I already knew of Ben Kadow the morning I first met him years ago, when I had stayed the night with a woman and woken up to find Ben as her flatmate making breakfast in their Ridgewood kitchen. I said I liked his part in Mama’s Boys and he offered me a plate. To observe his success in the decade since has been a pleasure. I maintain a copy of his Worms: Lord of Dirt ‘zine obtained at Romeo Gallery opening. There were halcyon seasons before covid when Ben would DJ Sunday Nights at Black & White, wherein Monday’s first hour, between midnight and 1am, every beer was free, bottle or tap, as many as you wished.
Over the Covid summer of 2020, I passed numerous nights on the Allen Street promenade benches, drinking through 6 packs with crews like Johnny, Max, Bill, Ben, Aiden and another redhead who introduced himself as Alex. When I called him Alex later he didn’t respond, then explained that everyone calls him “Bag.” Aiden pointed out a man who had been standing motionless in the crosswalk in the middle of the street for minutes. “Hey, man.” No response. Aiden threw an empty bottle that shattered a foot from the man’s feet on otherwise silent street. The man didn’t flinch. “Hey, man.” Aiden threw another bottle that also shattered nearby but didn’t elicit a reaction. A garbage truck came barreling up Allen Street as the man stayed standing in the middle of the street, facing the truck that honked its horn and skidded to a stop really close to this man. The garbage truck driver yelled and opened his door to confront this man, who then walked away into the night. Later, Bag shattered a full beer bottle and I wondered why. Aiden’s empty tosses possessed crude warning utility toward the stationary man, but Bag’s actions exploded cold imported beer. Ben mentioned he was looking for recipes for a new issue of Obscene Flavor Explosion, then included my Double Decker BLT with horseradish and vinaigrette on middle bread layer in issue 2. I told Ben I wanted to do this gap to front lipslide in front of the old Opening Ceremony and he encouraged my capability. Weeks later, after an hour’s struggle with Tyler Andrew filming, sending Ben my successful footage was part of the reward.
One day last summer Jason and I were eating Two Hands Corndogs in their outdoor seating across from Tompkins. Ben walked past, said what’s up, and asked if he could sample one of Jason’s tater tots. Absolutely. After Ben thanked us and continued his way, Jason felt grateful to have contributed toward the sustenance of such an inspiring skater. Of course I’m excited when I see Ben on the cover of this new Vans Video by Flech.
As strums thrum, Aiden appears alongside LAFD engine, firetruck red in moments of repose and recreation, spooning redhead Bag, who mans front of the snowsled downslope. After Chomp on This homage cuts to cue ball Ben smiling beside Aiden shaving off his own ginger locks, Bag scores another lifestyle clip with cigarette and surfboard shirtless, “Mahalo, motherfucker,” before jumping off pier. Red spot sequencing shows Aiden slappy back 5050 downhill hefty red curb for a Los Angelean block’s length, then in SoHo for red brick wall work. Big long boardslide against orange backdrop signals Bag’s scarlet return, sucking cig while shoulder assisting Aiden’s drop in grind. Aiden appears red in firelight, while also skating a number of green spots with waffle soled contributors riding his second song section to 4.5 minutes.
Jason says Stu hops around on his board like a squirrel, petite Heath Kirchart, sober in LA, with this part and a Baker sponsorship as proof. Etienne entices with bar tricks, then his punk and yo skate stunts show impish facility with object projection. A lot of dudes ride for Vans, though no black skaters have tricks in this video, and it’s heavy hammers to heavy rock, channeling 30 years of branded churning on the same profitable blueprint mass produced and exported worldwide as symbol of SoCal anti-establishment counter culture.
One time I gave Rowan a Dollar Story. When I saw him again next year, he showed me the copy of RIP still tucked in his traveling bag. I edited and designed a book of poems Sully wrote. Tino Razo and NeckFace appear as country music space rock plays over broad nouveau western roughriding. Next clip after song ends shows Bag bent into Los Angeles River, pants cuffed, chasing a fish that he eventually manhandles and holds aloft, cig blazing red in his lips. I think Bag shattered the full beer because Aiden had broken two bottles by that point in the night and Bag wanted to be his henchmen and accomplice with similar level of experience to reference frame. Franco pops a fat bump to East Village bar as Max Palmer smiles with delight and Aiden shatters a bottle, then:
Brewster Bruiser Ben appears blasting metal music alone in hotel bed like Pink in The Wall amidst legends for his falls. Next clip Kadow sits on a bench, arms crossed in short tee and speed shades. “Quit skateboarding,” he commands, two fingers pointed at us, three back at himself. Guitar shrieks as camera tilts up to Ben standing barrel chested in a tiny white tee shirt with Hollywood written in pink chest script, knee-length athletic shorts and a dial watch. He breathes deeply, ripped red Supreme box logo stickers on white Hockey puck. One time I prepared to pay Miles for a pair of multicolored checkerboard Supreme x Vans Half Cabs but Charles told him to give them to me instead. Ben rides goofy past aluminum autumn garage siding. Crouching tiger in sidewalk approach, this black railing situates chin high along streetside. Ben pops curb cut ollie, lifted and held into briefest hover before back truck nails front 5-0 that collapses the entire rail structure as Ben looks back on aftermath downhill past California white license plate hidden filmer. Aboard same white deck with red stickers and red wheels, Ben tailperches forever in blue jeans and a sleeveless checkered button up. Barbed wire cyclones his crow’s nest as CCTV captures elsewhere. Top rope acrobatics call to mind a wrestler’s elevated sense of brute, breathy spectacle. Clanky electric wails summon impact allocation as pop drop lands in front 5050 down the driveway’s ledge onto sidewalk, over grass to curbside fist bump smirk.
Consummate East Villager, Ben acknowledges his role as tourist on Walk of Stars wearing a new black novelty tee, muscle beach tight, splaying his chest across bench crest in a committed attempt. Correct clip of benchback spanning b/s 5050 pops off with stiff legged acknowledgment that we all saw his switch front 5050 Play Dead ender at Seaport’s similar structure, so assume on some level that’s basic for him. Surprise arrives after old-skooled pushes in line’s second trick when Ben liftslips underflip truckstop grinds, shot across sidewalk stars in shred slit denim. Next clip, Flech’s camera zooms upon Kadow perched atop blanched government pillar, dropping into a ride that leads nowhere other than shoulder slam through ten feet of greenery onto a curb. This ride displays blind belief into the face of certain failure as a mental exercise for his conquest style otherwise, tucked in tee with leather strap belt.
In fatigue green t-shirt, blue jeans, black shoes with gum sole. Ben compacts himself to eyeline the fat, chest-high pipe he approaches switch, pops into switch 5050 up the cusp and across bus stop’s length, on a black deck now with the same red wheels and razor scratched denim. Mission accomplished, Ben stomps deck. L.A.M.F. reads his shirt with rolled sleeves. His inner left bicep shows a square tattoo bisected by diagonal line from upper right to bottom left corner. The upper left half has the letter F inside and bottom right contains V. Ben’s right hand grabs his heartbroken board to fling against what we can’t see, a fade to black on newsstand sound impact.
After a bit more than minute, Ben’s outré conceptualization of skate possibilities paves the way for further archetype exploration of skater as urban street performer with a disaffected jester’s privilege. Ben told me he wanted to be a garbage man when he grew up, and the way he handles the heavy shit nobody else wants to shows his dream may not be deferred so much as reinterpreted. His Hockey teammate Diego Todd arrives next for finale fiesta.