Posts Tagged ‘Andy Roy’

Ams Behaving Badly and The Struggle For Our Immortal Souls Dudes

January 9, 2016

lobstrosity

As the sleek and plush (if leased [and somehow less flavourful than the Honda Civics and cliff-bound Cadillacs of decades past]) Porsche that is skating’s motorvehicular avatar purrs into 2016, the dashbound is fruitlessly thumped again and again in a hapless bid to steady the jittery moral compass mounted somewhere south of the cracked rear view and fuzzy dice. Turmoil abounds. Tweenage inward heelflip lothario Baby Scumbag and self-styled switchstance deity Keelan Dadd stand accused of sexually exploiting a 12-year-old, drawing revulsion from all but their most loyal Instagram subscribers. Knox Godoy, that onetime Baker bidder for Billy Waldman status, assures Jenkem that a hybrid lifestyle of drug selling, professional chefing and knocking over the odd Wal-Greens is preferred over the comparatively stressful elements of pro-level boardsmanship. Elsewhere there is an uneasy peace to be made with contractually obligated energy-drink hoisting, ‘name’ pros openly endorsing Drake material and Thrasher ringing in this uncertain new year by dabbling in emoticons.

Polarization and its closely related national pasttime, the culture war, seem bound to lay hooks into the skating sphere as it embarks upon a bold age in which a pro can be sacked for too-loose poo talk, while Andy Roy, noted degenerate, holds forth as a wizened confidant and adviser. Mythmaking and condemnation continue their two-decade waltz* around a film meditation on trading HIV status and various assaults while Lenny Kirk admonishes snitches and trafficks in Biblical morality from behind bars:

“A lot of Americans don’t know these things. They’re too caught up with fake tits and butts, plastic surgery, gay sex, drugs, and how to get God out of America. Obsessed with themselves. The flesh. Perverted, influenced by bimbo hoes with twisted minds and famous because of pornos. America is heading to Hell yet they don’t think so. Some try to make it as if homosexuals are normal people but it’s a lie, a deception. You’re not born that way! Men move from viewing pornography to homosexuality, to rape, to incest and to pedophilia… from one glass of wine to abusive alcoholism and from smoking marijuana to crack cocaine.”

As skating’s graying corporate checkhandlers steer it toward an Olympic status and the balance sheet replenishing endorsement largesse to follow, skaters must determine whether they continue cheering bad guys. The general public already had split over Palace’s prodigal ‘old New York’er Shawn Powers’ art career, jacket game and skating generally, but the gulf widened this week upon digital unearthing of a clip in which Shawn Powers forcefully liberated several lobsters before sending several toward an untimely and preemptive broiling via wall.

Shawn Powers’ shock-and-awe campaign upon these semi-suspecting lobsters drew widespread shrugs and condemnation in turn within the skating sphere and without, amid calls for Palace to cease his sponsorship, police to jail him and aquatic beings across the region to rise up in moistened vengeance.

Skating of course already has had a long and fraught relationship with lobsters, mainly manifested through footwear color schemes. Lobsters, despite their cuddly appearance and gregarious ways, are among the most enigmatic and threatening invertebrates of the time. Long rumoured to possess the secrets of immortality, they will feast upon the flesh and carapaces of their own kind, spreading dangerous bacteria wherever they scuttle and threatening the toes and, indeed, the very souls of the unwary:

These you may eat of all that are in the water: whatever in the water has fins and scales, whether in the seas or in the rivers—that you may eat…. Whatever in the water does not have fins or scales—that shall be an abomination to you. Leviticus 11:9, 12

Did Shawn Powers, possibly fresh off Chrome Ball Incident’s landmark Lennie Kirk post and a recent poll that voted God most likely to destroy humanity, simply seek to look out for immortal souls generally and avoid potential abominations by the best means possible? Would lobsters rather die briefly free on the pavement than live doomed behind glass? Dad-a-cham? Dum-a-chum? How does this clip not go in the next Bronze vid? What would Andy Roy do?

#Trendwatch 2015: Personal Responsibility

August 12, 2015

Drink-More-Water-5

What soul-eroding wreckage hath the tucked-in shirt craze of 2011 wrought? Plenty of yesteryear’s rascally character tropes increasingly are unapplicable in a brave land where oil-enriched royal dynasties shut down portions of their kingdoms to enable drone-powered filming romps and barely a month can pass without some Manhattan periodical fawning over skaters’ fashion sensibilities, amid assorted rumors of cats and dogs living together and stenchful glimpses of a new dinosaur age.

For alerts and rumours indicating the far reach of skateboarding’s current enamourment with grown manning look no further than Thrasher, that digital content barony built on crushed tall cans, DIY concrete projects and ill-considered body art, which presented this summer’s landmark ‘Stay Flared’ tour firstly as a lesson in proper diet and taking care of one’s self. Its poster child is Brandon Biebel, he of Redline binges and the pack-a-day Ja Rule voice:

Stay Flared saw an equally intense Biebel, though followers of his social media will know that this one is deadly serious about skateboarding, driven by healthy living and more pumped up than ever before. Most telling was his water consumption, specifically his ritual of “kicking a gallon” i.e. drinking at least a gallon of water every day.

“You want to join this club? You ready to kick a gallon?” he asked, incredulously.

The gallon club already involved several of the Stay Flared crew and Andrew Reynolds explained that back in LA they often send each other photos of crushed jugs throughout the day.

“These guys are drinking a gallon of water before 2 pm,” he said. “It’s pretty competitive. It’s, like, ‘Shit, I better start skating so I can finish my gallon!”

Reynolds’ involvement in the burgeoning and bubbly 2015 water affair is perhaps no great surprise given his years of sobriety recently augmented by ice-baths, fair-trade bananas, some sciatic foam roller and a substance known as ‘arnica gel’ (full list available in the Stay Flared Thrasher). But in an age where Fred Gall embraces domestic bliss and Andy Roy can hold down a $1000/month apartment in the most expensive city in America, it is fair to ponder a potential shift at hand.

With message-board vitriol poured steamily over do-nothing pros unable to film semi-regular Instagram clips that, in years past, would have been rewarded with Polo gear or studded belts for their devotion to various piling-out programmes, it is easy to attribute a more-responsible pro populace to the vagaries and ravages of age, mainly the fearsome potential of a day-job sentence lurking behind any final photo incentive cheque. Yet 90s babies also have proven themselves increasingly upstanding, between Austyn Gillette’s Habitat-endorsed high school ender, Mark Suciu’s BA pursuits and the Sabotage dudes methodically smoothing the Love Park ground and disposing of trash in the bargain, moves that recall the late-1990s citizenry of ledge-repainter Jeremy Wray.

Such are the lofty heights tested by this new wave of behavioral responsibility that Ride Channel of late has taken to truth-testing Slap Board rumors and garnering responses from the likes of Crailtap tour muncher Sam Smyth regarding alleged lynchpin teamrider permutations. Whether the Girl camp felt compelled to address potentially material and market-moving news in light of its recent investment injection remains needlessly speculated upon in the darknet.

Are more such fits of dependibility, sensible living and all-out rational action to come as various pros and industry andministrators test the fat tail of mortgage-debt exposure, and corporate structures absorb further xtreme properties? Do the recent spate of upstart board concerns require more self-starter fluid wrung from the industry’s collective pores, or instead offer a greased-up window that creakily enables hedonistic backsliding motions? Is Andy Roy next in line to host an HGTV show that harnesses his prison background for the purpose of frugally decorating tiny houses? Would the industry have found itself on a much different path had Rocco never repaid that one loan shark?

The Slap Boards Are Big Brother Magazine

February 8, 2015

slap-campus

Everything is good,” declared a grinning Cortez Bryant as he clamored into his time-traveling space Delorian hours after his star client, Dwayne Carter, Twittered his displeasure and angst towards longtime employer Cash Money Records and by proxy father figure Baby/Beatrice/Birdman. “I wouldn’t be out at the club right now,” Cortez Bryant beamed, assuring YouTube viewers that nothing was amiss within the house that the Hot Boys built, despite what persons may have read elsewhere.

Was Cortez Bryant lying? Last month it emerged that Lil Wayne had sued Baby to the tune of $51 million, suggesting that everything was not good after all. Rap music is a topsy turvy business for sure, but you wonder whether Cortez Bryant figured people would listen to him rather than what they read on the computer internet, or if he was playing for time in a high-stakes game of financial and legal Stratego against Birdman’s lawyerly halberders, or if he was speaking in some far more general and cosmic sense about the human condition given Turk’s recent comments that BG’s prison sentence could be miraculously cut short by an as-yet unknowable ‘legal loophole.’*

Powers that be in the hard-n-soft goods biz would perform a similar dirt-off-my-shoulders oldster routine when it comes to the Slap Board, that ever-churning cauldron of YouTube links, hearsay, harsh truth-telling and pure id that oftentimes is livelier and more insightful than that month’s issue of your favorite big-4(3[2?]) magazine. Disclosing and painstakingly dissecting beefs, career choices, wardrobes and various industry flotsam before it can be packaged and shepherded to sponsor-approved instagram accounts, oftentimes in the most splintery and unvarnished terms capable of QWERTY filtration, is a freewheeling public service that seemingly goes little-loved in many team managers’ offices, as per Ride Channel’s recent industry survey item:

Vernon Laird, team manager, Bones Bearings:My impression of the average message boarder is a disgruntled never-has-been or never-will-be old, bitter man. Somebody who was mad that there were never sponsored or never pro and sits around and talk shit about everybody and everything in the skateboard industry because they have too much free time on their hands.

Mike Sinclair, team manager, Tum Yeto: Most hide behind their account name, and they usually want to pry, poke, and jab, which they have the right to do, at me or the brands I work for. The only difference is that I get paid for my opinion, and some of these guys just want to take their bad day out on me or others anonymously.

Before alt.skate-board and later the Crail-board provided early venues for distributing Kareem Campbell drive-by obituaries and nurturing the legend of a yung PJ Ladd, Big Brother magazine represented a forum for the attitudes and angles on skateboarding that tend toward the tasteless, puerile, and a certain mirror-gazing irreverence toward the industry itself that often seems bizarrely missing in a pastime ostensibly reared up to question authority and everything else, but that a lot of times veers dangerously near to preening sanctimoniousness. Videos got roasted, pros and industry heads were called out in interviews and editorial copy alike, and the likes of Gino Iannucci, Josh Kalis, Andy Roy, Ronnie Creager and Daewon Song were raised up on high before the publication succumbed to the same injurious stew of intoxicants, corporate ownership and general burn-out that have corroded pro careers. While there’s some truth in the rose-tinted view of a past when the general public didn’t bear witness to favorite pros profanely shouting down tweenage trollers via social-media pages of choice, the flipside has to have been the relatively few outlets and companies that controlled information flow and curated the industry’s self-image, which Big Brother never much seemed concerned with.

The internet’s halls are swabbed by anonymous mouthpieces whose currency too often is valued by loudness of opinion, and Slap’s forums are no better or worse. But the Slap message-boards too easily are brushed off as a den of venomous haters, caricatured over the years as armchair skaters in garb only, uniformed in white tees/brown cords/half cabs or more recently a Polar/Dickies/Cons ensemble that prizes wallies and reviles tricks that may rate high-single-digit Street League scores. Similar javelins surely were hurled at the Carnie/Canale/Kosick contingent back when, similarly aimed at an easy-target messenger rather than entertain the idea that, for instance, it’s possible to acknowledge the prowess of a Nyjah Huston whilst criticizing his apparent approach to tricks and skating in general.

James Craig in the Ride-Channel survey talks bluntly about recognizing when the Slap board got it uncomfortably correct:

[F]or me the biggest one was going on there early on and I just went under my middle name, Cliff. I starting seeing all kinds or random hate on me: “James Craig has the worst style in skateboarding.” Haha! It was pretty brutal, but everyone has an opinion. All I knew is my style is what it is-—not fake, it’s just me—-so it didn’t really bum me out, but it didn’t change the fact people were hating on me. You know what I did? I said, “Fuck it! I’m just going to take it in and flip it into a positive!”

It motivated me to not settle for bullshit sketchy makes but to have a little more pride in my footage and skating. This worked for me at the time, and after that I had some of the best, [most] proud years of my skateboard life. I’d look at footy from What If? (2005) and be pissed that I ended up with some seriously out-of-control arms, and in my next two parts I was super hyped on the way it all looked after putting in the effort to make my shit better. Some would say that’s wack, because I wanted to prove [the message boards] “wrong,” but motivation can be found anywhere. You just have to be willing to deal with the reality that “they” might be a little bit right, and [be prepared to do] whatever it takes accomplish what you want.

The irony shouldn’t be overlooked that in a golden age of DIY companies and spots, when even housing complex building projects are willing to take a knee before Burnside’s concrete, the longest-running and most-vibrant online web community continues to draw such ire and eye-rolling disdain from the industry. At one time skateboards were issued with an optional chip-on-shoulder and latent sneer toward powers-that-be that deemed it a loser’s pursuit, and rescinding that is one risk lodged inside six-figure contest purses, multinational sneaker endorsements and the class/coach dynamic where the dollars-earned or click-views end justifies most any means.

Jason Rothmeyer, New Balance sales manager and SPoT competition vet, remarks at one point in the Ride Channel item that “[t]he judges’ stand is a microcosm of the Slap message board. Just a bunch of dudes talking mad shit, mostly.” James Craig likens it to a skateshop breeze-shooting session, which you could extend further — a shop where anybody can be an employee, customers never interrupt the discussion to ask for new D3 colours, and closing time never comes, allowing the strength of the argument to prevail, or not, over days and weeks and years as brick-and-mortar locations cede their meetup-and-conversation functions to this aromatic and frenetic realm of text messages, embedded videos and digital Bigcartel baskets.

*For those keeping score Turk now also has sued Cash Money

Roll Out The Barrel

January 7, 2012

It is one week into 2012. See if you can pick the fake headline:

[ ] Andy Roy Attempts To Choke Out DMX Live Onstage

[ ] Jereme Rogers Arrested Following Nude, PCP-Fueled Hotel Rampage

[ ] Brian Wenning Quits Selfish Skateboards Via Jereme Rogers Diss Track

[ ] All of the above/gonna be a long year

Two Sides

October 14, 2008


“They know I’m a troublemaker”

How about I continue to milk the recent Slap issue. The Karma interview, thusly juxtaposed with Andy Roy’s Big Brother feature, teaches us that when it comes to brawling with snowboard bro-brahs in Utah, it all comes down to your perspective…

Big Brother, 1996:
Chris Pontius: Ddin’t you guys get in a fight with some guys in Utah?

Andy Roy: Yeah! That’s how this window got busted out. That was sick! Little Richard [Paez] started a fight with all those snowboarders. This little girl was fucking with him. He had a hood on, and she grabbed the strings and pulled them down. Her boyfriend was standing right next to her, and he shoved Richard.

Karma Tsocheff: No, but what were you saying to them?

Andy Roy: I was all, “I’m a pro snowboarder. I ride for Palm-er. I do the pow-pow.” “WHUT!” he got all pissed off, and shoved Richard again. He was small, so I shoved him – remember, I was spitting on that one guy, all those loogies on his back. They got mad, put me in a headlock, and shoved us all outside.

Karma: All these guys were holding my arms back, and this one guy, this pro snowboarder named, Andy Brewer, had his hands in my mouth. Andy Brewer’s a little bitch.

Andy Roy: So the whole party rushes outside right? I go, “you guys rip off skateboarding! You guys are FAGGOTS!” They freaked out. This one guy is all, “I want to fight you!” I’m all, “Alright, I’ll fight you.” He goes, “Okay.” He was all wasted. So I put up my dukes–BOOM! One punch, knocked him out. Then his big buddy came up to me pissed off. He was huge. I was scared he was gonna crush me, and then Karma stepped in–WHAM! Bottle over the head! Fucking on the ground! Then Richard runs to the van, grabs a skateboard, tosses it to Karma, and he starts smashing it over his head. And I went, “What? I want to get in on some of that,” and started kicking him in the head. I had blood all over my shoe. You fucked him up!

Karma: It was so crazy, because after I broke the bottle over his head, we ran by the van, and the dude got up and all of his friends came charging at the van, and the biggest dude was running alongside the van, and the second he came around the corner–BAM!–the deck went straight to his head. Just fuckin’ laid him out right there behind the van.

Andy Roy: He fucked him up with the griptape side. The dude did the fish! Crazy style!

Chris Pontius: So what happened?

Andy Roy: Karma got chased. We didn’t know where he was and Richard and Jesse were down the street fighting. Those guys thought I was the guy with the bottle, so they started chasing me. I ran to the van, and Doug was in there. “OPEN THE VAN!” I get in and they come rushing up while I’m trying to rig the van with these fucking wires you had to connect to start it, and the window is half down and they got bottles. I said, “Fuck that! I didn’t hit you with a bottle!” And then finally I got the van started, woOm! WOOM! and I whipped it around, and drove back to wehre Richard and Jesse were, and I said “GET THE FUCK IN!” Turned around again, and they were all out there with hockey sticks and shit! They had the whole street blocked! I said “fuck this! I’m gonna run the motherfuckers over!” I was all drunk. I just floored it, and I went after this one guy, and he jumped back, swung the hockey stick, and broke that window right there. We got out of there. We went down some side street and hid. Then all of a sudden, VOOM, VOOM, VOOM–all these cop cars flew past. The next day was our last demo, right? We didn’t even show up. We were scared. We couldn’t find Karma, or nothing.

Karma: I slept under a rig that night with no shirt. I had to walk like five hours to get downtown. It was fucked up.

Slap, 2008:
Richard Hart: How often was it that Andy Roy instigated all the problems?
Karma: Always. He just enjoyed fucking with people. One time we were in Salt Lake City. We skated some ramp and then these guys took us to this snowboarder party. Andy is standing over some guy who is sitting down, drizzling beer on this guy’s head, until he finally figures it out… and then Andy goes, “What? It was an accident! I’m druuuunk!” And then he would just do it again. Anyway, a fight broke out and we were in the middle of the living room; me, Richard and Andy, and the room is packed with these jock snowboarders. The whole party turned on us. Imagine being in a pit at a punk show, but the whole pit is surrounding you. It was really scary.

This guy is trying to rip my mouth open but somehow we managed to jam out the side door and run for the van. Andy was scrapping with these two big dudes and I just ran past them and broke a bottle over one of their heads and kept running. I looked back and there were 10 dudes coming towards us with hockey sticks, and I hid behind the back of the van and hit the first guy with a skateboard. I actually kept that board – it had an inch-by-inch patch of skin with hair on it. I gave it to Keenan and he was stoked on it.

But anyway, we’re fighting off all these dudes while piling into the van. The thing was, our van at the time, you had to touch the battery with a wire to get it started. Somebody had to be inside trying to start it while someone else is outside with this wire, jumping the battery… so Doug jumps out with this little wire, just waiting for someone to clock him from behind, somehow gets it started, jumps in, Richard and Jesse and AP were already in the van, but I hadn’t gotten in yet.

Andy is driving and he whips around and charges at these dudes and they smash a window with a hockey stick. Meanwhile, I’m being chased by these guys down the street. You know how in a movie there’ll be a chase scene with people jumping over fences from one backyard to the next? And a dog will chase you across the yard? Well, that happened to me. But I got to a grocery store and hid behind a garbage can. No shirt, full of adrenaline. And then there are cops everywhere, shining lights at all the houses. I’m jacked. Ended up walkking all the way into downtown, sleeping on the street, and called this local skater the next day at a pay phone to track the others down.

Words from the genius?

June 18, 2008


“He was like a NAMBLA f—–, or something”

I have a kind of sad feeling that this isn’t real, but you know, it’s one of those things that makes opens your eyes a little wider in the morning.

Update: Considering how domesticated the woman on the voicemail message sounds, there’s no way this is real. Unfortunately.