RVCA BOYS have some more photos from their SOUTHWEST trip. It's 10 sections - one per day.
24 Oct 2009
DIEGO BUCCHIERI'S BEEN INTERVIEWED.
I've known Diego for a long time. When he first started living in the US, my house was one of the spots he stayed at. He and I became a two-man team, travelling, filming, and enjoying the life while trying not to "break our heads." We worked on a few video projects together and he really helped me learn to see things differently and get creative. His passion for skateboarding is something you rarely see. He seems to always have a plan, and he knows the steps to get there. I haven't seen him in a few years since he moved to Spain, but for sure the term amigo will always remain. Here's an exclusive web interview to catch you up with The Butcher. —Schmitty
Damn Diego, what's it been, like five years-plus since we've hung out?
Yeah, it’s been a while. Last time I saw you was at the RVCA mini ramp contest for a hot second. Before then was at the Wallenberg contest—the first one—about five years ago.
So are you still the vegetarian butcher, or are you eating meat now?
Fuck no, it's been so long since I stated eating meat again. I'm actually into trying all kind of different meats. Argentinean asado; that's still my favorite one. I even slaughtered three lambs and a pig. They taste so much better if you do it yourself. I'm not into killing them, but I love butchering them.
When did you put together a website, and how long have you been taking photos?
It was about a year and a half ago. I had all these photos that I wanted to share with everyone, and since I was shooting a bunch of skate photos as well, I thought it was gonna be a good idea. I've been shooting photos for over 14 years, since I was 18.
Do any of the big mag photographers ever get mad at you for taking photos if you’re shooting the same stuff as them?
No, not at all. I’ve only been on one trip—with Burnett—where we were shooting the same stuff, but I was just fucking around and he was totally cool about it. I wouldn't do that to anyone that I respect.
BACKSIDE AIR—GUADALAJARA, MEXICO
I learned backside airs after 20-something years of skating, and I've been doing them everywhere I go. Baby quarterpipe, baby backside air.
How's the married life?
Married life... It’s got up and downs, like anything else, but overall it's great. It's a bit harder for traveling, but we make it work.
How are your legs?
My knee is finally getting good. It's been over a year since the surgery, and even though the recovery is really slow, it feels great to be able to jump around again.
What's your favorite memory of Jake Phelps?
There are way too many to choose one, but driving around SF with him and Mic-E while they were showing me the most gnarly and hard-to-skate spots was a great one. He would lie to me, trying to convince me to do shit at spots that people got killed at. I'm sure he still does it with all the new kids.
WALLIE—BARCELONA, SPAIN
I found this spot on my way to another. Really crappy, but fun.
What spot that you’d seen in the mags impressed you the most when you finally saw it in person?
Almost all of them. You’re always expecting something different. There are only a few spots where the photo or footage does it justice. A lot of the things that Geoff and Arto skated are like that.
That double set that you ended your part with in Scorching Summer. Did anyone else try it before you? Was that one of the biggest jumps you've taken on a skateboard?
I think Jamie and Reynolds tried it before, but they couldn't roll away. That was probably the biggest ollie that I have done as far as a drop. I would rather go farther than higher. It was one of those things that I wanted to do for a while and Phelper told me that Kasper was gonna do it, so I thought it was the right time to go for it.
Other than landing the ollie, what do you remember most about it?
It was the craziest day. After I told Jake that I was gonna do it, we met up at the school and he showed up with Luke, the Gonz, and some random dude with a dog. Luckily I made it second try and Gonz was there to see it.
What's new with the Toy Machine besides Leo Romero? Are you working on another video, or do you have some big tours coming up?
We’re finishing a new promo video—it should be out in the beginning of November, and after that we’ll start filming for a full length.
Who has better musical tastes, Josh or Austin?
I'm not sure. Probably about the same.
What's the newest music that you’re rocking?
Oasis, always.
FS 5-0—BARCELONA, SPAIN
The police station is right across the street from this spot, so after shooting the photo as quickly as possible, I packed all my shit and left. I realized I left my board at the spot once I got home. Great.
What do you miss most about living in SF?
Skating around, hanging out at Thrasher, and good Mexican food.
What do you miss most about LA?
Nothing. Long Beach is so much better.
What's the best part of living where you do?
Right now, I'm living with my parents-in-law for just the summer. After that, my wife and I are going to Long Beach for a few months, and then to Argentina for the summer there—so we’re gonna be moving around for a bit. Not sure where we’ll end up, but traveling is always fun.
What's the sketchiest situation you've found yourself in?
One year, my friends and I were drinking some beers at our local spot for Christmas, and a bunch of idiots starting shooting fireworks at us. So we threw beer bottles back at them. They got pissed and charged us. One dude had a broken bottle and tried to cut my throat with it. After dodging him I ran, but the guy chased me for about 10 blocks. Luckily I escaped.
FRONTSIDE WALLRIDE—GUADALAJARA, MEXICO
Nesser ollie over the door to backside wallride is impossible!
What does "Breaking Your Head" mean?
My friend Luchi came to the US to visit me, so we went on a road trip to AZ and Colorado. After seeing the Grand Canyon, he said, "This is breaking my head," meaning “it's blowing my mind.” He literately translated it from Spanish to English.
How often do you visit the Argie homies?
About once a year. This year I'm gonna spend a few months there, so it’ll be fun to hang out with them for more than a week.
What is Buenos Muchachos?
It’s an Argentinean skate mag. It means "Good Fellas."
KICKFLIP WALLRIDE—ALICANTE, SPAIN
Spending my summer in Elche, I skated with Roberto Aleman a bunch. We found lots of spots and this was one of them.
Imagine that you transformed into being the traveler, Kenny Reed. What un-traveled-to spot would you visit first?
Siracussa, Sicily, where my father's family is from.
Who do you think should be SOTY this year?
Leo Romero.
Why weren't you at the Skatepark Roundup with the Toy Machine team?
Unfortunately, I've been stuck in Spain for the last 4 months waiting for my work visa to come through. It finally got approved, but way too late for the skatepark session with the boys.
What does the future hold for The Butcher?
Shoot more photos, and keep skating until my legs fall off.
Most importantly, when can I see you again? It's been way too long.
Thanks bro. Soon, very soon.
22 Oct 2009
PLAN B CELEBRATES DANNY'S 20-YEAR PRO CAREER!!!
Plan B set up a tribute site for Danny Way in celebration of his 20-year pro career.
17 Oct 2009
16 Oct 2009
FOUR'N'LESION
TEXT:Schaaf | PHOTOS:Colen
In my line of work I get calls at all hours. So when I ripped the top off the eighth cold gold of the night and the phone buzzed simultaneously, it wasn’t a shocker. I let it ring for a minute as I always do, and then I let out a winded and hurried “HELLO?” That’s my deal. I say it with a slight panicked tone, so if needed I can get off the phone quick with a “Hey man, gotta go, my toilet’s jammed.”
Or a “God damnit, my dog just shit on my bean bag.”
This call was different. I’ve had ’em before. They come from a blocked number and they’re always very serious. You see, I’m kind of a freelance investigator, mixed with a little bounty hunter, and peppered with a little special ops. Roll those three little things into a miraculous doobie of get the info, get outta my way, and get it done. Yeah, I’m what the CIA called “a loose nut.” I got their God damn loose nut. Come and try to get it, Obama.
“Jack?” the voice said at the other end.
“Yeah, what?”
“We need you, guy.”
Let me clear something up for you kids. First off, my name ain’t “Jack.” It’s the code name I gave these government pencil pushers long ago. Long before aging hipsters started naming their kids Jack ’cause they thought it sounded “kinda tough.” God, are you kidding me? Why don’t you go on TV and get another tattoo that represents your fight against your own stupidity, your dead goldfish, how you’re so deep, or how the portrait of your dead great grandpa you never met is gonna let everyone know “Look out, world, I’m an individual.” Yeah, you sure are. An individual piece of hammered dog shit. Back when I got tattoos they didn’t mean shit. They mighta meant I got the herpe sores so bad right now, or it burns so much when I piss that I gotta distract myself with the pain of this shitty anchor tattoo.
“Whatta you guys need this time?” I said.
“Well, Jack, it’s these skateboarders.”
“These what?!”
“Skateboarders, Jack. We need you to tail ’em
over to Europe.”
“Why do you want me to tail these ’boarders?”
I say back.
“Uh, Jack, we just do. We been checking these guys out for a while. We need to know what the big deal is. What’s the draw? We assume it’s drug-related. Maybe liquid LSD in the Sharpies they sign the autographs with? Maybe the kids lick the signature when they get home and—booya—little Johnny’s trippin’ balls.”
“OK,” I say. “Read you loud and clear.”
All he really had to tell me was that it was skateboarders. Back when I was a kid those scumbags would take a usable pair of roller skates, cut ’em in half, and nail ’em to a 2-by-4. What a waste. Probably would have won me a free Coke or two shootin’ the duck down at the Roller Boogie. Man, I used to hold that leg out there like there was no tomorrow.
“Oh yeah,” I said. “Gimmie the names.”
“OK, Jack, we got a Howard, Mariano, Malto, Puig, Gonzales, Anderson, Schaaf, Bledsoe, Brophy, Jensen, and Carroll. They travel with some other sketchballs posing as photographers and such. Be on the lookout for their leader. He goes by Smyth.
“Where these bags of dung headed?” I say.
“The poster says the UK, Sweden, Germany, and France.”
“Typical,” I say, “try to keep us guessing.”
I spot these boneheads instantly on the plane. They were arguing over the latest issue of “I’m a grown man playing with a little wooden roller board.” Then they go into, “Hey, man, if I take this whole pill is it gonna knock me out? I’m scared.” Man, I’ll tell you what you skateboarding imbeciles, gimmie the whole damn bottle. I can’t take being on the same plane as you.
Not gonna bore you with what happened next. Put it this way: Two God-forsaken weeks of “Let’s play twinkle toes up on the hand railing” or “Let’s see if we can scratch our boards up on that giant curve.” Oh, and something is going on, for sure: kids lined up by the dozens to watch these skaters play jump and spin on a perfectly good bench made for sitting. With the amount of gas these guys pass, the drugs could be in something they eat, slowly getting the kids hooked on some sort of dope they expel through their backsides. I wasn’t about to follow that path.
They called it the Four’n Legion Tour. It was more like an infectious lesion that I couldn’t stop scratching. I found myself dazed and bewildered by their nonstop laughing, joking, and jibber jabber. Like a deer in the headlights, like the enemy trapped within the crosshairs of my scope, I couldn’t turn away. I found myself whispering “Do it” when one of them was trying to spin and drag his board across some piece of stone, waiting to see if his feet would connect in time. And that was when I realized it: they had gotten to me, and I didn’t even know it had happened. I grabbed the nearest cab and had him high tail it to the airport. On the flight back to Tampa I knew there was only one thing to do for now: Get drunk and get this hell tour outta my mind. Oh, but I’m not done. I’ll be waiting for you, FOURSTAR. I’ll get my mind straight and I’ll get my report.
In my line of work I get calls at all hours. So when I ripped the top off the eighth cold gold of the night and the phone buzzed simultaneously, it wasn’t a shocker. I let it ring for a minute as I always do, and then I let out a winded and hurried “HELLO?” That’s my deal. I say it with a slight panicked tone, so if needed I can get off the phone quick with a “Hey man, gotta go, my toilet’s jammed.”
Or a “God damnit, my dog just shit on my bean bag.”
This call was different. I’ve had ’em before. They come from a blocked number and they’re always very serious. You see, I’m kind of a freelance investigator, mixed with a little bounty hunter, and peppered with a little special ops. Roll those three little things into a miraculous doobie of get the info, get outta my way, and get it done. Yeah, I’m what the CIA called “a loose nut.” I got their God damn loose nut. Come and try to get it, Obama.
“Jack?” the voice said at the other end.
“Yeah, what?”
“We need you, guy.”
Let me clear something up for you kids. First off, my name ain’t “Jack.” It’s the code name I gave these government pencil pushers long ago. Long before aging hipsters started naming their kids Jack ’cause they thought it sounded “kinda tough.” God, are you kidding me? Why don’t you go on TV and get another tattoo that represents your fight against your own stupidity, your dead goldfish, how you’re so deep, or how the portrait of your dead great grandpa you never met is gonna let everyone know “Look out, world, I’m an individual.” Yeah, you sure are. An individual piece of hammered dog shit. Back when I got tattoos they didn’t mean shit. They mighta meant I got the herpe sores so bad right now, or it burns so much when I piss that I gotta distract myself with the pain of this shitty anchor tattoo.
“Whatta you guys need this time?” I said.
“Well, Jack, it’s these skateboarders.”
“These what?!”
“Skateboarders, Jack. We need you to tail ’em
over to Europe.”
“Why do you want me to tail these ’boarders?”
I say back.
“Uh, Jack, we just do. We been checking these guys out for a while. We need to know what the big deal is. What’s the draw? We assume it’s drug-related. Maybe liquid LSD in the Sharpies they sign the autographs with? Maybe the kids lick the signature when they get home and—booya—little Johnny’s trippin’ balls.”
“OK,” I say. “Read you loud and clear.”
All he really had to tell me was that it was skateboarders. Back when I was a kid those scumbags would take a usable pair of roller skates, cut ’em in half, and nail ’em to a 2-by-4. What a waste. Probably would have won me a free Coke or two shootin’ the duck down at the Roller Boogie. Man, I used to hold that leg out there like there was no tomorrow.
“Oh yeah,” I said. “Gimmie the names.”
“OK, Jack, we got a Howard, Mariano, Malto, Puig, Gonzales, Anderson, Schaaf, Bledsoe, Brophy, Jensen, and Carroll. They travel with some other sketchballs posing as photographers and such. Be on the lookout for their leader. He goes by Smyth.
“Where these bags of dung headed?” I say.
“The poster says the UK, Sweden, Germany, and France.”
“Typical,” I say, “try to keep us guessing.”
I spot these boneheads instantly on the plane. They were arguing over the latest issue of “I’m a grown man playing with a little wooden roller board.” Then they go into, “Hey, man, if I take this whole pill is it gonna knock me out? I’m scared.” Man, I’ll tell you what you skateboarding imbeciles, gimmie the whole damn bottle. I can’t take being on the same plane as you.
Not gonna bore you with what happened next. Put it this way: Two God-forsaken weeks of “Let’s play twinkle toes up on the hand railing” or “Let’s see if we can scratch our boards up on that giant curve.” Oh, and something is going on, for sure: kids lined up by the dozens to watch these skaters play jump and spin on a perfectly good bench made for sitting. With the amount of gas these guys pass, the drugs could be in something they eat, slowly getting the kids hooked on some sort of dope they expel through their backsides. I wasn’t about to follow that path.
They called it the Four’n Legion Tour. It was more like an infectious lesion that I couldn’t stop scratching. I found myself dazed and bewildered by their nonstop laughing, joking, and jibber jabber. Like a deer in the headlights, like the enemy trapped within the crosshairs of my scope, I couldn’t turn away. I found myself whispering “Do it” when one of them was trying to spin and drag his board across some piece of stone, waiting to see if his feet would connect in time. And that was when I realized it: they had gotten to me, and I didn’t even know it had happened. I grabbed the nearest cab and had him high tail it to the airport. On the flight back to Tampa I knew there was only one thing to do for now: Get drunk and get this hell tour outta my mind. Oh, but I’m not done. I’ll be waiting for you, FOURSTAR. I’ll get my mind straight and I’ll get my report.
WILD WEEKEND
The Pico and Guy Hi ‘Where The Wild Things Are’ shoes left the warehouse in droves yesterday. With only three days left until the theatrical release, the timing couldn’t be better– you should be seeing them in stores about the same time you see the movie. Also, if you liked the Telford from the first collection of WTWTA shoes, Zumiez reordered a bunch of them so you can pick up a pair here. And finally, VBS chops it up (literally) with Spike on eve of the movie’s release– complete with a Fully Flared endorsement even.
15 Oct 2009
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THE GANG OF FOURSTAR FOOTAGE!!!
We want to proudly present the new footage from fourstar clothing and share with you all the happiness we felt when we saw that their had updated this clip. they have some shit from England , SWEDEN , France and Gemrany... www.fourstarclothing.com
1 Oct 2009
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