A Rude Jolt : O.C. Skankers Lead the Drive in Hard-Core Ska, Still Offbeat After 30 Years

Styling in slim suits, skinny ties and square-toed, lace-up shoes, Mike McLaren and Luis Valdivia look quite smart--and they have an attitude to match. They try the martini moves like someone out of some ‘60s spy flick, although it’s mixed with less sophisticated teen tease talk.

Girls beware.

Their mommas didn’t force the secret-agent duds on them. In fact, both their parents, they say somewhat sadly, are not all that interested in why they opt for starched, white dress shirts instead of T-shirts. “You know, this is not the way the average kid dresses,” confides Mike, 17.

“People come up and ask us if we’re Mormon,” says Luis, 18, in disbelief. They need only disclose they’re both seniors at Mater Dei in Santa Ana to answer that question.

“Yeah, they ask, ‘Where’s your bike and helmet? Where are your pamphlets?’ ” continues Mike. “Their neural impulses aren’t working fast enough to come up with a better sarcastic statement.”

The nice duds are all about being a rude boy. That’s not a description of their personalities, although boisterous and forward do come to mind. The term applies to devotees of ska, a jumpin’ vibe with a steady, heavy beat that originated in Jamaica more than three decades ago. (There are also rude girls.)

Legend has it that bassist Cluet Johnson coined the label ska from “skavoovee,” a greeting for friends that he defined as “do you understand?” As a predecessor to reggae, ska has a snappier rhythm with emphasis on the offbeat; the sound is usually enhanced by horns.

As a movement, it’s now in at least its third generation. The second major revival emerged in the late ‘70s. British punk fans got turned on to reggae; ska soon followed with the English Beat, Madness and the Specials, whose members started the Two Tone recording label.

Generically, the term two tone came to signify racial equality--a common theme in the music--and was shown by wearing black and white clothing. Nylon bomber jackets were often covered with black and white pins or patches of popular bands, their logos and checkered patterns. Narrow braces (the British term for suspenders), Fred Perry polo shirts buttoned up, 12-hole Dr. Marten boots and pegged jeans were an option to the suits. They were particularly favored by skinhead ska fans, who although often as tough as white supremacists, actually stood against racism.

The latest wave has been riding since the mid-’80s along the West Coast, including a burgeoning scene locally in Orange County. The number of rude boys and rude girls are few, however. In their suits, Mike and Luis even stick out at ska gigs. Fans now tend to care less about the clothes than just showing up and having a blast.

Almost every weekend a home-grown ska band performs in Orange County or in neighboring Long Beach and Riverside, sometimes as part of a larger bill at a rented hall or at a house party. Because high schoolers and underage college kids tend to dominate the following here, promoters and bands tend to stick with places that permit all ages.

So it’s not unusual for fans to settle for a back yard. Even musicians, such as eight of the nine members of the Goodwin Club, grudgingly admit they’re still at Edison High School in Huntington Beach, and such details as curfews and age limits keep them from jamming at most nightclubs.

Third-generation ska fans are skanking (that’s dancing) to a hybrid of ska, punk, soul and rap. Such local favorites as Huntington Beach’s the Nuckle Brothers, Anaheim’s No Doubt and, from Riverside, the Voodoo Glow Skulls and the Skeletones, keep a ska feel in their music, although not always enough for purists.

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“Ska has always appealed easily to people. The inclusion of different musical elements just makes it that much more accessible,” says Tazy Phyllipz, who has been documenting the most recent incarnation through film and as a radio disc jockey on UC Irvine-based KUCI-FM (88.9).

On his radio show, the Ska Parade, every Saturday from noon to 2 p.m., Phyllipz, 25, gives listeners an earful of recorded and live tunes by new talent and established performers he’s managed to get to the Irvine campus. A radio documentary he compiled from programming during 1988-89 was so well received that the college station gave him his own show in 1990. He and his 22-year-old brother, Albino Brown, recently finished an hourlong video about the third-generation scene spanning from 1988 to 1993, titled “Part One: West Coast Ska From the U.S.A.”

The third generation, says Phyllipz, is distinctly American. As for the faster, hard-core style of ska, Orange County is apparently leading the drive, he says, whereas Los Angeles still prefers a more traditional sound. The downside, however, is that the harder groove inspires many fans to do less skanking and more “moshing” (slamming).

A slam pit is an odd way to show their appreciation, notes Tami Demaree, 15, singer for the Goodwin Club and a sophomore at Edison High School. “Moshing takes away from the mood. Ska is such happy music. I wish more people would skank.”

It is hard to imagine how the bouncing beat layered with sax, trombones and trumpets can compel anyone not to move up and down but instead into each other. Skanking involves twisting and bending the body and jumping while kicking--simple moves that hardly require lessons.

Tami, who grew up listening to reggae and ska through her parents, won’t call herself a rude girl because she doesn’t restrict her wardrobe or her musical tastes to ska. Indeed, the rest of her band doesn’t look like a traditional ska band, although its sound is. They opt for crazy costumes such as leotards (the other eight members are guys), super-hero outfits or ill-fitting polyester clothing. .

Rude girl Loralie Wells, 17, a senior at Western High in Anaheim, got into the scene through her older brother four years ago. Despite the pit whirling in the center of the dance floor at a recent show, she and her buddies skanked through the night.

“There are some who think it’s just something trendy to do,” Loralie says. The Dead Head-looking teens a few feet away from her were particularly disconcerting. “I guess they’re having fun,” she said, shrugging. “Maybe eventually more people will learn about the unity, black and white thing, about where it comes from.”

Another overview of the crowd and all the different “types of people” lost in the music gets her to reconsider. Looking around her, she quips, “I guess this is about unity.”

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The Scene is a weekly look at the trends and lifestyles of Orange County high schoolers.