Skegss and The Pinheads at Finbox
As a young band you can't be too precious about where you get a gig: backyard parties, country RSLs, supermarket concourses, all are satisfactory stages for a burgeoning ensemble. And tonight, for The Pinheads and Skegss it was a surf shop floor. Finbox at Thirroul, to be specific. Backed up against the change rooms, to be precise. It was sure to be an intimate little undertaking.
I heard about the gig late and attended on the strength of Skegss' rhythm guitarist, Noa Deane. I'll be honest about that. But my mate Aaron assured me the support band, The Pinheads, would be worth the effort alone. “It's gonna be interesting to see how the straight surf crowd reacts to The Pinheads,” said Aaron. And when they began to play I understood his point.
Their (male) guitarist had a haircut circa Yardbirds 1965 and wore a sundress circa Sportsgirl $19.99. The keyboardist sported a Turkish fez and wore the serious look of someone who's shafted a block of hash while passing US customs. A percussionist dressed as a southern preacher with macabre makeup shook his tambourines relentlessly down back. While up front the bare-chested lead singer howled and writhed making ugly love to unseen strumpets.
The music was a brittle mix of garage punk twisted through brutal reverb and echo. It was a challenging sonic spectacle, all the more so as there was no 'mix' to speak of – just plug and play. To their credit the surfing audience – all blonde hair and white teeth - stuck it out. Mid set the lead singer climbed astride a makeshift wooden shelf, a row of slim fit jeans lined up below. The timber split and it was only the stubborn shank of a flathead clout that stopped an OH&S event, or a fucken funny stack depending on your perspective. You just don't turn away when the opportunity for serious injury arises.
If you get a chance to see The Pinheads I'd strongly recommend it. 
“Hi I'm Noa.”
Noa Deane is a friendly, unaffected chap. Between bands he sauntered over and offered his hand in an impromptu introduction. No managerial input to be had. Could've been anyone. The suggestion has been raised that Noa is the next Dane Reynolds, who himself was the next Kelly Slater. Slater brought clean living and acoustic guitars to his gig, Dane an awkward boho mix of Charles Bukowski and Hunter S, while Noa, for his part, appears satisfied with a blue collar blend of creativity and conviviality. The band's drink rider was two cases of VB and while we chatted Noa heaped praise on Skegss main songwriter. “He can come up with the core of a song in just five minutes,” said Noa awestruck by the ethereal process of creation.
While talking I tried to get a fix on Noa's station in the new surfing world. He's undoubtedly on the cusp of something great yet Skegss are lo-fi in a way that doesn't fit the old behemoth brands. I asked him about the support he gets from main sponsor Rusty. “They love what I do. There's no pressure to be something else.” It's difficult to imagine Quiksilver or Billabong indulging star riders this way. Here he stands VB in hand talking about Black Flag and Nirvana and the songwriting process and so many things besides surfing. In fact there's no logos to be seen anywhere. Naomi Klein would be proud.
It feels like surfing's commercial world has shed it's skin in the last five years, shucked off the musty and stale allowing the fresh and inventive to shine. Afends, Thrills, TCSS and other small labels occupy shelf and chest space. Even Noa's sponsor, R Dot, while a product of the 80s surf boom now occupies a niche zone, which seems fitting.
For a surfer of my ilk the name 'Deane' represents another fella and I asked how his old man Wayne was faring. “Still gets out Snapper,” said Noa. “Takes any wave he wants.” Which brought a smile to both our faces. He's still shaping the odd board too, said Noa, and the conversation turned toward his own shaping. “I love it, but I just can't concentrate on it. I'll get in there and just go crazy for 30 minutes and see what I come up with.” Which I figure is the surfboard shaping equivalent of the three minute rock song.
When Skegss hit the stage it's not behind any costumes, imagery, or ironic strutting. They play a four to floor brand of rock and roll with minimal reliance on distortion and effects. It's post-ironic rock as stripped back in sound as it is in artifice and pretence. What you see is indeed what you get. But when the tempo rises the effect is immediate, band and crowd heaving and jumping as one, including the logo-free rhythm guitarist off to the side of the stage.