“This [The Dubceks] isn’t surf. I don’t what this is, but it isn’t surf.”
-Internet Critic circa 2008
The Dubceks. Love us or hate us. What more can be said?
The Dubceks began like most musical acts -- an experimental garage band that could barely tune their instruments. (Some things never change, but let no man say we're not consistent.) We were initially torn on the direction we wanted to take. We were equally influenced by instrumental performers like Santo & Johnny and The Ventures, and surf guitarists like Dick Dale. We were drawn to the surf -- that instrumental genre that captured the feel of riding the waves. Trouble was, being from the rocky coast of Maine, our idea of surf music turned out to be far different than everyone else's. While other bands tried to encapsulate the feel of riding a wave toward a picturesque, postcard-ready sandy beach, The Dubceks tried to harness the feeling of surfing in the northeast -- catching a brief wave and hoping you don't die by being smashed against some granite cliff.
Warped? Probably. Authentic? Absolutely.
Surf music is patently simple – it’s guitar-driven instrumental music that evokes the feel of catching a wave. The problem is that for most people surf music conjures images of impossibly-long pipelines on some west coast beach where the sand is as gold as the hair of the beach bums and surfer babes who lounge on the shore. Picture-perfect, sure, but a far cry from the reality of the northeast. See, here in Maine, you’re not going to glide onto some sandy beach where woodies and boards and bikini’d babes are lined up. You’re more likely to be tossed against some granite cliff and then swept out to sea in an undertow of unfathomable power, never to be heard from again. Maine has the longest coastline of any continental state (yes, more than California) and even our best surfing spots are hazardous at best.
The Dubceks evoke the feel of catching a wave in Maine – it’s immediate, it’s dangerous, it’s choppy and frantic, it’s chaotic and disorienting, it’s slightly “off” and warped, and what doesn’t kill you will leave you in a wheelchair or iron lung for life. (Or perhaps with tinnitus and a bad disposition.) Despite what naysayers may groan, The Dubceks are authentic. Sure, we could do what many landlocked surf bands do – compose catchy riffs that immediately bring to mind a curl on the sunny California coast or catching the last wave of the night before you join your sweetie for drinks in a Hawaiian tiki hut. Again, it’s a nice visual, but it’s not authentic, at least not here on the rocky Maine coast. If you want authenticity, here you go:
It’s dark and rainy and unseasonably cold. You’ve just been discharged from the E.R., all bandaged up after having been thrown against an ancient volcanic outcropping. Your beer gut is bruised and bloody and you’ve got a minor concussion, so your girl or guy is dead set against you falling asleep (you know, just in case). So instead of crashing early, you’re going to stay up all night drinking Budweiser and Downeast Maine Champagne (Allen’s Coffee Brandy mixed with 2% milk) at some old nicotine-stained dive bar while listening to the worst karaoke known to mankind. And tomorrow morning, you’ll instinctively shake off your hangover and perpetual depression, spend your day roofing or framing or painting, and try to catch a violent, crashing wave or two before heading back to the old nicotine-stained dive for another night of mind-numbing imbibing in hopes of keeping your impending existential crisis at bay.
That is authentic, and that is what The Dubceks are all about.
-Internet Critic circa 2008
The Dubceks. Love us or hate us. What more can be said?
The Dubceks began like most musical acts -- an experimental garage band that could barely tune their instruments. (Some things never change, but let no man say we're not consistent.) We were initially torn on the direction we wanted to take. We were equally influenced by instrumental performers like Santo & Johnny and The Ventures, and surf guitarists like Dick Dale. We were drawn to the surf -- that instrumental genre that captured the feel of riding the waves. Trouble was, being from the rocky coast of Maine, our idea of surf music turned out to be far different than everyone else's. While other bands tried to encapsulate the feel of riding a wave toward a picturesque, postcard-ready sandy beach, The Dubceks tried to harness the feeling of surfing in the northeast -- catching a brief wave and hoping you don't die by being smashed against some granite cliff.
Warped? Probably. Authentic? Absolutely.
Surf music is patently simple – it’s guitar-driven instrumental music that evokes the feel of catching a wave. The problem is that for most people surf music conjures images of impossibly-long pipelines on some west coast beach where the sand is as gold as the hair of the beach bums and surfer babes who lounge on the shore. Picture-perfect, sure, but a far cry from the reality of the northeast. See, here in Maine, you’re not going to glide onto some sandy beach where woodies and boards and bikini’d babes are lined up. You’re more likely to be tossed against some granite cliff and then swept out to sea in an undertow of unfathomable power, never to be heard from again. Maine has the longest coastline of any continental state (yes, more than California) and even our best surfing spots are hazardous at best.
The Dubceks evoke the feel of catching a wave in Maine – it’s immediate, it’s dangerous, it’s choppy and frantic, it’s chaotic and disorienting, it’s slightly “off” and warped, and what doesn’t kill you will leave you in a wheelchair or iron lung for life. (Or perhaps with tinnitus and a bad disposition.) Despite what naysayers may groan, The Dubceks are authentic. Sure, we could do what many landlocked surf bands do – compose catchy riffs that immediately bring to mind a curl on the sunny California coast or catching the last wave of the night before you join your sweetie for drinks in a Hawaiian tiki hut. Again, it’s a nice visual, but it’s not authentic, at least not here on the rocky Maine coast. If you want authenticity, here you go:
It’s dark and rainy and unseasonably cold. You’ve just been discharged from the E.R., all bandaged up after having been thrown against an ancient volcanic outcropping. Your beer gut is bruised and bloody and you’ve got a minor concussion, so your girl or guy is dead set against you falling asleep (you know, just in case). So instead of crashing early, you’re going to stay up all night drinking Budweiser and Downeast Maine Champagne (Allen’s Coffee Brandy mixed with 2% milk) at some old nicotine-stained dive bar while listening to the worst karaoke known to mankind. And tomorrow morning, you’ll instinctively shake off your hangover and perpetual depression, spend your day roofing or framing or painting, and try to catch a violent, crashing wave or two before heading back to the old nicotine-stained dive for another night of mind-numbing imbibing in hopes of keeping your impending existential crisis at bay.
That is authentic, and that is what The Dubceks are all about.
