These Surfers Are Up for Anything . . . and Everything

What does it take to embarrass a rock musician who often performs in the nude in front of films of sex-change operations and auto accidents, while a topless dancer gyrates and other band members set their instruments on fire?

“I cook a mean peach pie,” says Gibby Haynes, who fits that profile like a surgical glove. “It’s really embarrassing, because I had this recipe misquoted in Spin magazine, so I had all these mothers of bands and mothers of other members saying they tried it and it didn’t work out.”

Haynes’ chagrin seems more suited to Betty Crocker than a raving rock ‘n’ roll madman. The co-leader of the Texas band whose scatological name is generally abbreviated as the B.H. Surfers has some other image-busting revelations to offer.

Though the band is most notorious for its anything-can-happen live shows (one of them is set for the John Anson Ford Theatre tonight), Haynes is far more interested in making records in the studio that occupies part of the house he shares with three other band members in Driftwood, Tex., near Austin.

And while the band is widely branded as degenerate at best, Haynes says he enjoys such wholesome activities as hiking in the Texas hill country near the house and taking time off during tours to check out America’s scenic wonders.

Finally, while the Surfers are identified as a Texas outfit, they actually got their start in Los Angeles when Haynes, who was working as an auditor and attending college in San Antonio, underwent a life-changing experience during a summer visit here at the dawn of the ‘80s.

“My junior year in college I ran into a brick wall at Santa Monica and Palm in L.A., got a massive head injury,” he recalled this week during a phone interview from the kitchen of his Driftwood digs. “My grade level dropped just a slight bit my senior year, and I think I got just permanently damaged. . . .

“I was at this stop sign and I said, ‘I’m gonna put my head down here for a second.’ And then I went to sleep, and either somebody like went in and put their foot on the accelerator when I was asleep or I did, and I went zooming into this brick wall. It moved about a quarter of an inch. I woke up and there was this guy, this punk-rocker guy with shades, and he goes, ‘You’re gonna be all right, man.’ . . . Massive head injury, several stitches. Maybe it did me good.”

Until then Haynes hadn’t had any music ambitions, but that summer he became inspired by the L.A. punk scene, and when he returned to San Antonio he teamed with guitarist Paul Warthall and put together the first edition of the Surfers. They returned to Los Angeles and shared bills in local clubs with bands like the Descendents and Dead Kennedys before breaking up.

Haynes and Warthall returned to Texas and revved it up again, recording an album for the Dead Kennedys’ label and shifting personnel as they went along. Against all expectations, the music’s bracing chaos and endearing eccentricity and the live show’s intensity began attracting an unlikely constituency of kindred warped spirits. Also along for the ride were art-rock intellectuals who recognized the links to performers like Captain Beefheart and “industrial music” shock troops Throbbing Gristle.

Today, after several releases on the Detroit-based independent label Touch & Go, the Surfers are well established on the “alternative rock” market--not bad for a band whose name can’t be printed in many places, and whose songs on the new “Hairway to Steven” LP don’t even have titles.

Haynes, 30, admits he’s surprised it’s come as far as it has.

“You know, I had no idea that ‘commercial’ music was created by such talentless people. I mean, Paul’s a good guitar player, but basically beyond that we’re not like--you won’t see us on the cover of . . . magazines for being a good band.”

Maybe not, but there’s an undeniable power and vision in the Surfers’ primordial music, and without compromising its edge the band has even approached accessibility in some of the new LP’s cuts, including a soaring psychedelic/folk-rock anthem and a jumping rockabilly swing thing (on the latter, though, the accessibility is negated by some naughty lyrics about Julio Iglesias).

And then there’s always that kamikaze live show, with its harrowing visual components, to keep the mainstream at bay.

“I think the films are interesting,” said Haynes, defending the band’s unspooling of graphic footage. “Are you talking about the imagery? The parade of life? Well, I have been in a major car wreck and I can look at that, and I’ve known people that have died in car wrecks, and I know people that have had surgery.

“We also show cartoons and really beautiful scenes and wildlife, so it’s just sort of life. . . . It’s sort of subconscious. You know, it’s like basic elements. It makes us think when we look at it. It’s cool to look around and see the films cookin’. . . . A little bit of life.”