Rennie Ellis

I uncannily came across this book titled "Lifes A Beach" yesterday in St.Kilda. It's by Photographer Rennie Ellis, R.I.P (1940-2003). I'd been to see an exhibition in Melbourne late last year on Ellis & was blown away by the work. His work is like a backlogue of various sub-cultures dating back four decades. Pretty cool stuff. He also brought out a book entitled "Kings Cross", which used to float around my old mans study back in the day. It's full of b+w's from the 70's, in the Cross in Sydney, pretty cool book if u can get your hands on a copy!

Gustav.

The Day Rob Machado Showed Up and We Showed Up Too

One of the big surfy spectacles to grace the New York calendar has come and gone. Luminaries made themselves present. Films made themselves sold out. Antonio and I made ourselves scarce. It is one of the odd turnarounds of living here that often, at the moment you'd like to be most available, most involved, you find yourself at the brink of collapse, unable to muster the motivation to do anything other than rest, recuperate and spend some family time. I have always been a bad Catholic.
By all other accounts though, the weekend long festival was hugely fun and full of the good times one would expect. Best Feature went to "Sea of Darkness" directed by Michael Oblowitz while Josh Berry's film "All Points South" won the short film prize, following up his 2008 premier in style. The full round up is here.
Rob Machado screened his film "The Drifter" and stopped by Chris' shop on a night I could actually get out of the house. Above is irrefutable proof Mr. Machado has passed the torch for speed and creativity to two mysterious young neighborhood groms.
The people who put on the festival are a good lot, full of the right intentions. They are the sort of people that make this town the kind of place we want to be.

Pics courtesy of Señor Miguel Mabes

Julie Goldstein Kicks Ass

Julie is a very good swimmer. The Surf Gallery are really cool people.

But don't take our word for it check it out yourself.

9.29.09

All the news that's fit to print.
(Or at least whatever we can think of, off the top of our empty heads.)

• NYSFF kicked off the first of its first doo-dad last night and we missed it. But there are all sorts of things scheduled. Check it out here: TICKETS!
• Antonio got back from his weekend of fishing and mind surfing in Montauk with tales of art making, croquet and beer. Pictures soon.
• The next generation is already stirring up trouble and envious looks at school.
• Keep your ears and eyes open for a new kind of rag coming out of the Eastern bits of Long Island. Subject matter sure to tantalize.
• The Rob Machado Love Parade will be hitting Mollusk NYC tonight for a meet and greet. It's always a bit odd to go out of one's way to meet a pro surfer, or ex pro surfer, or whatever, especially one from one's own generation, but Machado sounds like a genuinely productive guy in an otherwise mostly single minded world. Couldn't hurt to see what the fuss is about.
• Also, all of your wetsuit needs can be met over there at Mollusk. I hear they have every imaginable quality product from Patagonia. Which is quality product.
• Autumn is a go.

The Endless Bummer New York Surfer Profile #260A

JJ makes movies. He writes books. He edits Superbowl commercials. The expensive ones. Every now and then I get to go surfing with JJ and when we return late, later than we promised we would, our wives are angry and our children scowl at us.

Today has been a render fest, can't you tell. Gotta do something while the edit monkey makes magic.
Going for a posting record...

I don't know much about Nixon, but this is happening. Apparently they are a surf/skate/snow sportswear company of sorts out of Encinitas. Boy do I feel out of the loop. I'd rather hit the sack early. But if you are looking for a party with a nominally surfy crowd in New York tonight, this is supposed to be happening.

•If you do end up going, and feel like writing a review of some sort, put it in the digital post box tomorrow and you could find yourself an EBNY contributor.
(Please include pictures.)

Wifey came by the office for a quickie afternoon walk through the fashion streets of Downtown Manhattan. This sort of thing usually entails me ambling aimlessly around a boutique while she pulls hanging things off the racks and declares how great they are. More often than not, I agree. She has great taste. Today, amidst the ramble something caught my eye. Go figure.

They tell me that after every 30-45 minutes of sitting in a chair gazing at the video screen, I ought to get up and move around, stretch my legs and stair at my thumb then stair at a building outside. "Ok!" I say, but first can I randomly click a link on the blog roll? Sometimes it just makes me happy, sometimes it just makes me furious. Sometimes it astounds me. I'm only sorta sure which one of these reactions this find elicited.
Tommy Colla pic, found at Shipverm unt Gvibble.
Observe and re-post in full effect.

Saturday Lost & Found

Afternoon stroll through the shops of Williamsburg, Brooklyn turned up this funky gem on a coffee table in a decidedly non-surfy vintage modern furniture store on North 8th (or 9th.) Bummed I didn't get a better pic of the lines and the single fin setup.

New York offers ample opportunity and ample distraction from it. The other night I ran into South African Mark and he introduced me to Mr. Jaco van Schalkwyk, film enthusiast, maker and academian currently living in Johannesburg. Jaco and I talked for a bit amidst din and beer and he told me I needed to check out this magazine. And indeed, I'll try.

In other news, Mick got back to us about the Maribor festival. Sounds like a great time and a fantastic listen:

I just got off the phone from Richard T, specifically to find out how
things panned out on their Musica Surfica day in Maribor.

The program consisted of Jack McCoy's sequence of Laird Hamilton on
that wave at Teahupoo, but recast to Beethoven by RT, followed by
Lapsed Catholics, then Musica Surfica and finally a live performance
by the ACO to footage of Jon Frank's shot in Iceland.

I'd love to have been there and according to Richard your film was
very well received,
i loved its placement as it was great light and shade in the program.

As I find out more I'll feed it through but I knew you were wondering.
I hope all is well up there.

take care
Mick

If you haven't ordered your copy of Musica Surfica yet, there are still copies available. Or head on down to Mollusk, they have it there, I'm sure.

Kenny was kind enough to invite my family up to his Amagansett rental last weekend. We met up with Henry for Saturday afternoon surf at Ditch Plains, trading waves at the weird little right that crops up right in front of the parking lot. Kenny and Henry come from pure Long Island stock. Kenny's father was a Jacob Riis lifeguard and local cop with Kenny and Henry following footsteps in the beach assignment. It was a good time trading waves and stories with the two of them. Stories from when Fort Tilden was still an operative fort ("McHales Navy") and of East Coast life guarding pranks ("get me the jetty wrench.") Both are great surfers and lifelong watermen and tipify just how deep and hearty the New York surf lineage is.

New York Surf Film Festival!

It's right around the corner and I don't think we've procured any tickets yet. I figure more than a few gems are already sold out so we are hoping to get in on at least a screening or two of the non sold out sort. Granted, our duties as chroniclers of certain things surfy in New York will be dealt a credibility blow by not seeing each and every film, but that is a risk chroniclers with other commitments have to take.
Anyhow, you should go if you are around. It really is a great community thing with all sorts of cool people just rummaging around, there, out in the open, for all to meet. Last year we were fortunate to get to know more than our share of sincere types. The Phoresia folks, Mick Sowry, Josh Berry and Elizabeth Pepin all among the luminaries we're still keeping tabs on.
Mick actually contacted us a few months ago about possibly using the Lapsed Catholics film as a precursor to Musica Surfica (buy it now) at the Maribor Music Festival in Maribor, Slovenia. After much hustle and to-do to get the film into the hands of the kindly Slovenes, we are still not sure if the screening came off. I hear the classical music set are an impulsive lot, given to wild flights of scheduling fancy, so it might not have happened at all. Suffice to say that the mere idea that our spur-of-the-moment experimental surf film would play at a classical music festival in Slovenia would never have crossed our minds. So the hustle and to-do would count sufficient enough for a success even if the thing were never screened at all. We are grateful for even the thought. We'll find out soon enough though, as the call to Mr. Sowry for full comment has been made.

While you are waiting to hear the end of this exciting story, make it on over to the
NEW YORK SURF FILM FESTIVAL!

Newly discovered pick up game.

Ohio Mike drawing my picture.

Motorcycle shop of the surfing stars.

Giving Ohio Mike a gallery show.

Negotiating the awkward taking a photo of the inside of a gallery full of other photos moment.

Most times getting to the show in New York is as interesting as the show in New York. I only had a half hour to spare so the trip up to Murphy and Dine to see the opening of the Dustin Humphrey show and the short time spent yielded a brand new to me open afternoon footie game on 27th, a personalized on the spot portrait by the artist Ohio Mike and a narrowly averted awkward situation on the C train with a lady giving me the stare down catching me in an uncomfortable shit-I'm-not-wearing-my-wedding-ring moment. The show itself was hard to place, for me anyhow. I ended up thinking things like wait, are those girls naked or just wearing naked looking swimsuits? and how did they do that? and wow, guys in funny hats underwater, I love funny hats! The idea of a motorcycle trip around Australia with a board on board is a genuinely neat one though. Even if I found that part of the show underrepresented.

Of course one of our jobs here at Endless Bummer is to be brutally honest, a chore we obviously find easy due to our inherently laid back (read: ignorant) point of view. To this end, however, we often employ guest contributors and spy cams and such, precisely placed for maximum discomfort to offset our admittedly thin mental meanderings.
Here are some other, entirely more nuanced reviews from a few sources:
"A bunch a buff Aussie surfers with models on there dick wandering around happily smiling."
"Understandable, and cross-processed, long exposure beach shots selling for $7000."
"Boo."

And that's why we print it: all the giddy hyperbole that's fit to print.
Draw your own damn conclusions.

Murphy and Dine
A Dustin Humphrey Moment
A Daniel Fuller Moment

The Friendly Neighborhood Board Exchange

THe oFFiCiaL EBNY SumMer 2o09 REEcapper

A moment of reflection as we look forward into the new season with usual hopes and dreams, a moment to take stock in where we've been and where we're going, of drinking hot coffee not iced, wetsuits not trunks, jackets not t-shirts, shorter days and more work....crossfade with melodramatic violins......

The Check.

One more from Grant. I love that perspective. It's this universal thing, usually taken from the other side with the point of view intact. Good to see it this way, especially with that color. Gives it all the timing it needs.

Can't shake the feeling the artist knew we would be passing by.

Newest edition to the Endless Bummer NY masthead: Grant Cornett, Staff Photographer.
I've know Grant for some New York years and always liked him. I like him even more now. Funny how that works.
Here are some snaps from yesterday morning. Gotta say, Lentini told me Smitty's was working, then I get these in the email from LB this morning. Yesterday morning's Ditch Plains was a fun early morning diversion, but nothing as good as what I hear was happening further west.

Grant Cornett Photo Guy

and one more came in late edition...here.
Word on the street has some of these being Mollusk Chris.

Long Island Flora

Amagansett

Within the first month of moving to New York from San Francisco I found a plum job working for an event lighting company setting up speed rail and running the electrical. The crew needed a working driver and with my experience as a grip and my shiny California drivers license, I got the nod. I didn't tell them my license was expired. I didn't tell them I couldn't get it renewed since I had a warrant out for me back in California. It was a pretty funny thing, being brand new to New York City and driving a big lighting truck all over the joint. A pretty good way to get acquainted. The first time I made it out to Eastern Long Island was on a job driving the truck to a charity event on one of the big estates in the Hamptons. I remember being piqued by the flora as the island slimmed to its eastern most point. Crazy low lying evergreen plant life that reminded me a touch of wind blown Central California. Sure, totally different, but a ray of light nonetheless. Much later, far too long really, wifey and I would drive out to the point and the beauty of the preciously hearty shrubs out there would floor me completely.

Luke Taaffe

Surf art is a funny genre. I am always thinking that the best way to achieve any sort of notoriety at something is to come at it from the outsider's angle. You want to be a feature film director? Shoot skateboard videos. You want to be a famous actor? Build cabinets for famous people. You want to be a painter living off painting? Make surf art and make surfer friends.
Well, not really. Maybe.
But surf art is a funny genre anyhow. I mean, there is generally a nod to surfing in there. Like a surfer. Or a wave. Or a surfer on a wave. In outer space. The shit works. I won't deny it. But it's funny.
Well, not really. Maybe.

Saturdays Surf Shop Soho

Saturdays Surf Shop Coffee Bar
(or A Few Surfers Opened A Coffee Shop in Soho)

Are surfers haters? It's a pretty honest question. A question that has some obvious answers. I guess. Today Antonio and I met Mastic Mike (aka Mike Troast) on Crosby to check out the newest addition to the surfing quasi surfing pseudo surfing constellation of New York: Saturdays Surf Shop. The notion that opening a coffee bar slash surf shop located in the beating heart of fashion and commerce in Soho easily smacks of the sort of wannabe cash-in worst of what surfing has to endure these days. With every third commercial between NFL games starring a big, peeling right hander (flopped left) with a hemorrhoid cream logo spinning out of the pit, surfing has certainly hit its cultural accessibility like never before. So it was with more than a little skepticism that we wrestled ourselves from our hard work, trudging down from our television commercial editing office two blocks away for our afternoon cup.
Oddly, the first thing we heard walking through the door, just over the din of the whirring espresso engine, was someone saying "I'm going out now, I'll let you know how it is."Admittedly, an ok sign. A hipster surf coffee bar selling canvas and leather travel accessories and boasting a stack of fashion magazines on the bench with people hanging around who actually surf. Or at least make it out to the beach on a Wednesday afternoon in New York City. Or at least say they do. We met Josh, one of the owners, and he was helpful in giving us the smallest tour possible. Which was really the only tour the place can hold. A long, slender rectangle starts as a rough hewn coffee bar, opens into a little room with a few trunks, a handful of wetsuits and the aforementioned snappy bags, letting out onto a well-crafted back patio filled with Soho-looking types replete in tight jeans, new shoes, haircuts and see-through blouses. Exactly the sort of set up you'd expect from a Soho coffee bar slash surf shop. And really, that's where the sticky part comes in. It's that gnawing sense of holier-than-thou starting to creep in. It moves up the back of your neck, makes your scalp get all itchy and starts playing evil thoughts on the crusty player piano in the worst parts of your noggin. You start to think words like "poseurs" and "kooks" and "Hollister." It washes over you, scratching at your insides and making you visibly smaller. Because these guys are guys with a clientele. These guys are selling coffee and wetsuits and surfboards to people in Soho.
It just makes you sick.
And that's ridiculous.
The coffee wasn't bad. It isn't the very best in the neighborhood, but it wasn't bad either. I mean, it was pretty good. And once we were in there, we fell directly into the sort of surf small talk you'd hope for when taking a break from the office in the middle of the Manhattan work week. And the benches are comfortable, and there's a nice place to sit out back. Sure, the guy behind the counter sports a presentation style I'd shy away from, but that doesn't mean a thing. He probably thought we looked pretty beat. And there it is. You see someone out in the water having a good time, letting other people have a good time, and you don't know what they're all about. You don't know they opened up a surf coffee bar in Soho. You just know that he didn't snake you on that last wave. Mike pointed out that there would probably be some haters of this sort of place. It's pretty easy to imagine that. But I think he also pointed out that they probably don't work in a dark office a few blocks away, and the opportunity to slip out to a spot that has just enough stoke can do just the trick. Antonio pointed out that if you are going to open a shop in New York, especially this part of New York, you'd better get it right or you're sunk. That's for sure. It's pretty certain there's no way to be a viable business in this neighborhood if your shit doesn't look slick. So the place works. It works here, and that's where it's supposed to work. Anyhow, the little player piano has stopped. There's a new nice place to sit and have a cup of coffee down the street where the vibe is really good.

9.6.09

The season has begun. The waves up their frequency and size, offering us the perfect platform for our practice. The work ups its frequency and size, forcing us into hard decisions. Enough electricity to power the city for a night could be produced by all our hand-wringing. It is odd to think that we are alive not because things went as the y should, but rather as they should not. Here are a few images of last Sunday (the Sunday mentioned just previous.)
A good day indeed.