“The King of Surf Guitar” died a few days back, but that title undersells the man’s accomplishments. A big chunk of rock and roll sounds the way it does because of how he played and some of the gear Fender invented specifically for him. In recognition of his talent, I resurrected a review of the first time I saw him play and added a few photos from the show.
12/2/2001
EAR PLUGS
I was worried when 10:00 rolled around and the Star Bar was easily half empty. What the hell? How many chances are you gonna get to see Dick Dale? And in a venue as small as the Star Bar? Yeah, it’s a school night but damn…
The Penetrators came on and did a good long set of classic, clean surf. By the end of their set my fears proved to be for nothing as the bar was packed wall to wall. A couple of guys hefted up onto the stage a wall of speakers, barely leaving room for the drum kit and a place to stand. A thunderous soundcheck later, Dick Dale came around the corner, piercing eyes under a black headband, thick hands sticking out of a black leather jacket, black jeans and boots, a man that exuded an aura of power and confidence. And somehow it all came out through his guitar – badASS.
Oh lord, what a badass.
Such a badass that often the fury that he released into the room seemed effortless. A kid in long dreadlocks at the edge of the stage just stood shaking his head back and forth with a huge grin during the entire performance. Women in the room were turned into epileptic snakes. Men stood agape. It wouldn’t have surprised me if the place spontaneously caught on fire. And it wouldn’t have surprised me if nobody would have left, we’d have just held out as long as we could.
Way back in ’96 I spent 9 weeks in Italy in a painting class. I studied the Italian Renaissance masters for hours and used them as inspiration for my meager skills. But then at the end of the quarter I headed up to Amsterdam and stumbled into the Van Gogh museum. I hadn’t been a big fan of the man’s work, but then I’d never seen it in person, only the tiny images in my art history books. But when I sat down in front of Wheatfield with Crows I was stunned.
“You bastard” I said.
I sat for twenty minutes, defeated. I’d been working my ass off all summer just to get a tea cup to look like a tea cup in paint. And here he was showing me that no matter how hard I tried I’d never come close to what he could do, never have his bravery or creativity.
For a few songs during Dick Dale’s set I felt that same sensation.
“HOW did you DO that?!?”
At one point he started on a surf version of The Munsters theme and wandered around a galaxy of sound until he came around to Smoke on the Water. How?!? You had to be there to believe it. Somehow it tied together seamlessly.
“You bastard” I said.
As if that weren’t more than enough, he then picked up a pair of sticks and played drums, while the drummer played along with him. Then he played the bass with the drumsticks. Then he whipped out a trumpet and blasted out some killer old style jazz.
Back to the electric guitar fury, then stopped for an acoustic set of blues and Spanish guitar, wrapping the “unplugged” set with Folsom Prison Blues before going electric again and practically slaughtering the crowd wholesale.
At one point, he hopped off stage and continued playing, thanks to the wireless unit on his guitar, and walked out into the street and stopped traffic for a Moreland Ave. guitar solo, then back in the doors and back on stage.
Jack, one of the guys from Pink Torpedo Productions that used to book Dottie’s, said “I may never go to another show again.” And I know what he means.
I’ve seen some fantastic shows at the Star Bar. I’ve danced until my feet throbbed, I’ve laughed until my stomach ached, and I’ve grinned ear to ear for hours, but never has my brain been so warped after a show. It was the best show I’ve seen at the Star Bar ever. Which I have to say means it may be the best show I’ve seen anywhere ever.
Why bother seeing another? When you’ve seen the best, why bother with the rest?
And how did this towering god of guitar, a man in his 60’s who’d just played a blistering two hour set end the night?
He handed his guitar to a roadie and whipped out his own pen, “I’ll sign anything you like.”
You bastard. You fantastic, glorious bastard.
[After posting that review I got this email from the man himself.]
12/6/2001
EAR PLUGS
i have been written up many times and they have always been great stories
to read…
BUT!!! your description of a dd concert had me captured with the way you
wrote explaining your feelings being there…
it was unreal reading it as it was sent to me on my email from a dd concert
goer….
it truly made me feel like salvador dali painting sounds as i am a very big
admirer and collector of his work….. i am glad you like art…
when i create sounds, i am like painting with an emotional roller coaster
of sounds that i manipulate from which ever instrument that i am playing….
i have always felt that musical sounds should flow like the forces of
mother nature….
should be power, destructive force, then soft and gentle as the petals of a
tropical flower….
your dd story was the wildest that i have ever read and i thank you for
that as it made me feel that being able to be touching you like that is
what it is all about and it makes me realize why i am here….
thank you once again…….
dick dale
[I couldn’t find the best photo from that show, one I blew up to 8×10 and took to The Earl the next time he was in town and got him to autograph.
“Where the hell did you get this?!?” he asked, clearly unimpresssed by the photographer’s meager skills.
“I took it,” I answered.
He autographed it anyway, shooting me a look like I was crazy.
It’s around here somewhere, I just have to dig deep in the bins of ancient history printed on ye olde paper.]
