DICK DALE IN CONCERT

Mrs. Skippy and I were privileged to see a concert by Dick Dale at the Redondo Beach Lobster Festival this weekend. Mrs. Skippy had wanted to go for the lobster; I knew from posters around town that Dick Dale, King of Surf Guitars, was playing there. So we showed up Saturday night, cracked open a couple of delicious crustaceans from Maine and stood around in the misty weather by the beach waiting, with a crowd of about 300, to hear the man who taught surfers how the guitar should be played.

Dick Dale, for those of you under 30, is the guy who played the theme song from Pulp Fiction, "Misirlou." Even if you can't place that in your mind, once you hear his signature rapid staccato on his electric guitar, you'll recognize him. Dick's fingers move on his instrument faster than anybody else's, before or since. Where most people will pick the note once and let it reverberate, Dick will churn out 8 rapid plucks in a row. There's no room for half- or eighth-notes in Dick's oeuvre; thirty-second notes are his mainstay.

Accompanied only by a bass guitarist and a drummer, Dick took the stage amidst the audience's catcalls of "Dick Dale! Dick Dale! Dick Dale!" The trio opened with a loud, rockin' semi-improvised number, which this reviewer did not recognize. Dick then introduced the next piece, called "Eliminator," from his new album, Spacial Disorientation. Mrs. Skippy, who likes to study interior design, chuckled at the title of the album. I myself, just rocked out, along with the rest of the mostly over-50 crowd. The next song, "Eliminator," had a recurring line sounded like "Satisfaction" turned on its head, and Dick took it and ran with it, wailing all over the stage, recalling some of the heavier heavy metal sounds from the 80's. Then after that, they went into a dense and fast rendition of "Ghost Riders in the Sky."

Through the set, Dick and his boys took us into the strange rock and roll milieu that lies halfway between psychedelia and the blues, with the decibels turned up to 11 and more reverb than God talking to Charlton Heston. Every number was played with Dick's signature pizzicato sliding down, triplet by triplet, the high end of the register, turning out more individual notes than Mozart used to bore Joseph II. There were bits reminiscent of Jimi Hendricks here, Faith No More there; some Stone Temple Pilots over here, BB King over there; and even Louie Armstrong thrown in for good measure (trumpet included).