From Echo Park to Orange County, this is a surfing soundtrack to flog you all into submission via a breathtaking wave of indie guitar heroics and a driven, obsessive ethic that refuses to lie down and sunbathe.
This is the third album from THE TYDE, and a more dedicated appraisal of the sand and the surf you will be at pains to find. However, though the idyllic ideals of the surf are well documented, indeed put at the forefront of this mixture of searing, dipping indie tunes, the vision of Daz Rademaker also includes snapshots of the times when the surf is as far from his mind as it could possibly be.
OK, this isn’t far, but how could it be for this California based outfit, who live in close proximity to some of the finest waves in the world?
Waves though, do not always bring the highest of highs, and the sea and the beach remain as powerful when used as a metaphor for the mad and darkened times as they are when applied to the dreamy days of perfect-wave heaven. It’s their third long player, so this you would expect, but if, like me, you have heard far too much come out of the tired and world-weary purveyors of so-called ‘rock n’ roll’ then this breathe easy ode to the sun and the surf will refresh you nicely.
Not that the waves are all good, not by any means. But first impressions last, and opening track ‘Do It Again, Again’ is an unbridled and shameless celebration of that great Californian obsession. It’s the musical equivalent of the perfect wave (though the eardrum shocking opening might wipe you out altogether!). You’ll feel the infectious guitars lift you off your feet and wash you along the shore along with the childlike vocal hook, which urges you to get the f**k back up and get back into the sea. Whatever the consequences might be.
You had better believe that the surf is life to this crew.
Like life though, it is a far from perfect idyll. Breathless and bikini-eyed, we emerge from this pacific heaven to find a dedication to the cynics and the ‘Pastiche Police’, and only two songs in!
The hook line “Jealousy with get you nowhere” is Rademaker name-checking family amongst others in the struggle to beat the killjoys - hands-down and out of sight. The heaven is still there, breezy and upbeat, but this time as something to fight for and believe in. Though the aim is to do it on the strength of your smile together with the love of your art, the power of the music suggests a big hang up with those who interfere with the organic way of beach life. Rock n’ Roll is still the definitive surf soundtrack, and it rises in the most uplifting way here, all anti-hate and anti-cynic to remind us of the spoilsports.
Infectious hooks don’t stop the looks of disapproval though, and the teen spirit is here defined against a green-eyed envy, the non-comprehension of the straight-heads on the strip. They must have galled persistently, but the negative energy gets channelled into something worthwhile here, and will hopefully ring loud and true to the dickheads out to spoil the seaside fun in L.A.
Then there is the lips-are-sealed ‘Glassbottom Lights’ which sees everything literally through the bottom of a glass. There’s “nowhere left to play” – we get an ode to the disappointment, boredom and frustration of the souls whose hearts are elsewhere. Here it could be anywhere, as the wider significance of the lyrics reach out and way beyond the paradise that inspired them. Childhood regression is never so profound when you’re away from your cherished pastimes and obsessions, but this is a grown-up world where it’s nigh-on futile to ask ‘Why?’, especially through the bottom of a boat!
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Which goes too for ‘Ltd. Appeal’. Depressed, downbeat - sounding broken and asking questions of those who are drawn to whatever they perceive as cool rather than what it is they love. Waves won’t make you happy, or money, and neither will anything else, if your heart is not in it – I think that’s the message. Despite or in spite of these grandfatherly sentiments, the rock guitar riffs still recreate the weight of the world on your shoulders, but the pressure is momentarily lifted by moments of perfect pop. It’s your chance to know what it feels like with the burden off, and this is one of the blessed joys of pop, utterly irrespective of ‘cool’. Fashion or style – the choice is yours. “Curse or Crutch”?
‘Aloha Breeze’, with its melancholy appeal is here to remind us that life is nothing, nothing at all without sharing with the one you love. Simple sentiments, but the wurlitzer-soaked blues inspired by Mrs. Rademaker is so appropriate that it hurts beyond all vocal range. This record is full of tunes like this, all about your proximity to what moves you. What does move you? Is it attainable right now. You will be led into consideration of this, and that’s a good, good thing. If you remember, say “Thank You” to the music.
Too young? Naahh, possibly too old!
That worry is “sent like a cancer to the 30-year old dancer”, and if nothing else, the positive and the negative sentiments alone recreate the waves in what emerges as the Sea of Manic Depression. The music is refreshing without originality, carried by the spirit of rock and roll and the energy alone. Live the life you love, or pine for it in darkness, and pity those who don’t have their own ‘surf’, their obsessions, loves, things that move them. Lost souls and dead-heads apart, this will hit you in the heart, then the head, but it will hit you through the power of pop music
And so it goes – celebration and defiant resistance take it in turns to show us both the positive and negative sides of the coin according to the coastline. ‘The Pilot’ is a short, sharp, and slightly insane return to the finer things in life (and he’s right, they are free – if you are!), but the guitars are angry and there is a hijack gone down somewhere as rights are reclaimed in manic abandon.
Did I mention the girls? The stand-alone corker of this collection has to be the spirited and throwaway
‘Too Many Kims’. Infectious or addictive (one of the two), it’s heavy with storming licks and a thumping beat that could put the floor through the middle eight.
‘Threesco.’ is lyrically strong, hopelessly addictive and shamelessly obsessed. Inhibitions are dealt with, or discarded, and, as far as sand in the shoes goes, this could well be my summer holiday in stereo.
www.thetyde.com
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