Good deal on all our t-shirts today. When you check out, enter your special code: LABOR13 to get the deal. Get ‘em here and fly your freak flag proud, kid…
photo: National Geographic
At 8pm last night, the Bay Bridge – the straightest shot between San Francisco and Oakland, CA – shut down and it won’t reopen till next week.
Now, if you don’t live here, you prolly don’t care. But it’s not entirely untrue that the Bay Bridge is one of the most iconic bridges in the world, still a distant second to its neighbor across the bay, the Golden Gate Bridge. But what many people who don’t live here don’t realize is that the bridge suffers from a split personality: there’s a big island – Treasure Island, actually – that sits in the middle of the San Francisco Bay and the western span that connects to San Francisco is the hot sister to the husky chick with a lazy eye that connects to Oaktown.
Nobody really thinks about the Oakland span. Neckbomb tattoos on local roughnecks pay homage to the Sucker Free side, not the East Bay side. Some digital artist lit up the SF side with a laptop-fueled light display that changes every few minutes, while the Oakland side stays dark. But, it’s understandable: the Oakland side is just an ugly, steel girder construction of uninspired, faded glory.
But not for long. We’ve been watching as a brand new design is going up on the eastern span of the Bay Bridge and we’re stoked for it. We couldn’t say for sure, but it looks like someone is a huge Golden State Warriors fan, since this thing looks much like the Warriors ‘bridge’ logo.
Anyhoo, we’ll spend the weekend staying off the highways while the clueless minions grind to a halt in their used Xb crates and Camrys (Camries?) on 101N and we’ll hope to have some shots of the gleaming new bridge soon. Can’t WAIT to leak oil all over that thing…
Art: Hudson Marquez
If you know anything about Coop, you know that he’s a complete artist. What we mean by that, is that Coop is not only a professional artist – making a very good living for himself with his art – but also a soul working his way through the world with eyes wide open. He knows more about obscure music genres than anyone else we know, is an art historian, a raconteur, has defined an entire generation of car culture with his work and has a far-reaching, eclectic group of friends who’ve changed the world in their own ways, as well. That’s a life well-lived. Living. To be lived. Whatevs.
He recently posted up this fantastic bit of goodness, made by his friend and “Cadillac Ranch” co-conspirator, Hudson Marquez: a sketch inspired by seeing Coop’s old shoebox nearly 20 years ago. Really neat to see what happens when two artists run into each other, hang out for a few minutes, chat and then go their separate ways, only to inspire each other later.
What’s also really cool or kool or kewl (depending on how much you can appreciate this) is how a custom is interpreted by someone not stuck lugging around fifty-plus pounds of old car magazine baggage…
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…
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!
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…
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…
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…
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.