Between 1961 and 1964, before the British Invasion conquered the States, California was the stage for the brief but intense season of surf music. As many will know, it manifested itself in two distinct styles: vocal surf-rock, heir to doo-wop and the harmonies of the Four Freshmen and the Everly Brothers; and instrumental surf-rock, a melting pot of various musical influences — jazz, blues, rock'n'roll, American local traditions, Latin rhythms and even Eastern echoes. If the Beach Boys were (along with Jan & Dean) the most illustrious representatives of the first genre, the Lively Ones were (along with pioneer Dick Dale) among the most gifted exponents of the second.
These were two genres of music that shared the same audience but were, nonetheless, like two sides of the same coin: as sunny and carefree as the vocal style was, the instrumental one was just as nocturnal and introspective. The former was music embodied in words, representing the Western aspects of American culture. The latter, on the other hand, was the pure flow of music, expressing the forces of nature and America's indigenous heritage. While the vocal style tended toward a certain notion of authorship — a typically Western trait — the instrumental groups distinguished themselves through their performance and interpretive skills, much like in jazz and blues. Vocal surf climbed the international charts thanks to the Beach Boys, while instrumental music was often confined to garages and remained — as it still is today — a niche pursuit for a small but devoted following. However, during the '90s this genre also found its moment in the spotlight, enjoying an unexpected revival thanks to Quentin Tarantino's "Pulp Fiction": along with Dick Dale, it was the Lively Ones who were rediscovered, with "Surf Rider", also featured on the album we're about to discuss, which soundtracks the film's closing scene.
If you wanted to get a sense of instrumental surf-rock through a single record, "Surf City" is the one that could capture it best. Why choose this one among dozens of albums now nearly forgotten? First of all, for a strictly technical reason: the excellent recording quality, which hasn't been lost in the CD reissue. Being instrumental music, much like jazz, it's essential that the recording renders the sound of the instruments as faithfully as possible: it's not easy to find a surf record from that era where the saxophone sounds so enveloping, the guitar so clear and crystalline. But what matters most is the extraordinary interpretive skill the group displays: their main talent lay not in writing original material, but in performing pieces belonging to a sort of collective surf-music repertoire. The Lively Ones managed to reconcile Dick Dale's wild energy with impeccably precise performances, without ever risking flatness or predictability. Jim Masoner (lead guitar) and his bandmates were all excellent musicians, which becomes even more evident when you consider the album was recorded without overdubs: this too is an element that brings it closer to the jazz tradition, as is the saxophone, whose constant presence was a distinctive trait of the Lively Ones, thanks to the talent of Joel Willenbring.
"Surf City" is one of the most extraordinary (and underappreciated) instrumental albums in rock history: what goes under this title is a collection of singles and tracks released on the group's two previous albums, along with a few new additions. It is, in short, an excellent selection of surf repertoire by one of the genre's most talented groups. From the very first notes of the title track, the Lively Ones' style immediately jumps out: "Surf City" was a song written by Brian Wilson together with Jan Berry, which later became a hit for Jan & Dean. It's interesting to note what happens when a song from the vocal repertoire is performed this way: the saxophone faithfully follows the vocal line, but stripped of the voice and lyrics, the song's character changes significantly; you might almost say it speaks another language, purely instrumental, yet no less powerful or incisive: despite lacking words — or perhaps precisely because of that — these songs stir the imagination and carry a great evocative power.
No surf album of the era could go without a version of Dick Dale's "Misirlou", and this one is no exception. The version featured here, however, could be considered the "definitive" one, thanks to the remarkable tightness and precision of its sonic impact. The slower "Sleep Walk" is a cover of a big 1959 hit by Santo & Johnny, but it must be said that this rendition is more intense and inspired than the original.
On the front of original compositions, the surprises are about as good as they get: "Surf Rider" is one of the classics of instrumental surf, with a hypnotic, almost proto-psychedelic guitar riff. "Tranquilizer" is another Lively Ones standard, as forceful as ever. But the peak of the album is the melancholic, languid "Malibu Run", imbued with great instrumental lyricism: the guitar and saxophone truly seem to speak more intensely than words themselves, evoking something that comes from afar and resonates like the song of a forgotten pagan deity. The call of natural forces, the sea above all, seems to be precisely the defining trait of instrumental surf music and what sets it apart from its vocal counterpart. Although the song titles evoke the youthful imagery of surfers, what we're dealing with here are, above all, symbolic references.
Already in use among certain indigenous tribes, and later becoming the tool of one of America's quintessential sports, the surfboard embodies the ancient challenge between man and nature — the same one that originally united American pioneers with indigenous peoples. "Surf City" then becomes a border town, a place in the collective imagination where America's two opposing souls coexist: the modern and the archaic, the Western and the indigenous, the cultural and the natural. Only in a mythical land like California, in those fabulous early '60s, did the two souls seem to reconcile — perhaps for the last time.
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02/01/2008
This article is an English translation of the original Italian text by Francesco Paolo Ferrotti, published on OndaRock.it. It was translated with the help of artificial intelligence, under the editorial responsibility of OndaRock's editor-in-chief, Claudio Fabretti.