Four regular-guy Hermosa surfers catch the big one

Dean Goodman


Pennywise are bringing the proud punk spirit of Los Angeles' South Bay to
the hungry masses, and it's About Time. That's the
name of their new album, and it echoes the demand for the thoughtful
thrash purveyed by the band since 1989.

Time is a recurrent theme throughout the record, with the concept cropping
up in four song titles alone, and there's also a time bomb
on the cover. Uh, did you say "bomb"?

"We just wanted to come up with different images dealing with time," says
vocalist Jim Lindberg. "We were thinking we could put a
clock on the cover, a sun-dial or one of those sand things. But they just
weren't powerful enough images. And then we came up with
the idea of 'wow, a ticking time bomb.' Time is ticking away and then
boom, it's going to be over. We thought it was a really great
symbol. It went to press and they printed up half a million of them, and
then some whacked-out motherfucker blew up a Federal
Building. It seems like an odd coincidence or us trying to be provocative,
but that just wasn't the case."

The Hermosa Beach quartet's tangential connection to the Oklahoma City
bombing also recalls a dark episode when thugs attended
their shows to beat each other up while a helpless Pennywise played their
trademark songs of hope and optimism.

Frustrated by the security hassles and the band's lack of application,
Lindberg quit in 1991, about six months after its self-titled
album was released. The remaining members recruited Dave Quackenbush of
the Vandals and toured Europe, while Lindberg
regrouped and got married. 

"People probably would have thought I was crazy today or even back then,
considering what bands go through to get signed,
especially to a label like Epitaph," Lindberg says. "We had our future
ahead of us, but for me it didn't gel, it didn't mesh with the
things we were singing about in our songs.

"That would have been selling out if I'd just kept playing to make money
and not cared about the scene at all. I cared too much about
the scene to be a part of that."

Fortunately for all concerned, Lindberg rejoined about ten months later
when Pennywise decided they had a strong fanbase and
decided to sharpen their act. The subsequent album, Unknown Road, sold
about 200,000 copies, and About Time has already far
surpassed that. 

The band - which also includes guitarist Fletcher Dragee, bassist Jason
Thirsk and drummer Byron McMackin - manages to cram 12
harmonious yet aggressive songs into 34 minutes. Lindberg and Thirsk, 27,
contribute the lyrics in a 70-30 split (the band divides
the royalties evenly), and they stick to their formula: urgent messages
impelling listeners to take control of their destinies.

"Jason and I have a shared vision in the way we write," Lindberg says. "We
both try to have an underlying current of optimism in
there, instead of it being so nihilistic like a lot of bands do."

Take, for example, the song "Try," in which Lindberg exhorts, "Take time
and seize the day 'cause after today's gone you'll never
have the chance again, so try."

Or "Every Single Day": "I got time on my side/Twenty-four hours in my
life/Can't hang on to what's in my past/Full speed ahead -
hard and fast..."

Lindberg and Thirsk are the thought-provoking yet pensive guys in the
band, guys who are so tightly wound that sometimes they
"just want to cut loose and go crazy."

Indeed, Pennywise's music is the perfect soundtrack for the South Bay
scene. "There's no slackers around here. Everyone's full of
energy and they like to get rowdy. You can have a good time and get crazy
with your friends without squaring off with people and
starting fights," Lindberg explains, perhaps a tad optimistically.

Naturally there are casualties along the way, friends who have died in
accidents or have killed themselves. "Freebase" is about a
friend whose promising future was derailed by drugs, stealing and
prostitution. "That makes you want to scream," he says. "These
messages aren't something you can whisper."

At the very least, Lindberg exudes integrity: when he warns you not to
waste time or tells you to extricate yourself from a crappy
situation, you know he's been there before. But the reality is that he
isn't even addressing us with his songs; it's more like a
soliloquy.

"I'm screaming at myself. Instead of complaining about how fucked up I see
things, I'm trying to look on the side of, 'hey, rely on
yourself because that's basically all you can do.' Hopefully other people
are hearing it too and thinking to themselves."

Lindberg's escape is in the surf on his doorstep - and he hits the waves
as often as he can while on tour. "Being out there and
communing with nature in the ocean, you can leave civilization and all the
rat race behind you on the beach. Just get out there and
enjoy yourself. I could live without music, but I couldn't live without
surfing."

Over the years, Pennywise have cemented a mutually beneficial relationship
with the surf and snowboarding scene. The band has
cheerfully donated songs to such cinematic efforts as Momentum and Focus
(two surf videos by Taylor Steele), Roadkill and Plan B.

"All we ask for is to get a copy of the video once it's done, because we
think it's a good way for our music to get out there and it's
cool that they're using us." says Lindberg. "The whole culture is really
different. It's not as commercialized as everything else.

"Everyone tries to work on a trade basis and that's something that's
really sacred to me. There's a lot of really cool people in it and I
don't want to pimp it out."

While the specter of violence and social decay is ever-present in Southern
California (and Hermosa Beach is hardly immune given its
common border with Compton), Lindberg prefers to accentuate the positive.
He's confident his generation will be known for more
than its baggy pants and burger-flipping skills.

"I'd like to think that this is the generation - after we get out of the
slacker fad - that turns things around, and maybe some brilliant
ideas will come out of it. I think there are a lot of smart kids out there
who are just waiting to pounce. I hope the revolution comes
while I'm still around."

Lindberg can also rely on his bandmates for inspiration, principally the
"criminally insane" guitarist Fletcher Dragee, 29. "It really
comes out of his hand and through the guitar," Lindberg says. "His guitar
playing is really radical in that way. I think he should be
center stage. I'll just sit behind the drums."

In which case he could marvel at the machine gun rapid-fire beat of
McMackin, 25. "If you really pick apart Byron's drumming, it's
just all over the place."

Lindberg says people can't accept the absence of a regular two-four beat,
and this is why the band isn't maximizing its MTV and
radio exposure. Not to worry too much though, because the band has taken
matters into its own hands by making home videos of
life on the road. "I think there's ways to be successful in the music
world without MTV and radio. If the formats change and all of a
sudden they start playing all kinds of music, then maybe there'll be room
for us. But as it is now, they don't want us and the
feeling's mutual."

Nonetheless, there is a scheduled single, "Same Old Story," which was
chosen by Epitaph owner Brett Gurewitz because the band
never got around to doing it. The song was inspired by Lindberg's
hard-working, undereducated father, who was disappointed that
his son had a worthy English degree from UCLA but an unstable job.

"He was disillusioned by the fact that I was becoming a punk rock singer.
But you have to go out and make your own mistakes and
do what you want to do and find your own happiness."

Lindberg's single choice would have been "Not Far Away" - an
uncharacteristically morbid plea not to waste, er, time. 

"The reality [of life] is a really cold, dark death and a slow, painful
march towards it," he reflects, then hits on his way of dealing
with that reality. "While you're young, move around or just use your mind,
and get out there and suck the juice out of life." l