“Remember the boy next door that played records all day, and at night kept you up with songs of his own?
He left home one day and was never heard from again. He moved to the big city, living in cheap motels, eating dollar hamburgers, working the boulevard with ex-models, thorazine freaks, transvestites, mothers, fathers, drunks, junkies and punk rockers alike.
He struggled during many long lonely desperate nights under the dizzying city lights but made a vow that he would never forget the magic in this world of the things he loved the most: his first fix, his first girl and most importantly the first time he rocked a mic.
Mickey Avalon has done whatever it took to get him to and off Hollywood Blvd. to invite you into his world. And I guess that’s what it is, his world…”
That’s what the website said at least. And Mickey was in town last night rocking at The Pipeline Café with The Pricks and Beardo. Our day evolved from sundowners on the beach to hamburgers and the next thing I know we were hurtling into Honolulu, hip hop banging and beers flowing in the party bus.
In case you’ve been sleeping, yesterday was a landmark day on the North Shore, celebrations were in order and Mickey’s gig was the celebration of choice. We arrived too late to catch the support acts and from his first song Mickey had the crowd rocking out, all the way to his closing track:
“My dick don't fit down the chimney
Your dick is like a kid from the Philippines
My dick is like an M16
Your dick- broken vending machine…”
You get the picture I guess.
We were on the dancefloor, pretty close to the stage, but up on our left was where you wanted to be: in the VIP section. There, pro surfers and icons were surrounded by groupies blond and beautiful, every one of them. There the pro’s had free vodka’s and Red Bulls, while we paid 130 Rand for 3 beers. There the pro’s were invited onto stage to hang with Mickey. And while Mickey was doing his thing, and his supporting strippers on stage were doing theirs, and Beardo, Mickey’s Frank Zappa lookalike friend was doing his, I realised something.
The North Shore of Hawaii is a scene driven by VIP passes, by who you know and what you can organise.
If you are on the inside and in the clique, it is the finest place on the world. You stay in your sponsor’s beach house, you are invited to every party, you have your choice from hundreds of girls every night, you get to go back stage at the concerts. You live la vida loca. It is the place where surf stardom becomes rock stardom- guitars replaced by boards.
And here surfers in the clique are rockstars, just like Bruce and Andy Irons who were on stage last night, spanking Mickey’s stripper dancers and singing the chorus. Flying and stumbling and happy and bumbling.
Outside of the clique, you surf for 3 hours and catch 4 waves. Outside of the clique you get your towel washed away by rogue setwaves on the beach, because you have no beach house to leave it at. Outside of the clique you pay too much for everything. Outside of the clique, you get your surf gear stolen by ice addicts, you get beaten up and photographers don’t want you to catch waves because it means that a pro won’t be in their frame. Outside of the clique you are either a fan or a witness, you get dropped in on and you have to work harder than anywhere else just to catch waves.
I am sure it will all be different after the contests, and that in February things might relax a little, but in the meantime, it’s pretty fun to be in Mickey’s world. Just ask Bruce Irons.
