Archive for the ‘ Culture ’ Category

THE SECRET LIVES OF THE UNDERGROUND

Monday, August 26th, 2013

We’re in full production on a project that we’ll be talking so much more about in a few weeks, but for now, we’ll show you a little sumpn’ we know you’d dig…

We love it when a plan comes together. In this case, we had heard photographer Dylan Maddux was back in Sucker Free for a few weeks from his perch in Cambodia. We also knew we wanted to shoot Tyler Pullen‘s grey ’54 Chebby (the original customer told TP that he wanted the coupe painted grey, so Tyler did what you see above). On top of that, we got the chance to work with Olivia Dantes. And when Tyler said he’d bring us to this secret location, we knew we had something good on our hands.

Now, we had heard about an abandoned warehouse in the San Francisco Bay Area that doubles as a graff nation historical landmark years ago, but we never gave it much thought. So, when Tyler told us that he’d taken a few of his bitchin’ customs to a certain warehouse that was all tagged up, we were ALL IN.

In Japan, there’s a temple that features a long hall with the full bodysuit-tattooed skins of its long-gone members framed on its walls. Point is, there’s a long history of buildings that feature the art of the cultures they were built amid over the course of human history and this one is no different.

While Dylan was shooting, we found tags dated back as far as the early Eighties – which, if you think about it, ain’t really all that long ago…but we’re talking about modern urban graffiti, here. Those early (in graff nation terms) tags were created in the first days of Hip Hop, when artists – musical and otherwise – weren’t given the respect they command these days, in the light of classic roots history. They probably had no idea that, 30 years later, Adidas would run multi-million dollar spots during the VMAs on cable TV featuring RUN DMC as old men, still rocking the early, crude Hip Hop aesthetics as retro-cool to kids who can’t imagine a world with pagers and 30 D cell battery-powered ghetto blasters or without Instagram or video screens hanging from the ceilings of their moms’ minivans.

But, here we were, just amazed by the sheer volume of art on nearly every square inch of the interior of this long-abandoned warehouse – and not only that, but the decades of undisturbed art history. Sure, the taggers who found out we were there were far from enthused by our presence, but fuck it – Tyler’s work is no less important and, in the spirit of truly free art, has just as much right to temporarily occupy this hallowed, underground space. We all bleed for our art – whether it’s 200 hours of painstakingly masked and measured panels on a ’54 Chevy or hanging 200 feet above a concrete floor to reach virgin rafter space with an aerosol can. It’s all art and this shit is important.

More stories to come…

OUT OF THE OFFICE

Tuesday, August 20th, 2013

Yeah, we know it looks like we’re on vacation, but even when we’re at the cabin, we’re still working. We’ll slip you some juicy shots of what we’re up to as we crank away on this project, but for now, we’re pulling the plug on the swamp cooler and locking up the shop as we hit the road for a series of photo shoots. Stay tuned!

WHEN WORLDS COLLIDE

Thursday, August 15th, 2013


art: John Bell Studio

In our world, car culture influences just about everything. EVERYTHING. And while it’s so obvious how a Mako shark took its design cue from a ’63 Corvette or that the U.S.S. Enterprise was definitely shaped from a General Motors Autronic Eye a thousand years after those crazy things disappeared from dashboards, we also realize that the uninitiated might not realize the connection.

But in a pretty bitchin’ example, Cameron Day and his creative team at Barnhart in Denver just tapped gearhead and artist, John Bell, for a new ad campaign for their Wyoming Tourism client.

Now, let us back it up a sec, here: John Bell is not only a working artist, illustrator and designer, he’s also a gearhead. Growing up near the Englishtown dragstrip in Jersey during the last great era of the Funny Car, he got a healthy dose of good design, color, style, personality and how the pursuit of speed could influence all of it in some really great ways. So, when he moved to California to work in the movie industry, he slammed everything he loved into an amazing career and is still doin’ the do.

One of the many things that came out of John Bell Studio was a series of window decals inspired by those fucking cool-ass mid-century state decals that were so plentiful when the U.S. Interstate system was brand-new and it seemed like everyone was pulling a camper behind the Brookwood and really discovering America and shit. Except, that John’s decal series featured the great car shows on the West Coast: the long-gone Cruisin’ Nationals in Paso Robles, the California Hot Rod Reunion in Bakersfield, Speed Week at the Bonneville Salt Flats, the list goes on. What a great mashup of design, history and car culture.

And Cam Day was paying attention, too. So, when his ad agency caught the Wyoming Tourism business, he saw a chance to put John and his great style to work. Wyoming is one of those states, very much like California, that is on just about everyone’s vacation bucket list. What’s not to love about this section of big sky country, right? Hell, we’ve never been there, but we’ve got visions of dragging a ’61 Holiday House behind the Henry J through that state and stopping at every boot shop and antler chandelier maker and jackalope taxidermist between Yellowstone and Cheyenne.

And what came of that? Welp, a new series of John Bell signature Wyoming travel decals, that’s what. There are some 18 different decals that John illustrated for Cam and his client and when you hit the Wyoming site, you can get one sent to you just for signing up for some shit. And then, the idea is that once you get to Wyoming and start your roadtrip, you can pick up the entire set as you make your way across that grand state. We really don’t need much more of a reason to do it. We just hope the entire state doesn’t run out of ‘em before we get there…

RESTORATION V. PRESERVATION: BIG WILLIE ROBINSON’S DAYTONA

Wednesday, August 14th, 2013

Our friends over at Hemmings brought the latest evidence of the restoration vs. preservation internal battle to light with the recent acquisition of a Big Willie Robinson Daytona.

Now, we can appreciate the new owner’s right to do whatever he wants with the car he rightfully owns, right? But when there’s some goddam history involved, well, that’s next-level shit. In this case, it sounds like the new owner of the last of Big Willie’s Daytonas didn’t just go off on some bullshit restoration project where he threw a wheelbarrow of cash at the project and removed every bit of handpainted, rough-cut, hammered, wrinkled, bent and force-of-will personality from the car…only to roll it out to shows and bask in the cheap, florescent glow of the shallow adulation of man-babies in lion-tamers and bluetooths before heading off to Chili’s for Bleu-Cheese-Jack-Wings and pints of Cleveland Steamer Brown Summer Pale Ale all across this great nation, then selling it at some Barrett-Jackson auction to some other fat-ass for 36x what he put into it. And so it goes.

No, this guy definitely seems to have put some real thought into the car. And, while it sucks that he felt he had to make the decision to go full resto on it, Corey Owens has our heart for really doing the due-diligence and considering a preservation of one of the last significant relics of the Big Willie Robinson legacy, before making the decision to fully restore it.

Good stuff, Corey. Can’t wait to see the car when you’re done and we think the Brotherhood would be proud…

GIRLS OF YORE: HAJI

Monday, August 12th, 2013

In the late Sixties, a filmmaker named Russ Meyer made ultrahipster status with his love of film and beautiful girls with impossible proportions. “Faster Pussycat! Kill! Kill!,” “Motorpsycho” and “Good Morning…and Goodbye!” were a few of his classically terrible-yet-equally-fucking-awesome films shot out in the American Southwest where it seemed that cleavage, bad taste in cars, a shallow script and a taste of early slasher flicks needed no permit to produce and rule us with, some fifty years later.

And one of the truly God-given gifts Meyer plied often was his ability to find some of the most trance-inducing, exotic women and retain them for said films. So, it makes perfect sense that he’d cross paths with a go-go dancer named Cerlet Catton or Barbarella Catton or, as she’s known to most, Haji.

Something out of a Martin Denny album cover or the mens room wall in the Enchanted Tiki Room design studio at Disney, Cerlet or Barbarella was apparently given her more well-known name by her brother when they were kids growing up in Quebec or Nova Scotia. What we are certain of is that she was Canadian and Haji was a fitting name for such an exotic beauty.

Another thing we know is that, in the absence of facts, all kinds of speculation will make up a biography. And in the world of Haji, not a whole helluva lot has been written about her life outside of her acting career. It’s been said that she dabbled in witchcraft, psychedelic drugs and we’d like to add that she was actually the product of a cellular fusion of fairy dust subparticles, cardamom powder, oil of nightshade and the same stuff in Freesia stripper lotion that Victoria’s Secret put out in the Nineties. We’ll stand by that statement as we honor the life and career of Haji on her passing over the weekend.

We get into this discussion alot – especially when we work on our hot rod pinup photoshoots: Why don’t women look like they did in the Fifties, Sixties and Seventies? The natural curves, the long legs, the absence of silicone…the look that Russ Meyer made a career of? Is it the steroid-pumped chicken that kids have been fed for the last 20 years? Is there something in the water? Is it a terrible diet of Papa John’s Pizza and tramp stamp tattoos and too many seasons of “Glee?” What happened in these last two generations that we can’t find a young Haji? Welp, we’ll keep looking.

In the meantime, enjoy a few captures of Haji’s beautiful career and get in touch with us if you know a girl who’s a fitting tribute to the trail Haji blazed five decades ago…

RANDOM EPIC

Friday, August 9th, 2013

One of the great things about the interwebs is that old photographs come back to life in random, global epicness. Here’s one to kick your weekend off and if you know anything about where it actually came from, hit the comment box!

LINDA LOVELACE BUILT MY HOT ROD

Thursday, August 8th, 2013


Linda Lovelace and Funny Car driver, Ed McCulloch

This Friday, a little film with some big names attached to it will release in just a few theaters and video-on-demand. “Lovelace” stars that chick from Allentown, PA – Amanda Seyfried – as the iconic Linda Lovelace and if this movie had its own FaceySpacey page, the relationship with American popular culture would be categorized as “It’s Complicated.”

Now’s the perfect time for a biopic about Linda Lovelace. Why? Well, because everything bitchin’ about the Seventies is hip right now, but we’re all skirting around what made it possible: the sexual revolution. Choppers, halter tops, Funny Cars, feathered hair, street freaks, doom metal, Keystone Klassics, Funk…the list just goes on.

Yeah, yeah, we know you think it’s a stretch, but the sexual revolution of the late Sixties/early Seventies was more than just a sex thing. It was a state of mind that allowed everything to be questioned. Tim Conder talks about how his blue-collar dad in a white t-shirt and perfectly greased Flat-Top Boogie discovered bean bag chairs and shag rugs in the Seventies and that didn’t mean he stopped running through the four gears of his perfect ’55 Chevy on the back roads of Kentucky, it just meant that folks of his generation were allowed, nay, encouraged to walk away from the Howdy-Doody bullshit that had been paving over the depths of the human soul for the last several decades.

By the time car culture finally got all the butch wax washed out of its hair in ’72, Linda Lovelace had brought sex grinding onto the silver screen in “Deep Throat.” The first film of its kind to actually wake up the American consciousness, the $50,000 investment (little more than $270,000 in today’s cake) by Louis Peraino and his mutton-chopped gang came to define the core of everything we loved. Namely, Freedom. Freedom to do whatever and whoever we wanted to, whenever we wanted to. And that kind of freedom – the kind that Linda made us all aware of in some very memorable ways – ended up in the haze-smoke of Bob Gerdes’ Circus Paint, the Funny Car circuit that Jungle Jim Liberman and Jungle Pam Hardy made so popular, the music of Pentagram, the mad lab of Dick Allen, the hot rod styling of “Lil John” Buttera, the custom van movement, “Convoy,” the cane-n-cape swagger of Evel Knievel, KISS…the mind just boggles with wizards, metalflake, Jesus toe sandals, Gold Streaks and shaggy-haired jet boat parties.

We could go on and on about Linda’s force majeure that excused an entire generation from the fate of its parents, but hey – that shit’s been done before. We’ll take the time to make the connection between the cult of personality of Linda Lovelace and everything we love so much about car culture. Swallow that.

WORLDS COLLIDE…AGAIN

Wednesday, August 7th, 2013


photo: Tatiana Gerusova

If you have one of our 2013 calendars, you know Tatiana Gerusova’s work: her images of Cherry Martini for the cover and the month of March are unforgettable. And now, we’ve just learned that Tatiana has been picked up by one of the greats of the world of photography: Art + Commerce! Not only that, but she and Gia Genevieve have been tapped for a new campaign for that icon of itty-bitty-triangle-tagged jeans, GUESS?…

Just another killer example of how exceptional photography breaks down walls between the subculture of cars and popular culture strains like fashion. We know we’ll keep hearing the tired-ass “I ain’t into all that fashion-y bullshit, I just been out there workin’ on my car,” and other various strains of that same sentiment, but the world keeps evolving despite that limited – and dying – perspective. And we dig the hell outta the amazing art that comes from this kind of fusion.

Great work, Tatiana – you deserve every bit of it. We’re just honored to know ye, girl…

SPEED WEEK!

Tuesday, August 6th, 2013


Burt Munro: The World’s Fastest Indian

Welp, it’s on top of us again: Bonneville Speed Week out at the Salt Flats in Utah. We’ll be the first to admit that, while we’ve been to The Salt, we’ve yet to make the pilgrimage every August. What we love most about Bonneville is that it’s pretty much the only racetrack that anyone – anyone at all – can drive out onto and experience for themselves, on their own terms, in their own vehicle, whenever they want to (y’know, except for during Speed Week and other cool speed shit that may get you killed if you wander out into the middle of). Those ancient dry salt lake beds are a national treasure that we all own a little teeny piece of through our taxes that run the Bureau of Land Management. So, put it on your bucket list and get yourself out to Speed Week to see how your little slice of salty moonscape is being put to great use: it’s your right as a gawd-blessed American and know that plenty of folks from around the world have paved the way for you.

THE TRADITION OF IMMIGRANT TATTOO

Thursday, August 1st, 2013

Really neat piece by Damien Shiels on the tattoos of Irish enlisted men that were recorded by the Union Navy during the Civil War that photographer, Jeremy Harris, turned us onto.

And much as we love the history of tattoos in America, we love how that tradition has continued into modern day: we’re still seeing tattoos as marks of identification and specific messages abundant in immigrant communities, as opposed to the more general ‘adornment’ approach that has taken over the cultural mainstream – especially in the corners of car culture that have, thankfully, escaped the bullshit of reality TV. And we love that good, good stuff. Keeps the colorful (we had to say it) history and culture of tattoo grounded in an age of such inking fuckery, no?