09.24.08
Bernadette Mizrahi Photography
PURR: Pinup model Miss Lorin Rose strikes a pose.
By Brodie Jenkins
Red lips, pompadours, tattoos and circle skirts swung and swaggered into the Mystic Theatre last month to see Wayne “the Train” Hancock and his band. Ladies chatted in tight clusters while greasers with slicked-back do’s and indifferent expressions hung in cool packs. Cigarette lighters flicked. Grinning rakishly, a young guy, fedora jauntily tilted over his eyes, strode through the door with a giggling blonde, her hair done up in neat pin curls, a flower behind her ear and a crimson pencil skirt fitted snugly over trim hips. Her stockinged legs balanced impressively atop a pair of killer patent leather pumps, and she peered coyly out from under a veil of false feathery lashes. Hot damn.
These are the cats and chicks of the North Bay rockabilly scene. They gather to be seen, exclusively it seems, by each other. Few deigned to answer questions from an “outsider,” especially a young female reporter whose pen and notebook might as well have been a gun and holster. Defiant refusal followed sullen rebuff; passersby shied away. “I’m not interested in the media,” one fellow said. “I don’t need any press.”
People trickled into their seats, and Buckaroo Bonet began a rambunctious opening set packed with covers, including Johnny Cash’s “Ring of Fire” and “Tequila” by the Champs. “Any drinkers in the house?” yelled the lead singer in a questionably authentic Southern accent. A few hoots arose from the mostly skeptical audience. “Yes, we like drinkin’ in this band here,” he grinned. A pristine pair of Adidas sparkled on his feet. During each song, he thrust his lanky body about like a guitar-playing praying mantis, contorting his goateed face to emphasize the intensity of each strum. As if by magic, the drummer’s shirt slowly came unbuttoned throughout the show until it disappeared completely. The crowd was unmoved.
“It’s not a fad,” he assured me. “It’s a culture. Few people get that.”
All Mama’s Children
A marriage of the terms “rock ‘n’ roll” and “hillbilly,” the word “rockabilly” was originally ascribed to a style of music played in the 1950s that blended styles from country and rhythm and blues. Wanda Jackson’s growling electric voice ripped across traditional blues instrumentals sped up and infused with heaping amounts of upright bass, pounding keys and twangy guitar. Carl Perkins’ silky croon paved the way for Elvis Presley’s swiveling hip and insolently curled lip. The King took rockabilly music to the mainstream with his massive genre-crossing marketability. In the process, much of the raw authenticity was diluted; glitz and showmanship were the hallmarks of the most commercially successful acts.
Rockabilly music’s popularity slowly fizzled out in America after the 1960s, making its way over to Europe and the United Kingdom in the 1970s. Musicians who could no longer attract American audiences played to enormous crowds overseas. A culture developed around the music as kids adopted the old looks and lifestyles of their parents’ adolescence. Rockabilly fashion was inspired by the nonmainstreamers of the 1950s—the hoods and the toughs, the bad girls, black R&B artists and hot rod-racing WW II vets, whose love for engines also became a major part of modern rockabilly culture.
“I think what makes rockabilly great is that it kind of takes you back in time—the clothing, the cars, the style—to the 1950s, and that’s when our country was probably at its best,” says Todd “Troublemaker” Jenkins, a photographer and the owner of the Santa Rosa–based pinup photography company Custom Culture Images. “Life was easier back then and simplified, and people were happy, I guess. Probably everybody who’s in the rockabilly scene now wasn’t born in the 1950s, so it’s cool,” he says. “Looking back at pictures of your grandparents and seeing them in cuffed jeans and slicked-back hair—it makes you proud.”
Perhaps. But the 1950s weren’t the best time for anybody who wasn’t white, and they weren’t the best time for anybody who wasn’t male. “And you had to wear a girdle!” says Christina Palomo, owner of the Santa Rosa shop Skirt Chaser Vintage. “I think it’s natural that you get this sort of progression after enough time passes. We forget what it was like to have to wear those things, and we become able to make our own choices. Then some of us are going to choose to have this sort of aesthetic. We’re going to wear makeup and we’re going to do our hair up big because we can, and it’s fun!”
Put Your Cat Clothes On
The vintage aesthetic Palomo hails can be adopted lightly or taken to the extreme, depending on how dedicated an individual chooses to be. A last desperate attempt at gaining an interview at the Hancock show landed an articulate brunette named Marissa Patrick, clad head to foot in vintage—a blue, flowered print dress, white pointy-toed pumps, a matching white purse, expertly styled hair and makeup and even a pair of white gloves. Beaming graciously, she agreed to chat.
“[My boyfriend and I] live in a 1940s house. Everything in it is vintage, from the kitchen to the towels,” she explains. “You have to have an eye for it. I go on eBay a lot.”
eBay? Apparently being vintage-friendly doesn’t have to mean total Luddism. “We embrace technology completely,” Palomo says. “That’s how I started [Skirt Chaser Vintage]. I was doing eBay for three years beforehand. Most rockabilly people I know spend a lot of money on eBay.”
Though appearance has a lot to do with it, vintage collecting is also about a social and environmental consciousness. “It’s recycling,” says Heather Van Doorn, co-owner of the Sebastopol eatery Starlight Wine Bar and Restaurant. “You know it’s going to last, rather than some crappy new thing you can buy that you know will end up in a landfill.”
Hot rod building also combines a vintage aesthetic with a crafty recycling sensibility. “We find swapmates and trade with friends,” Palomo says, “and sometimes you have to make the stuff yourself. Sometimes you have to fashion things out of unexpected parts.”
Hot rods are typically American cars whose engines have been modified, or “hopped-up,” for higher performance. The term “hot rod” was possibly derived from the contraction of the words “hot roadster,” open roadsters being favorite cars to modify for their convenient light weight.
Hot-rodding took off at the end of WW II, when returning soldiers who had been trained in technical service sought outlets for their new expertise. Old Fords, Model T’s, A’s and B’s were among the cars they modified to reduce weight and improve aerodynamics, and dry lake beds and abandoned air fields became racing grounds. Leather jackets may be more of a fashion statement today, but they were functional for motorcycle racing at the time.
“Back then they didn’t have all of the safety precautions we do now,” says Heather’s husband, Ted Van Doorn, an avid vintage car and motorcycle collector. “Airplanes would land in the airfields during the drag races. They’d never let that happen today—too many concerns and liabilities.”
But a revival of club racing has seen more properties, such as Edwards Air Force Base in the Mojave Desert, lifting restrictions and hosting races due to huge demand.
Born to Rock
In this forward-moving, increasingly developed world, it’s a wonder anybody’s looking back to the 1930s, 1940s or 1950s at all. But those aiming to skirt the mainstream find rockabilly is a refreshingly unique blend of the old and new. A large portion of rockabilly folks transitioned into the culture from the anti-establishment world of punk rock. Some bands, following the lead of South London group the Meteors, took the aggressive hard-edged style of punk music and punched in elements of traditional country and swing—like the stand-up bass and tremolo on the guitar—creating the intermediate genre of psychobilly.
“Psychobillies,” as fans are called, still don the wild colorful hairdos, tattoos and ripped garb from the punk days, but they borrow from rockabilly fashion as well, seeking out the most taboo styles they can find: prison stripes, bondage gear in honor of the notorious pinup icon Bettie Page, leopard print and dramatic makeup. An obsession with old science fiction and horror films also characterizes the genre, sometimes called mutant rockabilly, adding an eerie kitschy edge to psychobilly lyrics and shows. During one performance of “I Was a Teenage Werewolf,” Lux Interior of the Cramps crawled and gnawed at chords on the floor in his best impersonation of the fictional creature.
In researching their favorite psychobilly bands and discovering their rockabilly influences, some psychobillies were turned on to that style of music as well as the more classic looks that went with it. From there, many chose to give up their rougher punk and psychobilly backgrounds for the gentler world of rockabilly. But the mentalities remained the same. “We may have left behind the music, but I think some of the ideals are similar,” Palomo says. “Individuality is a huge part of it. A social consciousness is part of it. Not that we don’t dirty the air with our hot rods, but we feel that we make up for it with all of the recycling.”
The retro move into rockabilly was also an attempt to stay part of something authentic and unexploited as psychobilly became increasingly popular with young scene-seekers. “I became more comfortable with rockabilly,” says 20-year-old pinup model Lorin Estes, known as Miss Lorin Rose. “The whole psychobilly scene is getting a little out of hand. I mean, Hot Topic got a hold of that. It’s kind of being looked down on.”
Hey, Good Lookin’
Out of the rockabilly scene comes the faux-scandalous world of pinup culture, which has seen young divas with names like Dayna DeLux, Dita Von Tease and Heidi Van Horne modeling for well-known rockabilly retailers and gracing the pages of hot rod and pinup magazines. Modern pinup photography borrows from the popular WW II GI escapist fare of Betty Grable and Lana Turner to 1950s glamour girl Marilyn Monroe and the not-so-girl-next-door Bettie Page. Models wear everything from retro bikinis to tight-fitted “wiggle” dresses to corsets and back-seamed stockings. Affectionately cheesy props, such as parasols, classic cars and old microphones, make playful sidekicks, and nudity is usually only implied.
“[Pinup’s] more of a tease,” says Miss Lorin Rose. “That’s kind of what I like about it. It’s not like, ‘Here I am, here are my boobies!'” she laughs. “It’s classy, you know? You see so many models out there who are just, like, spread eagle, and it’s like, what are you doing? Why would you advertise yourself like that? There’s just no class at all these days. And that’s why I like pinup, because it’s classic.”
Many are drawn to pinup because of its open mind toward all body types. “I think pinup photography is great for the fact that you don’t need to be a model,” say Jenkins who, aside from taking photographs, plays stand-up bass for local rockabilly band 1-4 Mile Combo. “You can be your average Jane, and you don’t have to be stick skinny. You don’t have to have the perfect figure. As long as you’re happy with what you have and you’re comfortable in your own skin, that shows through the camera.”
Miss Rose, whose first pinup shoot ever was as Miss August in Jenkins’ 2008 pinup calendar, started modeling in part to prove that she didn’t have to have a waiflike body to succeed. “Friends and boyfriends told me I could never be a pinup model because I wasn’t skinny enough,” she says. “So when I moved out here, I decided I wanted to prove everyone wrong back at home. I mean, I’m not a size two. That’s another reason why I like pinups—because I can actually go somewhat far in it without having to diet or become anorexic or anything.” For the record, Miss Lorin Rose is a knockout and just the size a healthy gal should be.
Modern-day pinup incorporates a little something for everyone, blending a more open mindset with the vintage aesthetic. In the 1950s, Bettie Page made history when she donned her dominatrix attire and posed for bondage and fetish photographs (illegal back in those days!), opening doors for women to have a little more fun behind the camera. “I think some people get the idea that maybe we’re into this cheesy Donna Reed kind of nice thing,” Palomo explains. “But really, we all come from this sort of punk background. We love the seedy side of it. We love Bettie Page in her six-inch leather heels wielding a whip. It’s a much more empowered vision of women.”
Though they look glamorous in pictures, most pinup models aren’t rolling in the bucks. “Making a living off pinups is almost impossible, unless you’re down south [in L.A.] and have a contract,” Miss Lorin Rose explains. Yet the field draws an increasing number of ladies excited to dress up and flirt with a camera—dough or no dough.
Some may argue that pinup is just another way to put women on display for male objectification. But in a time when a woman came this close to earning a presidential nomination, the ability to express one’s sexuality can be considered just another freedom. “We can do whatever we want now,” says Heather Van Doorn. “One day you could wear your cute little low-cut pinup outfit, and the next day you can throw on your overalls and working boots!”
Bunny Yeager, who began her career as a fashion model herself, is one of the most notable pinup photographers in the world. Her shots of Bettie Page, whom Yeager helped greatly on her road to fame, are notably some of the most beautiful.
Painter Mabel Rollins Harris is also famous for depicting female nudes in her art, often placing them in ethereal settings or natural landscapes. Endowed with a feminine perspective, Yeager’s photographers and Harris’ paintings took the sleaziness out of pinup. “It wasn’t just a lecherous man slobbering on his canvas,” laughs Van Doorn. “They aren’t campy.”
Glad All Over
Back on the steps at the Mystic, Marissa Patrick brushed a curl from her floral printed shoulder. “I just look at it as this is what I’ve always grown up in,” she said. “My grandmother showed my sister and I how to do our hair when we were little. I have a huge love for 1940s and 1950s fabrics. We drive hot rods, we go to concerts and listen to old music.”
Streams of tired dancers scurried to the bar, flushed and just slightly mussed from the night’s exertions. In the background, Hancock’s flawless yodeling floated pleasantly over a foot-tapping melody and the soft buzz of chatter. A warm red light gave the evening an even more glamorous tone. Looking natural as can be, people talked, laughed and hummed to the music.
“We’re not trying to make a statement,” Patrick said frankly. “This is just what we like.”
The bottom line is that I didn’t run into anyone at yesterday’s 
Okkervil River saunters out with confidence and poise, and then immediately realizes that they’re not in tune. Whoops. A few seconds go by, the bass player lifts a total Merle Haggard & the Strangers intro, and with “Singer Songwriter,” we’re off and running. You heard that song, man? I tell you, it’s the most scathing thing since “Idiot Wind.”
There used to be this band called Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young. Then there was this other band called My Morning Jacket. Now there is a band called Fleet Foxes.
The last time I saw Spiritualized, in 1997, right after Ladies and Gentlemen We are Floating in Space came out, the band was buried in fog and lights. I didn’t understand the concept of noise as bliss, nor did I see any reason to intentionally obscure what would otherwise be a great song in mountains of effects, layers of wrong notes and a shit-ton of feedback. I distinctly remember thinking that they weren’t very good.
The Dodos are great and I missed them. Luckily, for your viewing pleasure, Liz didn’t. Here’s what they look like. 
Sarah Palin, 
The former bass player for Tegan and Sara tells me that while he was in the band, he was instructed by their manager to play the exact same simple bass lines from the album every night. “We don’t want the girls to get confused,” he was told. “Also, don’t move around on stage. At all. Stay in one place. You can’t upstage Tegan or Sara.”
I met Alison and Jamie in 2001, when they were first playing together, in a small flat in Brixton. We hung out every night downstairs with Sean and Ben, probably the funniest two guys in all of London. One day Alison and I spent hours together around London, going to museums, dinner and a movie. She was rad, but after staying in London for a week, I still didn’t know anything about the music she and Jamie were working on. Nobody did.
We get there on Saturday just as Aesop Rock is going on; he’s introduced by the British-accented announcer as “Aesop Rocks.” Aesop Rock moved to San Francisco a few years ago but he’s still wearing a Yankees cap. He’s with Rob Sonic, who is one large dude.
The Nortec Collective plays next, the first in a line of groups that probably belongs on NPR instead of a festival populated mostly by young hipsters. Recurring throughout the day, this realization hits me: that the hundreds of 19-year-olds in neon glasses, tight jeans, turquoise t-shirts and white vans aren’t having it.
Antibalas continues the strange NPR-ing element of the festival. They’re totally danceable, but no one is dancing. At all.
Foals!
I absolutely adore Amon Tobin’s music and have been in love with his records for years. But watching him at an outside festival is dull; he stands at a laptop with turntables, and the more I pay attention to what little he’s doing on stage, the less I enjoy the brilliant sounds coming from the speakers.
Goldfrapp is like the Cocteau Twins, but if the Cocteau Twins were only one girl and did cocaine. I like it. Alison Goldfrapp is bathed in ribbon, and I can’t tell if it’s homage or coincidence, but two teenage girls also covered in ribbon dance by the side of the stage to their set. Alison Goldfrapp’s band is dressed entirely in white, and I can’t tell if it’s homage or coincidence, but a skeezy-looking thirtysomething dude in an all-white jumpsuit approaches the ribbon girls and starts gyrating near them. The ribbon girls hang with it for a while, but when the skeezy white suit dude starts making humpy thrusts at them with a gross smile, they get the fuck outta there.
There’s only a few bands that play this festival who are better on record than they are live—Aesop Rock, Amon Tobin—but for the most part, I’m finding that almost everyone is way better live than they are on record.
CSS takes the stage playing “Jager Yoga,” the first song off their most recent album—which almost always works on me. It helps that singer Lovefoxxx makes her entrance by releasing a huge cluster of helium balloons and wearing a coat made of… oversized confetti? Crumpled aluminum foil? Shredded federal documents?
Justice is a big deal and I have no idea why (for enlightenment, we turn to Pitchfork, which describes Justice as “the rat-a-tat rhythms of electro scraping like Freddie Krueger’s fingertips along the slimy walls of some basement dungeon”). I never got Daft Punk either. So kill me.
