Rocket to Rockaway 

In 1978, Punk Magazine—the New York print organ that gave the music genre its name—organized a theme issue that was, in the words of one art gallery, “…a fumetti starring the ace faces of the CBGB/Max’s punk scene in a cinematic narrative that was equal parts ridiculous and sublime.”

Awash in low culture references—mostly beach blanket movies and monster flicks—the comic book featured an ascendant Joey Ramone and Lower Manhattan’s “it girl” of the moment, Deborah Harry. The supporting cast was a rogue’s gallery of period scenesters, art legends, musicians, and low rent ingénues, including, Andy Warhol, David Johansen, John Cale, and Lester Bangs.

Holmstrom remembers that, “by the middle 70s heavy metal and progressive rock had become ponderous, pretentious, and depressing.” Trapped between Robin Trower dirges, synth indulgences from the likes of Yes, and the overproduced vapidity of FM stalwarts like Kansas and Journey, punk emerged like a skin-stripping steam blast.

From a surfing perspective, this long-lost document represents an urban, East Coast perspective on our own little subculture. At the time that “Monster” was printed, surfing was enjoying its last years of anything resembling outsider status. Soon enough, top surfers would be going pro, signing deals, hiring trainers and coaches. Business interests and ad hustlers turned on the cash spigot. Organized surfing decided it needed more eyes, more participants, and more money at precisely the same time down-and-out artists and musicians around the world opted to do it themselves, giving the music industry a hearty Peace Out. So as you turn the pages, embrace not only Joey’s inarguable surf style, but also the fact that he might have been the last soul surfer—without having ever ridden a wave.—Scott Hulet

[Feature image: Photo by Roberta Bayley.]