My earliest experience with surf music was with the seminal song “Wipeout” by the Surfaris. It is a classic surf instrumental, on par with works such as “Misirlou,” “Walk Don’t Run,” and “Bustin’ Surfboards” in terms of mainstream recognition and familiarity. When I think of surf guitar, I think of Wipeout, so I knew it would have to be included in any media project about this topic.
This quarter I came to understand surfing’s roots and origins, beyond the Beach Boys’ Technicolor vignettes of surf, sun, sand and girls. A once omni- accessible and noble sport that became unfortunately tangled in colonialism, racism and sexism before being simplified and mass-produced for wealthy white Americans, surfing escapes a singular classification. This is exemplified in the vast selection of films shown this quarter – from the film I used as source material, Muscle Beach Party (1964), a totally consumerist, almost wholesome depiction of an originally lascivious and at times violent sport, to documentaries like The Endless Summer (1964/66), depicting serious racial and national tensions between 60s surfers, to more modern contest-obsessed Hollywood surf flicks like Blue Crush (2001) – it is clear that surfing is a multifaceted topic not easily pigeonholed to a single group, meaning or relevance.
Still, I wanted my project to act as a reflection on and satire of how surfing is largely viewed outside of our idealist Santa Cruz bubble. This film is a quick and dirty mashup of the mainstream vintage surf aesthetic for the kids in Kansas who glued surfboards to their Woodys, despite being entirely landlocked. Candy Johnson’s hectic, twist-based dancing style, featured in all seven Beach-themed films spanning the mid-60s is a far cry from the punk-rooted Surfer Stomp, practiced in dimly lit, sweatily packed clubs, as described in Kent Crowley’s Surf Beat.
Emphasized by her trademark pastel fringe get-ups, Candy’s dancing was designed as a source of mild humor in the original films, a symbol for the overwhelming power of the female allure, as sung about by the Beach Boys and numerous other 60s groups. Throughout the film, she causes the men around her to “wipe out” despite being on land, and she seems to be in the background of every group shot, always dancing. In this light, Candy herself can be crafted into a metaphor for the ocean, in constant motion and always affecting a surfer’s every move and thought. Wipeouts in the sport itself serve to humble the inevitably inflating egos, to reestablish surfing as a tribute to the power of nature exemplified by the ocean, once viewed by the ancient Hawaiians as the work of numerous gods.
Much as Candy’s persistent movement reflects the ocean, surf music was designed to echo the auditory symphony offered by even a few moments of surfing – the percussive crash of the waves, the rolling riffs and even the “wet” sound offered by later amp technology, all of which are reflected in “Wipeout” by the Surfaris (one of many bands to cover the song). When it comes down to it, the aesthetics of surfing, no matter how far surf culture has been flung from its origins, are reflected in even the most contrived and overplayed products that have stolen the spotlight. While considering the origins of the sport is important, surf culture has fallen prey to the habit of claiming ownership or originality for oneself or one’s peers, when, as a sport reliant on powers so much greater than manmade technology can ever hope to fully conquer, surfing can’t solely belong to any single person. Neither Candy’s frantic, cheesy dancing nor the sheer number of times “Wipeout” has been used in surf references cannot erase surfing’s inclusive intent and nature.
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