The struggle to learn surf and instrumental rock did not keep me from loading 500+ rock instrumentals on my iPod. I just lacked the talent to get that music from the iPod to a guitar fretboard. The songs were not limited to music of my youth. My iPod included Los Straitjackets, The Mermen, The Halibuts, The Eliminators, and The Aqua Velvets.
Somehow I learned that Pollo del Mar -- a San Francisco surf band -- was going to play in Nevada City. I convinced Becky that we should spend a Saturday in Nevada City. Walk around town. Visit the shops. Eat. Stay at the National Hotel, which is dog friendly. Hang out in a bar. See Pollo del Mar at Cooper’s.
Of course, neither of us had been out to see a rock band in a bar since the late 1980s. In those days, we could drink and dance all night, close the bar, and go out for breakfast before going home. But we are older -- and possibly more responsible -- now.
But nowadays shows in bars do not start until 9:00 or later. Whatever happened to going to the bar after work?
After a day of walking the streets of Nevada City -- we were there for lunch -- we ate dinner at 7:00. Let’s see, we had eaten two meals, visited most of the stores in Nevada City, had coffee and sweets at the coffee shop, stopped for wine tasting, visited the coffee shop again, and located Cooper’s. That was a full day for us, and we still had to wait an hour and before the opening band was scheduled to take the stage.
I suggested that we go to Cooper’s early to get a good seat. After all, at my age I did not want to stand from 9:00 to midnight. We made sure that Darby was comfortable in the room and headed off to Cooper’s, which was one block from the National Hotel. Actually, almost everything in Nevada City is a block or two away.
At Cooper’s, we found a table. That was lucky as only a few tables were in the space where bands play. The opening band was setting up. Drums, guitars, amps, and a palm tree already were on stage. A palm tree! A young man and woman were setting up the “merch table” -- CDs, tees, and stickers -- and another palm tree.
We struck up a conversation with them. What they had to say peeked our curiosity. He was Paul, and the band was The Pyronauts. The band played surf music and had opened for Dick Dale in the past. The Pyronauts were from Auburn -- a truly local band.
Paul also taught guitar. He switched from Grunge to Surf after seeing Dick Dale. Playing guitar was easier than playing guitar and singing. And more fun. "Teen Spirit" versus "Wipe Out" is no contest in the fun department. Paul was engaging, knowledgeable, and enthusiastic about surf music.
The space was beginning to fill with people. Paul seemed to know most of them. Many were wearing tees or hats displaying a stylized “Pyronauts” logo. Paul excused himself, worked the crowd, and headed into a room to the side of the stage.
Soon The Pyronauts emerged and took the stage. Immediately, they played a classic -- “Penetration.” An energy filled the room. “Walk, Don’t Run.” “Mr. Moto.” “Pipeline.” “Apache.” They put on dark glasses and played “Peter Gunn,” which became increasingly faster. Humor. Personality.
Their version of “MIserlou” featured Paul and Bob Bitchin’ exchanging the melody and solos. This was old school surf played by young men.
Some patrons danced. Others just rocked out. The music was fun, energetic, and loud. Ear plugs were available at the “merch table.” They were florescent yellow foam and adorned with flames and came pre-packaged in pairs. And they were free!
The music slowed for “Surfer Girl.” More dancers. Then back to loud and fast. “Wipe Out.” The Pyronauts played some original songs. Those sounded like surf music. Double-picked. Glissandos.
Paul the Pyronaut and Bob Bitchin’ kicked their reverb units. Crash! The band had fun. The audience had fun. They and the band shared the moment. The band played for the crowd. This was rock ‘n roll as I remembered it from my youth. Non-pretentious. Open to everybody. Simple. Primitive.
The Pyronauts finished their set. Becky and I looked at each other and simultaneously said, “Wow!”
Our long day -- and a couple of glasses of wine -- caught up with us. Becky was tired. We were worried about Darby at the hotel. We walked back to the National.
I was enthused and thought: “Surf at last. Maybe I should take lessons from Paul the Pyronaut.” This was the end of blank looks, shoulder shrugs, and the questions that were like finger nails on a chalk board, “Surf, huh? Is that like The Beach Boys? The Ventures?”
Somehow I learned that Pollo del Mar -- a San Francisco surf band -- was going to play in Nevada City. I convinced Becky that we should spend a Saturday in Nevada City. Walk around town. Visit the shops. Eat. Stay at the National Hotel, which is dog friendly. Hang out in a bar. See Pollo del Mar at Cooper’s.
Of course, neither of us had been out to see a rock band in a bar since the late 1980s. In those days, we could drink and dance all night, close the bar, and go out for breakfast before going home. But we are older -- and possibly more responsible -- now.
But nowadays shows in bars do not start until 9:00 or later. Whatever happened to going to the bar after work?
After a day of walking the streets of Nevada City -- we were there for lunch -- we ate dinner at 7:00. Let’s see, we had eaten two meals, visited most of the stores in Nevada City, had coffee and sweets at the coffee shop, stopped for wine tasting, visited the coffee shop again, and located Cooper’s. That was a full day for us, and we still had to wait an hour and before the opening band was scheduled to take the stage.
I suggested that we go to Cooper’s early to get a good seat. After all, at my age I did not want to stand from 9:00 to midnight. We made sure that Darby was comfortable in the room and headed off to Cooper’s, which was one block from the National Hotel. Actually, almost everything in Nevada City is a block or two away.
At Cooper’s, we found a table. That was lucky as only a few tables were in the space where bands play. The opening band was setting up. Drums, guitars, amps, and a palm tree already were on stage. A palm tree! A young man and woman were setting up the “merch table” -- CDs, tees, and stickers -- and another palm tree.
We struck up a conversation with them. What they had to say peeked our curiosity. He was Paul, and the band was The Pyronauts. The band played surf music and had opened for Dick Dale in the past. The Pyronauts were from Auburn -- a truly local band.
Paul also taught guitar. He switched from Grunge to Surf after seeing Dick Dale. Playing guitar was easier than playing guitar and singing. And more fun. "Teen Spirit" versus "Wipe Out" is no contest in the fun department. Paul was engaging, knowledgeable, and enthusiastic about surf music.
The space was beginning to fill with people. Paul seemed to know most of them. Many were wearing tees or hats displaying a stylized “Pyronauts” logo. Paul excused himself, worked the crowd, and headed into a room to the side of the stage.
Soon The Pyronauts emerged and took the stage. Immediately, they played a classic -- “Penetration.” An energy filled the room. “Walk, Don’t Run.” “Mr. Moto.” “Pipeline.” “Apache.” They put on dark glasses and played “Peter Gunn,” which became increasingly faster. Humor. Personality.
Their version of “MIserlou” featured Paul and Bob Bitchin’ exchanging the melody and solos. This was old school surf played by young men.
Some patrons danced. Others just rocked out. The music was fun, energetic, and loud. Ear plugs were available at the “merch table.” They were florescent yellow foam and adorned with flames and came pre-packaged in pairs. And they were free!
The music slowed for “Surfer Girl.” More dancers. Then back to loud and fast. “Wipe Out.” The Pyronauts played some original songs. Those sounded like surf music. Double-picked. Glissandos.
Paul the Pyronaut and Bob Bitchin’ kicked their reverb units. Crash! The band had fun. The audience had fun. They and the band shared the moment. The band played for the crowd. This was rock ‘n roll as I remembered it from my youth. Non-pretentious. Open to everybody. Simple. Primitive.
The Pyronauts finished their set. Becky and I looked at each other and simultaneously said, “Wow!”
Our long day -- and a couple of glasses of wine -- caught up with us. Becky was tired. We were worried about Darby at the hotel. We walked back to the National.
I was enthused and thought: “Surf at last. Maybe I should take lessons from Paul the Pyronaut.” This was the end of blank looks, shoulder shrugs, and the questions that were like finger nails on a chalk board, “Surf, huh? Is that like The Beach Boys? The Ventures?”