quite some time until I ever listened to Pisces, Aquarius, Capricorn and Jones Ltd. — or anything else, for that matter – quite the same way ever again.  I couldn’t say it then, but I surely will now:

Thank you, Frank Zappa.

 

Caveat Emptor however:  In its initial digital incarnation alongside the very dynamite Lumpy Gravy, the Mothers’ masterful Money was subjected to hideous late-Eighties remixing and the replacing even of its magnificent original rhythm tracks!  But I’m assured the current CD version holds the exact same We’re Only In It For The Money I like to think shock ‘n’ awed not only my own, but unsuspecting classrooms the world over back in those once-swinging Sixties.  Grab your own copy today, please.

The Return of Noel Coward

    Hey!  We did have some fun awhile back
playing Virtual Word Association with all of Johnny Dowd’s latest songs,
didn’t we?
so,   Wanna do it again
with none other than Lane Steinberg’s new ones??
Good!
Here we go then…..

 

1. PREAMBLE…..In the words of George Gershwin’s Ghost…..
 
2. BOTTLENOSE DOLPHIN…..Zappa’s Grand Wazoo rides shotgun down Mr. Jones’ Highway Revisited on the (Thanks for the) Milk Train.

3. FACE DOWN…..The Association sound asleep with The Turtles’ Umbassa Dragon.   

4. AWAY…..SMiLE out-takes somehow get spliced into the very Quiet Beatle’s Wonderwall score.
 
5. GAIN LUSTER…..Row Row Row your Boat gently off the cliff.

6. JERICHAIO…..We’re stuck between channels…

7. YAM YAM…..Jandek programs his very first Yamaha PSR-293.

8. LET’S TOUCH…..the Tan Sleeve most fashionably frayed!

9. SOMETHING IS WAITING FOR SOMEONE…..Todd the Runt returns…                without (fortunately!) that New Car smell.

10. CUTLETS…..Don’t Firewall the Spam!!

11. YOU’LL NEVER FIND A WAY TO GET ME TO WORK…..on time.

12. BARE WALLS…..barely…

13. EYE FOR THE LADIES…..with yer fusion banjo on m’knee!

14. SPRING BREAK…..Velvet Fog Gone Wild !!

15. SLIGHT GAIN…..merrily merrily merrily merrilee rush

16. BEAUTIFUL DAY, TAKE ME AWAY…..Neil Diamond helps The Rock Opera 
meet The Rael World at last.

17. ONE MAN CRIME WAVE…..Book ‘em Lane, oh!

18. THE FIRST TO LEARN…..are always the last to know, yessir.

19. CONCRETE VACATION…..now, why couldn’t all of Ray Davies’ new one            sound just like this?!!

20. POSTSCRIPT…..”Rhapsody” no longer blue, man.  

The Return of Merseybeat

    Perhaps it was the most untimely demise of original dreamer Freddie Garrity.  But did I really neglect to mention when last we took the virtual Ferry cross the Mersey that none other than Frank Lee Sprague – yes, he the still-taller half of those supremely rooty-rockin’ Sprague Brothers (not to mention an authentic cousin of The Man Who Invented Sixties Music Himself, I kid you not!!) — has been very busy indeed “on the side,” helping keep the meaty, big and bouncy spirit of the M-Beat alive and very thriving here in Century 21?

I hardly would’ve believed it possible myself …UNTIL, that is, I heard for my own a deceptively, disarmingly charmful little disc called Cavern, and on it some of the best, most magnificently melodic p-o-p this side of your fave rave Searchers EP of yore.

And also, here I felt I was the only lad left on the block who thought a certain P. McCartney wrote many of his best songs EVER for….. Peter and Gordon.  But Frank Lee too has obviously been listening lots to “I Don’t Want To See You Again,” as well as to some of the more rough ‘n’ tumblest circa-’62 cellar sounds this side of The Big Three.  When not channeling a certain Jane Asher as muse, that is.   

Alas, the dank, sweaty, musty, subterraneanly homesick aura of those magic long-gone days and particularly nights beat again right there deep down in Frank Lee Sprague’s very own Cavern.   

Meet you there soon?    

cult of the week – Stump

artist: Stump

title: Quirk Out

year: 1986

label: Stuff Records

personnel: Mick Lynch (vocals), Chris Salmon (guitar), Kev Hopper (bass), Rob McKahey (drums)

tracklisting: tupperware stripper, our fathers, kitchen table, buffalo, everything in its place, bit part actor

further info: https://www.spoombung.co.uk/

cotw say

It Was FORTY Years Ago Today

   THE MINSTREL WHO’S JUST A BIG MYSTERY

                                          by James Fox
                                          Manchester Evening News
                                          17 May 1966

Bob Dylan, the original magician of folk-poetry, blew into town today on another wave of sell-out concerts to sing at the Free Trade Hall.  And this "modern minstrel genius," as American poet Allen Ginsberg called him, this self-elected reject from the middle-class backwoods of Minnesota, becomes more of an enigma every day.

The atmosphere at his concerts is one of tense and silent rapture, with the crowd leaning forward to catch every cryptic syllable of the songs they quote daily, like a religious manifesto, on street corners.

Now there is something disturbing about Dylan:  he is said to have disowned all the songs he ever wrote before he turned to "folk-rock."  He is said to have become an introvert.  He was nearly booed off stage in Dublin recently when he came on with three tons of sound equipment and his new backing group – simply called the Group.

There were pleading shouts of "We want the real Dylan. Leave it to Mick Jagger" as he belted out the endless choruses of his hip-orientated rhythm and blues songs.

There is a growing uneasiness with Dylan among his fans.  It is that he is changing without telling them why.  They are in the dark, and they feel perplexed.

If there is a change, it has come about between these two British tours.  The old Dylan, at the Albert Hall in London last year, was the poetic Dylan with one guitar, a handful of harmonicas, and a few wry jokes.

This time the magic’s still there, but he might throw a few fans off the track.  For one thing, the existentialist Dylan has married.  For another, the man who took contemporary folk music out of its hermetic shell and has shaken it and enriched it has seemingly turned his back on it.

jt songs – The Good Irish Doctor and a Story for Smiling.

About 10 years ago I lived in a sweaty attic in Athens, GA with my good friend Michael Tully. Mike brought few possessions down from his home state of Maryland: A suitcase filled with indie rock tees, a pair of Jack Purcells and a very large box of video tapes filled to the brim with every essential film to watch before you die. I think I got a heavy dose of an indie film education from that box. Before his arrival we were forced to watch a borrowed video cassette containing 6 episodes of the sit-com "Friends." Those were dark times.

On Mike’s birthday his sister express-shipped a large container of Maryland crabs for us to enjoy. I remember a steady pile of empty PBR bottles and crab carcasses scattered on newspaper all around the living room while Altman’s Nashville played in the background. I remember thinking that a grand gesture of sending seafood to your little brother on his birthday, not just for him, but enough for 10 people to enjoy was something special and showed the power of having family members that were also your best friends.

Mike also does an amazing impression of his Irish father drinking a beer. He raises his pint, says "Gud luck" in the thickest of brogues and drinks it down in one, long swallow. It is hilarious to see.

This long introduction is meant to show you how golden the Tully family is to each other and to those around them. This brings me to jt songs. Jt songs is the musical product of John Tully, my friend Mike’s Irish cousin. I don’t really know John, only through his music and a few messages back and forth on that other site with the teens and the music…you know the one I am referring to. John’s songs have that dusty reel-to-reel, buried in the back of the closet "how did this stay hidden for so long" feel. When I first heard "song from limbo" I was floored. It is so haunting, so rocking and so, well Irish, I had a hard time believing this guy was just making these dirges to fill an artistic need until he finished Med School. Yeah, I feel lazy and ashamed in comparison.

Apparently the legend goes like this. Mike’s sister Carol passed John’s songs to Mr. David Berman, the Silver Jew. Out of politeness to his friend Carol, Mr. Berman gave the disc a spin and was so smitten that he arranged for jt songs to come to the States and play some shows with the Silver Jews. The rest will soon be history. the jt songs website isn’t up and running yet, but you can find and download a few tracks from that other site…until the real record drops.

And Mike? Right now he is burning up the festival circuit with his beautifully tragic directorial debut, Cocaine Angel.

Please support the good Tully folks and check out their offerings. I am all the better for it.