This
little slab of wax was excavated from a Denver record store in March while I
was visiting family — the kind of place where every crate looks like it might
contain either a forgotten masterpiece or someone’s failed garage‑band apology.
My first impression? Alan desperately wanted the world to know
this split Surf 45 was his. His autograph isn’t a signature; it’s a territorial
warning. It basically screams, “Hands off!” or “I claim this in the name of
Alan,” like he’s some vinyl‑hoarding Magellan planting a flag on a seven‑inch
continent.
But
then there’s the real mystery: what Moment of Truth are the Surfaris
trying to deliver here? Google “Truth” and Wiki greets you with:
“Truth is conformity to reality or fact.” Which immediately rules out politics,
because politicians wouldn’t recognize Truth if it marched up wearing a name
tag and bit them squarely on the backside. Maybe the Moment of Truth is
simpler, purer: a clean, glassy wave and a surfer easing forward to hang five,
toes flirting with the edge of the world.
The
Biscaynes, meanwhile, take a swing at the classic “Church Key.” They give it a
noble effort, but something’s missing — I kept waiting for the sacred
giggles, the holy pop of a beer bottle cap, and that
almost‑Lurch voice announcing, “C H U R C H K E Y.” Without that
mischievous atmosphere, the track feels a little too clean, like someone
sanitized the surfboard before waxing it. Maybe that’s why this seems to be the
Biscaynes’ only release: a one‑and‑done moment where the universe said, “Nice
try, fellas,” and gently escorted them off the stage.
