In seventh grade, I had a subscription to Surfer Magazine. That might sound normal and healthy, but I lived in Minnesota. The Beach Boys were touting the lifestyle, though back then we didn’t use that term. Actually, we never used touting, either. The pictures of the waves were beautiful and, somehow, girls were involved. I gave a speech to the whole school praising the benefits and pleasures surrounding this, new to me, sport.
Surfin’ USA The Beach Boys As always, at the root of things, was the music. The Beach Boys were… from the beach. I dreamt of catching a wave of epic size and perfect proportion. I knew there were two girls for every boy. I wanted to hang ten and hit the road on the first day of summer vacation, living for the perfect wave, and returning home just in time for the next year of algebra.
The ideal soundtrack kept pouring in. The Boys, The Ventures, Jan and Dean, Dick Dale, The Surfaris, and The Astronauts, though they were from Colorado. Even Minnesota’s own Trashmen had an unforgettable hit, Surfin’ Bird. This was a special music, suggestive of love, freedom, good clean fun around a campfire, guys with guitars, and stuff that happened after dark.
The guitars figured big in this and the sound propelled my dreams forward, just like, I imagined, the unending waves. A lot of the music was instrumental, but had titles that suggested danger – Wipeout, Pipeline, Tidal Wave, Shoot The Curl, Walk, Don’t Run, and Ride the Wild Surf. And I was sure there was other excitement – Surfer Girl, Let’s Go Trippin’, Surf City, Surfer Stomp, Endless Summer. Endless summer was a concept too good to ever let go of and I haven’t yet. It’s just about time to rock out and get down and I’m excited. I won’t forget the Coppertone.