By Ashley Zimmerman
By Dana Krangel
By John Hood
By Ashley Zimmerman
By David Von Bader
By Sayre Berman
By Steve Brennan
By Ashley Zimmerman
Jakobson and guitarist Adrian Dunham provide the Deep Sixes with a hefty dollop of cool. The all-instrumental surf quartet passes along panache to hepcats and kitties on a regular basis, taking pains to offer something more than just twangy, reverb-laden guitar riffs over chunky-style rhythms. Live, the Deep Sixes astound audiences with a lowbrow multimedia blitz, featuring dancers, cult films, and beach iconography aplenty.
The group has been around just a little more than a year, headquartering at Jakobson's suburban Delray Beach home. But the two primary protagonists are far from native: Dunham's résumé includes a tour of duty with the Mugwumps, a Connecticut outfit specializing in rock-steady and ska. He also played in that area's tougher, psychedelic-tinged Dementia 13 before moving to South Florida two years ago. Jakobson was born and raised in New York City, growing up with the late-'70s/early-'80s punk scene and then dance hall reggae. When the two hooked up in 1998, they soon discovered they were kindred spirits.
"When we met we made the connection that we came from similar musical backgrounds," Jakobson notes. "The only difference is that I'm 37 years old, and Adrian's 21. For a long time down here, I was looking for a guitar player to play with. I viewed myself as the old, jaded musician with a little bit of attitude. I needed to meet a young, really talented guy who knows what time it is and just wants to play."
In the beginning the two started down the punk road but soon realized it wouldn't take them anywhere interesting.
"It wasn't working," Jakobson recalls. "But Adrian had been toying around with [a song called] "Walk Don't Run,' and one day he just whipped it out and I went into it. When we played the tape of what we had done in the studio that day, everything kinda sucked -- except for "Walk Don't Run.' Adrian and I were, like, "Wow, we love surf, and we can't find a good singer...' Then one day something was channeled. I kicked into a bass line and Adrian came up with a line, and the next thing we knew, we had written this deep, old-sounding surf song. That was it, man."
The duo quickly located some fertile turf between old-school purism and the new breed of rockabilly and surf music.
"Whatever we're into, we're really into the purest, original form of that music," Jacobson explains. "Not that we don't appreciate third-wave ska -- if it's good -- but we're really into the Skatalites. It's the same thing with surf. We talk about surf to people, and they don't even know what we're talking about: "Like the Beach Boys?' The worst thing is when we have to refer to Pulp Fiction and then they go, "Oh, that music. I like that.' But they're not hip to it. We're really into the deep, rare surf, and surf was really the alternative music of that time. Surf was instrumental, it was raucous, there was a whole vibe behind it, so we connected in that sense."
Boning up on Dick Dale and the Ventures, Jakobson and Dunham also studied the new surf vanguard, including the Bomboras, the Mermen, Los Straitjackets, the Fathoms, the Exotics, Man or Astroman?, and the Phantom Surfers. They quickly teamed up with drummer Laurie Nelson to form a trio. To fill in the sonic thin spots, the three cranked it up.
"Dick Dale is a surf trio on his own, an entity of surf power, and one of the keys to that is playing loud," Jakobson relates. "We wrote songs that allowed us to do that. We played surf but almost at a hardcore volume."
After a brief incarnation as Fireball X15, the three quickly completed a short, nine-song album earlier this year titled The Monstrous Surfing Sounds of... the Deep Sixes. The phrase "From the depths of the sea... A TIDAL WAVE OF TERROR!" also adorns the cover. The fun begins with the sharp spiky notes of "Molokai," which campily recalls both the Batman and Munsters TV show themes. "Reef Rash" outlines a Morricone twang with an almost Latin twist. "Andele" is a slinky little number in which the guitar line takes on a lyrical voice and narrates a briny tale all its own. And we mustn't forget "The Shimmy," which evokes the shapely swagger of the band's go-go dancing sidekicks. With only one tune forging past the three-minute mark, the disc is over in a spray of foam and seaweed. The Deep Sixes' proper full-length, which the band is now recording, promises to provide a meatier platter.
That record will feature the fiery fretwork of a second guitarist, Brian Kellenberger, brought in at the beginning of the summer to shore up the simmering surf. "We were starting to write music that really called for a second guitar," Dunham says. When Kellenberger auditioned, following a succession of nightmarishly bad players, he made a strong impression. "He had a bunch of surf chops all ready to go," Dunham enthuses. "He came in and just immediately started rippin'."