In Stab issue 23 I wrote, “Remember when Lost was cool? Before they were making energy drinks and Matt Biolos had a 13-year-old boyfriend?” How rude and uncalled for was that? Matt Biolos thought so too. He pounded out a scathing dispatch to Derek Rielly that read, “Charlie fuckwad has never even met me! Would he have the balls to say that if I was in front of him? We will see when the time comes. He best be ready.”
And I was! I couldn’t have been more prepared to “sleep in it” as they say.
A meeting was quickly arranged and I made my way south to face monsignor Mayhem.
The Lost surfboard HQ occupies a non-descript lowslung warehouse in the heart of San Clemente. Busy bees amble around shaping, moving, cleaning and organising as a polyurethane cloud bequeaths its precious gift of cancer. It’s a place of action, not image, as I can’t even recall any visible Lost branding.
Biolos was in his shaping bay when I arrived. Outside were blanks in various steps of completion. Shea Lopez, Chris Ward, Mason Ho. I wished I hadn’t said he had a young male lover because, at this point, I really wanted a board too. “Are you Charlie?”
“Yup.”
“Why’d you say I had a 13-year-old boyfriend?”
“Because I thought it was funny… but it probably wasn’t.”
“Oh.”
Biolos is a tall, well-built homme. As he worked the electric planer I half expected him to throw it at my neck, but he didn’t. He put his things away and we moved to his office for a li’l chat.
Seated in a high backed black office chair, our boy looked vaguely uncomfortable. He wanted the electric planer again or at least some sandpaper and a low-volume boxy rail. He also looked the consummate outsider. His upbringing in a cowtown east of San Clemente separates him from the pampered So Cal surf aristocracy and his obsession with surfing separates him from the rest of the world. He don’t hang out with fellow industry insiders, preferring to spend time with his wife, daughters and lower Trestles. So there he sat, existentially sardonic. And there I sat, strumming my shit typing fingers. Our conversation was wide-ranging and free-wheeling. He’s whip-smart, which also separates him from the pampered So Cal surf aristocracy (this means you Sam George). Misogyny, Norman Mailer, politics, Archie Bunker, RVCA, Ces Wilson, and the future of board craft.

 

Somewhere between sticking paintbrushes up his ass and Alex Knost’s Cabo steez, Biolos brought up my churlish words again. This time the, “Remember when Lost was cool” reference.
Fucken A was it cool! I clearly remember an ad campaign with white surf logoed cartoon sheep doing naughty things to each other. The MCD sheep was buttfucking Gotcha and Volcom was sniffing Quiksilver’s little lamby ass. The Lost sheep was alone in the corner, and black as a motherfuck. Brilliant and iconoclastic. Lost seemed like the only surf company willing to fuck with anyone.
“Yeah, we did a good job of pointing out the absurdity.”
“So what happened? They just look like other surf ads now.”
His answer was long, honest and detailed. It’s actually hard to write because it reads like Lost sold out, which is unhelpfully cliché. The reality is, the company got big and supports hundreds of people, from dirt bag glassers to Biolos himself. Mortgages are paid, children sent to school and groceries bought on the Lost dime. There are licensees and licensers and subsidiary blah blah business somethings to worry about. A tangled sticky corpo web. Sold out, right? Maybe, but who fucken cares because the whole mess perpetually stops and starts with Biolos sanding a shortboard for some lucky sod. I think it’s always been about the surfboards for Matt, and as an extension, Lost. Lashing out at a queer industry is/was just an amusing diversion.
But has he ever got a fucken mouth! Pure obscenity-laced gold! I heard all about, “incestual company to company puppets… fucken yahoos nightmares… who fucken wears a wetsuit out in Cabo San Lucas?... hoity-toity Republican Orange County… pillow biter… cocksucker… fucken float a fat ass.”
I also heard the trouble it causes. One time, Matt emailed a tarty missive to Derek R. detailing the homophile behaviour of a young, professional surfer (which involved prancing and preening on a foreign beach). The piece was begging to be printed, so Derek called the offending flamboyant youth for a rebuttal. This good-natured duel was gonna be hilarious UNTIL the kid’s company got wind and TATTLED to a major surf shop conglomerate that Stab was writing a story on the GAYNESS of the child. FOR SHAME! The FUCKEN PUSSY surf shop owner shit bricks and threatened to pull all Lost merchandise from all stores. Matt was forced to call Derek and Derek kindly put the tet-a-tet on ice, saving the Lost empire.
I asked if I could devise a new ad campaign for him “OK this is how I’m seeing it, Matty, baby. Everyone knows about the Ward trouble, we’ll call it the Ward trouble, ok? So the Ward trouble, no good. But I live by the motto, ‘All publicity is good publicity.’ Our new tagline will be, “Lost. We beat chicks.” We’ll have Ward doing big flyaway airs over piles of bloody femmes, Brilliant, no? Come on, baby.”
Matt laughed but guaranteed instant merch pull, and herein lies the rub. If the merch gets pulled from shops, not only do heaps of people lose their homes, but the surfboards also stop gettin’ made. Biolos already runs his board biz at a loss. He doesn’t believe in mass produced Asiatic boards (unless those mass produced boards are called “Placebo” and that Asiatic place is called “Vietnam”), or stifling the R and D. He loves surfboards. He loves crafting and testing and riding and figuring out what’s coming down the pipe. He spends ¼ of his day toying with new material, ¼ replicating his riders’ favorite boards and ½ simply shaping. Loves it to death. His eyes flash when he talks about EPS and the fact that it’s so light he can play with different resins or PU blanks with parabolic stringers. He pumps out five-finned boards, round-nosed fish, Mark Richard send-ups and rocket tails. Matt shapes himself; “two or three boards a week” just to test in the water. That’s what makes Lost boards hot, hot, hot performance machines! Loving boards that much is cool, and being a dirty-mouthed motherfucker is cool. So I take back the, “remember when…” part, but while I’m being honest, I saw no evidence to directly dispute the existence of a 13-year-old boyfriend. I’ll leave it at that. — Charlie Smith. 

 

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