Dylan Koch is a content writer for KCPR. The opinions expressed in this article do not necessarily reflect those of Mustang Media Group.
The KCPR studio walls are filled ceiling to floor with a record collection that dates back to the station’s inception in the late-1960’s. As an exploration of the history layered within these pieces of physical media, join KCPR’s Dylan Koch (DJ Dylanesque) and Lorenzo Cano (DJ White Sauce Pagan Baby) for a weekly dive into the lesser-travelled corners of the KCPR’s vast record collection!
DJ Dylan Koch is in search for fool’s gold in his spelunk, deep into the towering KCPR stacks and looks, by candlelight, for unsightly novelty nuggets. Fans of gruesome sounds and low-brow gimmicks rejoice — and grab your hard hats! We’re going mining…
This week’s review: “Locals Only” by Surf Punks, Day-Glo Records, 1982 LP
“If you don’t live here, don’t surf here!”
Has anyone ever said this to YOU? Have YOU ever been the victim of a dirty look, a muttered accusation, or an overt threat whilst trying to enjoy the great Hawaiian pastime known as surfing?
If so, you may have experienced localism, an intrinsic, controversial and occasionally sinister part of modern surf culture. It’s a complicated and evolving subject with no easy answer. One thing is for certain though, and it’s something that any old guy will tell you, should you end up trapped in conversation with one: Back in the day, things were very different.
Thanks to the internet and its impossibly massive effects on global culture, localism has been, for the most part, de-clawed. Most conflicts today will culminate in harsh words and splashed seawater. But, in the pre-internet era, ignorance of the rules might have led to a smashed windshield, punctured tires, or even a fist-fight!
It is within that bizarre, now-foreign world of busted fin-boxes and black eyes that this week’s record, “Locals Only” by Surf Punks, places us. The year was 1982, and in northern Los Angeles County (i.e. Malibu) localism was still a violent reality. “Locals Only” is both an indictment and a defense of the practice, utilizing classic punk-rock tropes, schlocky new wave production, and over-the-top comedic lyrics to paint angry locals as simultaneously righteous and absurd.
Maybe I’m reading too much into this extremely dumb album, but I think the Surf Punks are on to something interesting, or at least fun, here. On the bubbling and moody “Tube Rider”, the band mocks cooler-than-thou surf bravado. On “Locals Only”, they weep about how the locals in Ventura and San Diego pelted them with rocks and banned them from their parties. And on “I’m A Valley” and “Kanan’s Doomed” they rail breathlessly against the evil “Valleys,” jock-like inland surfers who have the audacity to drive over the hill with the intention of stealing waves. For the Surf Punks, localism is cool, just so long as they are the ones doing it…
The album is almost entirely made up of surf songs in this vein (“Tijuana Weekend,” “Hey! Mr. Lifeguard,” etc.), and the handful that aren’t about surfing are lewd, misogynistic garbage that, frankly, don’t deserve to be mentioned here. They are obviously meant to be jokes, but, thankfully, society has moved past the point where people find that kind of stuff funny. GOOD RIDDANCE!
There is one unexpected non-surf highlight though, and that is the closing track, a fun-and-soulful cover of “Sealed With a Kiss.” It’s a schmaltzy ballad, one that took Brian Hyland to Number 3 on the Billboard Hot 100 in 1962, and the sentimentality is jarring after the unbridled sarcasm of the songs that precede it on the album. But the production is great, and the song provides a brief reminder of the fact that Dennis Dragon, the long-haired, acidic leader of the Surf Punks, was the brother of none other than Daryl Dragon, better known as “The Captain,” from the notoriously sappy, unit-shifting pop duo Captain and Tennille.
This strange tidbit is what makes the record work. Dennis is pop royalty, a “Spoiled Brat From Malibu” himself, an honorary Valley, masquerading as a violent, territorial surf-punk. The joke is on him as much as it is on anyone else. Cowabunga!
