Suppose one day you find yourself in your hometown In-N-Out dining area prodding at some animal-style fires and feeling rightfully smug for having ordered the double-double mustard grilled with chopped chillies while sitting across from your dreamily taciturn lover who was, and still is, at least by your opinion, the absolute best looking of your entire ninety-five-student-class-strong graduating bunch when, having meandered conversationally through such diverse topics as how that one algebra teacher you both had is doing and how the slopes above your childhood home are still a good place to consider buying, you run aground in some wordless weirdness until it somehow occurs to you both, prompted by who knows what, to talk about the one thing you really wanted when you were a kid and still want now.

Because you clearly have everything you already wanted then, now.

“I really, really want a custom-made John Carper surfboard,” you say. Your mouth is full from a bite of the mustard grilled double-double with chopped chillies, but you get the point across. “Shane Dorian was my favourite surfer growing up, actually, and he surfed those. After mainlining Momentum, his Campaign II section, and, yes, even Hit & Run, I just always saw him on JC’s and always wanted one for no other reason than I thought they just looked like the coolest boards and if I knew that if I ever rode one I’d be able to surf just like him.” Then your high school sweetheart says, oh, you were supposed to say a ring so we can get married the second we both turn 23 actual years old before knuckleballing a ketchup packet at your face and leaving.

Of course, none of this happened because I actually took risks, made mistakes, and lived in multiple places hundreds of miles away from where I acquired my GCE and grew up. However, I still really, always wanted a JC board and never got one. Mostly because I didn’t have $600 to $800 United States dollars to my name until well after being 18 years old. But I wanted one, still want one, and it just fell by the wayside like a million dollars, that one pair of Fallen shoes, or the pony you always wanted growing up did.  

So, you can only imagine where my head was at when I was recently meeting with an interview subject over a surf and he pulled out an entire quiver of custom JC decks. We’re in a dirt parking lot somewhere along the Pacific Coast Highway in northern Los Angeles and I was, of course, completely normal about it all.

“What the fuck is up with this?” I ask. “I’ve always wanted one of these.” 

Zac Carper, singer and guitarist of FIDLAR (“Fuck It Dog, Life’s A Risk”) smirks, and nicely brushes it off. “I shaped these in my dad’s bay. Yeah, he’s my dad!” At that exact moment, I am mentally just another frothed-out, poorly-dressed, San Diego teenager. 

That particular conversation ends right there, however, because what am I going to do? Pluck a board right out of his hands? Please, again, refer to the “growing up” bit above all this.  

Now, it’s probably best to provide a bit of actual context here. It’s a summer weekend and there are thousands of people meeting up with another person for a surf in greater Los Angeles. There are adult learners and electric pickup truck lads at El Porto. There are wiry, ironing board lads figuring out how to make sure their car isn’t broken into at Topanga. And there are two lads, Zac and I, pulling our cars into a lot somewhere on the border of Los Angeles and Ventura counties. 

I’m meeting up with Zac because FIDLAR’s releasing a new album, I’ve always really enjoyed FIDLAR’s noise, and we decided the best way to talk about all of that is over a surf since we both really enjoy a regular wiggle in The Pacific. The surf, on a side note, could not be more welcoming. It’s a warm, summer day in the big dust bowl we both call home and the waves went from 1-2 the day before to a solid 4-5 now and only about 20 people are taking up the lineup out front. Los Angeles County has around 9.7 million residents, and it certainly always feels that way in the water. So, tomorrow’s lineup may hurt, but today's? Right now, at this moment, everything is perfect.

Oh, we also just found out that we live about an actual, and not just the Angeleno interpretation of time, ten minutes away from one another, so we probably could’ve carpooled. It is California and therefore America, though, so everyone’s required to take their own vehicle, I reckon. At least to keep up appearances. 

And since we’re talking about adolescence, maturing, and keeping up appearances, let’s talk about both Zac and FIDLAR. When it comes to synthesising certain childhood experiences in adulthood, some synapses just don’t connect. For example, you don’t really worry about poison ivy much more. That regular, lightning-in-veins fear caused by any nearby wasp has fully dissipated. When was the last time a single, squished dog turd irreparably ruined your day? Exactly. Is that all over because your frontal lobe finally developed? Or is it because the grey cynicism of the world finally got you? It’s hard to enjoy blowing out candles on a cake when you’re surrounded by your only ten, local friends when you’ve got student debt, isn’t it. 

There is one thing you’ll always love doing, however: listening to good music, rolling down your windows, and playing it loud while singing along. Corny? Without a doubt. But if FIDLAR doesn’t create the sort of sound that makes you want to screech-slash-sing out loud as poorly as you did when you were 16, well, you may be listening to the wrong sort of music. Or at least you don’t have a proper understanding of just what FIDLAR’s all about.

FIDLAR’s noise is unhewn and raw-edged and also magnificent. Loud, fast, and as vapid as the word is, “fun.” A lot of uneasy chat about FIDLAR really seems to hinge on the fact that they appear brilliant and hackneyed at the same time. Yes, it is the sort of music you want to play specifically when you’re on the way to the beach or gearing up for a party with fifty of your closest friends. Yes, maybe it’s the same music you can close your eyes and convince yourself made an appearance on The OC soundtrack. And, yes, maybe it is what you hear a teenager on their provisional license playing with all their windows down. But it’s also the same muffled sound you hear from a 27-to-45-year-old with their windows up at a red light next to you. So, you have to ask, hackneyed or whatever you may think, is there anything wrong with that? Because people are listening.  

And what’s this noise we’re talking about, exactly? Well, according to Zac in a county line dirt parking lot: it’s punk. Simple as that. 

FIDLAR has always been punk. And, no, they’re not punk in a one-bedroom flat shared by a bunch of people who smell too strongly of jeans sort of way. They’re punk in that turbulent, made its past mistakes, and, yet, always comes up on top sort of way. How? Well, certainly not by being a consistent number one in the league table of Sesh Goblins and hoping for the best. Rather, they’re putting their head down, making music, and having a good time while producing things people enjoy.  

Their past certainly isn’t clean. But Zac is the last person to resist any attempt to avoid talking about it. He's open, friendly, and one of those people you feel like you were friends with before even if you're just meeting them for the first time. He is, after all, ultimately a very nice boy from Oahu. He literally writes and initially plays every song FIDLAR has produced on the ukulele, he tells me. Don’t believe him? Literally listen to “Sad Kids,” off the newest album, which we’ll get to in a second. 

But before we get there, let’s talk about Zac’s exquisite upbringing. His dad is a shaper I certainly always wanted a board from, yes. But to be honest that’s all a matter of strange coincidence. I’m sure his mom is a very nice person too. What’s important here is Zac isn’t one not to talk about or polish both his minor and major and blemishes. Things certainly weren’t, and aren’t, always sunshine and rainbows with him. It only took a few minutes of friendly conversation to learn he was shipped halfway across The Pacific to go to one of those schools they send particularly naughty kids to when he was younger. He certainly loved a party. He also was diagnosed with bipolar disorder only recently, something that has helped him make sense of how he acted and felt at certain times in the past. But, he’s neither angry nor aggravated nor unremorseful by any of it. In fact, all of that illuminated the path that led him to where he is now, so, what’s the problem? 

Plus, FIDLAR isn’t any different from the band that broke down doors of the then-hazy dream-indie-rock scene in 2011 LA (what a time that must’ve been) with fellow members Brandon Schwartzel and Max Kuehn. “We’ve always wanted to just be punk,” Zac’s telling me over a shared, chilled post-surf beach beverage. “We just want to find rad scenes and find punk crowds and stoke them out.” 

I ask Zac just what being punk means exactly. In fact, a lot of the conversation centres around just what being punk really is. For me, punk is a lot of other things. Punk is about rebelling but keeping a good heart deep down there. Punk is also my favourite sub-sector of music (The Ramones are good not just because they’re catchy, but because they can play the same tune in so many different ways). Punk is me accidentally dropping my phone, which was the one piece of equipment the entire interview from this piece was actually saved on, into a Copenhagen harbour after taking chances with my own balance after four glasses of wine and only telling my editors now because I’m confident in the notes I took that got saved on to the cloud as well. And for Zac, punk is about keeping life interesting and stoking people out. Which is exactly what FIDLAR’s doing.

Punk is what Zac and FIDLAR did when they produced their 2012 self-titled album, 2015’s Too, and 2019’s Almost Free. And now with their newest album, Surviving The Dream, which is due on September 20th, they’re still very much punk.

While this is normally the section I would say something about how that big pandemic nonsense in 2021 and 2022 really made them reconsider their noise, I won’t. Because that’s not Surviving The Dream. 

The extended existential downtime came with more of a chance for self-reflection, sure. And, yes, it also brought with it the epiphany that the trio who had, for plenty of good reasons, been so often pegged as a party band were literally no longer the invincible youths they’d been when they started out. But the crowds and the people enjoying their music and attending their show were still young, adolescent, and energised. And upon that realisation, Zac and crew were right back in the saddle.  

There’s the brash rush of damaged nerves, almost-sweet existential angst, and unhinged and unrestrained and wild sound held together by a thread throughout Surviving The Dream. And, of course, it’s all sprinkled with that signature, frenzied, quasi-surf-punk FIDLAR touch. 

It’s the sort of album you feel like you have to play way too loudly in your car on the way to the beach because it'll make you feel like you're going to come out on top of some vibes-based cosmic bargain you made promising not just a good surf, but a good day, good evening, and good time. Which is exactly how I felt when I played it way too loudly in my car on my way to meet Zac for all of this.

And you know what? The surf was really good, and it was all a perfectly bright, blue California day. So, there's something to consider there.

Surviving The Dream is out on September 20th.