The Element was showing increasing signs of ill health between late morning Pismo checks and late evening Los Alamos runs. The Dancing Heart Bread from the Flat was taking its toll on Heinous Chanus’ once sculpted physique from his quickly fading polo glory days. And with the recent ugly collapse of AG! and the Twigs intertwining on the horizon, the Giant was in a bit of a funk. Not even that fresh bottle of Copain syrah or the 6′er of seasonal Firestone IPA clanking around in his backseat could wipe the reality of it all away. Gettin’ old sure ain’t easy round these parts, especially when you’re a regular footer in the midst of such a goofy town. Sometimes though, the worst is what you need to bring out the best. A busted rail and a foot injury? Pile it on top as well. This was going to be a session with nothing to lose. This was Chaney’s last stand.

It would only take an hour for Chaney to right himself, finding a groove amongst the shifty lineup out at Black Joe’s on that overcast December morning. He showed up late and left early but bagged more clips than all the others combined. The following vid lays out the evidence from that particular morning along with a few other sessions that were filmed two winters back. It was part of a 12 day stint I had along the Central Coast that witnessed fairly typical Pismo conditions: a few promising moments amongst a rather depressing period of surf. Nevertheless, its always a good time to catch up with old friends, share a few sessions, bust out the video camera and, for someone in Chaney’s position, turn your luck around in a single hour.

Now a year and a half past and instead of the beach, Chaney found himself stepping up to the plate at a church in front of all his closest family and friends. He would pull through again and the media was there tenfold this time to back him. We returned for an extended weekend to celebrate, taking a detour at the Toobs factory and topping it off with Suicide Joe’s 21st in DTSLO for the finale. Good times and congrats to the Chanuses.

Dr. Brum putting the finishing touches on another Toobs creation.

The shaping bay at Toobs.

Pat loves handling big rods while on the job.

Stamp-happy roldy.

The bride and groom.

You stick your half thumb in, you stick your half thumb out. You stick your half thumb in and you shake it all about!

Chaney salivating.

Confessions of a mormon all night at Table 19.

Virginia, Louie, and Brett found this cute little Guido to pose with!

The boogie crew on hand.

Nasty, Lofty, Suicide, Santo, and a bunch of booze.

If 35 was the new 25 and dropknee was the new prone then you might get away with saying that these guys are cool. But sliding around on your knees on a piece of foam with 50k too many salty miles on their rigs, three too many service industry jobs on their resumes, 2-7 too many crazed ex-girlfriends in their backlog, and more concern about their prostate than their social networking status? Far from cool. Unless, that is, you can fly like Willie, flick tail like Roldy, or just plain move water like Hellmore. Then you’re pretty fucking cool.

I spent a week at home with them around Christmas. Most days were shit on toppa shit as Red Dog often bemoans. But a couple brief windows stayed open just long enough to film these dirtballs doin’ there jackstance thing amidst the chilly Central Coast waters. Here are the results – forged with Wu Tang beats and stamped with Rookies approval. It’s the first installation of our 4 for 4 podcast series marking this site’s 4 year anniversary.

You gotta love Cale Moore for his simplicity and his ability to absolutely shred on the knee. Hadn’t heard a peep from him and then boom, he delivers the following goods to our inbox:

What’s up, Thought I would send you some shots I got over the past couple weeks. A good friend of mine recently bought a 500mm and is stoked on shooting, hopefully i can start getting some more consistent shots for the Rookies site or other. I finished Crabbing for the season so I should be around the Central Coast through the summer, hit me up if you come into town for a surf. Hope all is well. All Photos: Seth Croxton.

I’ve been talking to Willie about making it down to one of the DK Wars contests, just has to be the right weekend to work out. A full time position for Morro Bay Harbor Patrol is going to open up in May, so my summer travel plans depend on if I get the job or not. I could definitely go for a quick Pascuales trip. My boat will also be running this summer so I can expand my south swell options, and explore some new spots below Pt. Sal.

After a dismal stint of stormy conditions along the Central Coast, the Pismo crew went all in on a mission to score some cleaner waves in the south 805 this past winter. While the waves themselves were far from “clean”, the conditions more than made up for any residual side effects from this chocolatey surprise.

Pics by Alex Statom
Willie pointing out Willie’s peak. That would be right between Roldy’s peak and Camel’s peak.

Black Joe may or may not be on this wave. We weren’t sure.

BGA’s homemade holiday eggnog fueled us through a couple similar dark barrels.

Black Joe setting up for a sick one.

Like kids at Christmas.

Fumbling to get out there.

Stay tuned for the exclusive footage in the upcoming DK Wars podcasts.

Framegrabs by RookiesUSA
Camel had to change his own diaper this day.

Guhhs excited to be outside of Atascadero.

Lou like a knife through diarrhea.

Guhhs had a chocolatey surprise of his own on this day.

Stinky pinky actually smelled good compared to this.

Wonka’s full anal thumb penetration barrel to finish things off.

Asthmatic Giant! Tour Diary
By Darren Delmore

Death to the Giant
-Applebee’s Bar and Grill, Clovis, California

It didn’t look good.

Just inside Clovis city limits and not enough cash left for band manager Shlune Calodo to pick up the final tab in his legacy with Asthmatic Giant! Five years he’d kept us psych-rockers on the road, funded his own brow raising gambling and starfish addictions along the way, and now not even a Guacamole Burger to show for it. We’d played hard over half a decade’s time, from spit-sprinkled Gilman Street in Berkeley to sipping Screagle onstage at Hollywood Bowl backed by the L.A. Philharmonic Orchestra. And now it was all coming to an end.

Shlune was wanted by the Filipino mafia in Lompoc, he mentioned in all out seriousness, and two chiefs in particular at the Chumash Reservation in Santa Ynez. Through mirrored shades, Heinous Chanus snatched up the meal ticket, shouted “fuck!” and gave it a once over. Two 64 ounce drafts of Fat Tire to now ex manager, a glass of milk for my acidic interiors, plus a $7.50 corkage fee on a JF Coche-Dury Bourgogne from 2002: a gift from President Nicolas Sarkozy after a perspiration a’plenty show at Le Cavern in Paris with Daft Punk.

There comes a time in a successful band’s life when you knows it’s the end. When you know the spotlights are pointing elsewhere. When that white dragon glob you notice in your nasal tuft on Sunday after a two day downhill skiing nose-first mish doesn’t seem like a bonus from Jesus Christ anymore. When you know it’s time to part ways and focus on your solo career. After all, I’d been appearing in commercials for a successful line of Cabernet Grape-seed conditioners for male hairline rejuvenation to much late night acclaim, and I sold the “Fishstick Fridays” rights to Mrs. Fridays Frozen Food Company on a late night purple lipped phone call of sheer drunken DRC-craving desperation.

You could say I saw it coming. Well before opening for 311 at Pozo Saloon earlier that day. Hollywood director Michael Mann had optioned H.C.’s new collection of dark, tense, action film anthems for a Mark Wahlberg and Robert DeNiro project, Rockstar Games picked up his all synth Hip-Hop jam “Grange all in my Range” feat. Hilltop Hoods from Adelaide, and Shlune Calodo was bleeding from a bullet wound in his left love handle. He was panting at Applebee’s with a glistening face, there in the booth, texting in a few remaining sit and go’s with absolutely no remorse for anyone but himself. He was claiming the band was bankrupt, he was flat out, insufficient fund city, yet a basket of buffalo wings with extra red chili flakes materialized for him alone at the table.

There was one single room at the Motel 6 down the road, courtesy of Twigs working the merch booth, and more specifically by the last few Inhaler keyrings, 24 karat etched prescription pill bottles (like the one on the cover of our second album), and signed Hot Tokyo Nights! posters that went. Shlune slid the key across the table and stuffed another napkin up into the blood. He was a goner. He was scanning the parking lot now, looking for Filipinos or Engines. Pushing himself up, grabbing his briefcase, and coughing with the assertion, he concluded in an odd high pitched tone what we believed to mean “Yea yea yea yea dude,” and dripped his way out the front door.

Check back next month for the full review of DJ BY THE GLASS feat. DA THREE CASE DROP and their hit single “Whatcha Pourin’ Beyatch?!”