I’m cresting on a psychotic, psychedelic wave. Around me, tumultuously heaving figures throw themselves in gleeful, wide-eyed, contorted shapes, enraptured, entrapped by the sonic barrage of razor-sharp chords and primitive, heavy artillery beats emanating from a cramped stage. A cold, heavy West Midlands night torn wide open by a fiery wedge of Californian surf, squeezed, mutated and sometimes annihilated into a sheer garage paroxysm. Gasping, grasping, I barely perceive the crouched, snarling guitarist, only dimly see the flying hair of a callow youth beating the drums in a wild yet regimented pattern. All I feel is the air, pregnant with crackling sexual energy, barely controlled violence and an anarchic enjoyment. I’m cresting the wave. I’m surfin’ the psychedelic. I’m watching the Surfin’ Birds, tonight I’m an Elvis Man, and honey, it feels GOOD.
- Adam Chevis https://thesurfinbirds.bandcamp.com/music