David Dondero is a poor man. He is also a collector of riches. The first assumption is simply that. He could have trust fund, all kinds of silver spoons that he’s been feeding himself with for most of his waking life, but the reality is that he’s this side of penniless in the grander scheme of things. This says nothing of his net worth, however, which would rank somewhere in the top 10 on one of those yearly Forbes magazine lists. Dondero, of Wilmington, N.C., is in ways a Hemingway who surfs. He’s recently learned the primitive allure of deep sea fishing – fighting with sharks and king mackerels until they lose their whimper or his biceps or line gives out. It’s one or the other. He’s been taking to the fights like a man bronzed by the sun and bronzed/burnt by life onshore, where pettiness has many faces, the losses hurt far more and even when you’re right, you’re sometimes wrong. The battles he accepts when he’s out in the middle of the ocean, trolling for the proud swimmers, there’s glory and honor even in the losses. If man and beast put up their best fights – as equals – that’s when it gets good. There’s no suffering and no alternative spin. It’s a win or a loss and yet, you can always feel big enough to go out for a celebratory beer afterward. Dondero, a salt of the earth smoker and drinker and philosopher, doesn’t get the easy way out when he’s writing. There are no consolation prizes when we’re talking about people dealing with people. There can be, but they aren’t usually what we write about when we’ve got the pen, paper and guitar in front of us. On Simple Love, his newest album, Dondero buries himself in the blood of the heart that is all concentrate, with no dilution. It’s the deep part of the ocean, at the bottom of which you’ll find the fattest fish, the sunken boats and the coldest treasures. He sings on “Rothko Chapel” that he read something that jazz great Charlie Parker said about genuineness in intention. Parker said that if you haven’t lived it, it won’t come out of your horn and chances are you’ll never be reborn. It’s easy to picture Dondero – perhaps out on a boat, but more than likely in a dimly lit, sparsely furnished room – reading this interview or whatever the Parker quote was derived from and hastily underlining the line or tearing it from the periodical, reading it three or four times more, maybe tucking it into his well-worn wallet and thinking, “My man.” – Sean Moeller

5 things which have had an impact on the past week: One — I’ve never been much of a fisherman, but during this past summer I really caught the bug. Ocean fishing that is — way out at sea. So far out you can’t see the shore and the water’s so deep you never know what you might pull out. A King Mackerel ,Wahoo, Spanish Mackerel,,,maybe even a Yellow Fin Tuna. Closer to shore it’s Red Drum, Flounder,,, the dreaded Lizard fish,,mullet,,,.or…even a Carolina lobster in the depths further out! The fish follow the temperature. It rises and they come closer into shore from the Gulf Stream, 30 miles off the coast of Wilmington, NC. Sharks! many different species. Black tips, sand sharks, spinner sharks, tigers and hammerheads. When the cooler waters come the trout will be back.. I learned how to throw the cast net in the estuaries…pulling it up from the ring in the center..drawing it so the weighted ends dangle down uniformly. Shaking any remaining seaweed or bait fish…preparing for a throw. I take half the length of the net and bunch it up in my hand then three even lengths of weights from the edges of the net into the same hand. Finally, the 4th length will be spread horizontally across the front of my body. I throw with the right hand and use the left as the anchor point. Tossing it out like a giant Frisbee over a bubbling batch of bait fish.. Hoping for baby mullet, which are the perfect bait for catching a King Mackerel. Walking through the estuary in the pluff mud, dodging oysters beds. An oyster can rip your leg or foot with a nice gash. They’re razor sharp and an oyster cut gets infected fairly easily. Gotta clean it out good with Hydrogen Peroxide.

Throwing the cast net seems to be best at low tide or as the tide just starts coming in. You can hear the mullet slapping the water in schools.. flopping to the surface…Sometimes it takes hours to catch them,, other times it’s instant luck.. Like last Saturday, I threw the net up in a cove off the intercoastal waterway near Topsail Beach. They swarmed the surface and I tossed it out. We got about 20 in that batch..Plenty of bait..to start fishing for King Mackeral. So then we take the boat through the inlet out into the open ocean. The larger fish seem to like structure underwater so we head to 10 mile rock or various other places off shore. We bait the hooks and have no luck for hours — eight to be precise. A few nibbles here and there then a strike! The line whirrs out and the pole bends violently downward … It’s running with it… then snap! Something big gets away.. I wonder what it could’ve been…A shark,? A king? A swordfish? Whatever it was, it had to be huge. We set up another Carolina rig, which is a two hook set up on the same line.. Attaching one hook through the nose of the Mullet and the other through the tail fin. The fish stays alive and swims naturally…We put it on a down rigger which is a weighted line kept at approximately 30 feet below the surface.. We troll onward.. hoping for another strike… Suddenly a flying fish bursts out of the sea and is airborne for about 50 yards before diving back under. Proof of evolution? I believe so.

The ocean swells are increasing and I start feeling it. I enjoy the sensation of rolling with the sea. A thunderstorm is building just to the south of us and I can see rays of the sun coming down like fingers from heaven through half of a rainbow. We can feel the mist being blown at us from the storm which seems to be only an arm’s length away. The rough seas prompt us to make our way back to shore and fish the inlet. The changing tide is a cue for a fish feeding frenzy. So we anchor down in the shallower water in hopes of catching something drawn in by the inflowing current. They begin to strike… first it’s a blue ,,, then another blue! The Blue fish have lotsa teeth and can take a finger off. Gotta be careful with them. Then we caught a dreaded mucous-covered Lizard Fish.. We throw him back using rubber gloves so as not to get the foul smelling secretions on our skin. The sun is setting at this time, bleeding down into the horizon. It’s a lovely sight. The chill of night hits my sunburned back. I like this sensation. We make our way to shore with a couple Blue fish… After cleaning them the gulls swoop in to pick up the scraps.

The sun now is gone so we cruise back to the dock and pull the boat out. Back at the place we take our Blue Fish fillets and fry them up in a pan. Covered in bread crumbs and Old Bay seasoning. A delicious feast…

Two — Wave Hunt.
Restless as we are in the North Carolina summertime, we go out in search of waves. Flat spells can be the biggest drag. Sunday we went on a surfari. Just looking, searching the coast for something to ride. Visiting old spots from 20 years ago. We grew up surfing together and as we get to be middle-aged men we maintain our youth through the never-ending flow of water and riding on water. No words to say as I paddle out with old friends. We smile with a ride every time. Giddy like school boys. Hoots and hollers. This Sunday was a bit frustrating, but the adventure was fine. Starting off on the north end of Wrightsville Beach, the waves were small and frustrating so we went down to the south end — same deal. Moving onto Carolina beach and finally the Cove . Close outs everywhere — decent size but not really worth paddling out for. Water’s really nice and blue though. 84 degrees. We take the ferry to Southport and visit the glass factory — our old secret spot. If the wind’s southwest or south it wraps around the jetty with a nice long right breaking wave. The wind is light, but it’s coming from the south so we make the trek about a mile down the beach and wade through the inlet to the southern tip. The spot somewhere between North and South Carolina. The long hike can be worth it In the past, I’ve waded through that inlet and witnessed black tip sharks mating in the shallow water. Not this time, just a calm grey sheen. Almost like the humid sky is pressing it down, holding it back.

Unfortunately we are skunked again. I decide to go for a swim anyway, floating on my back.. thinkin’ about the upcoming tour with Against Me! I wonder if they’ll like me? The crowd that is. I imagine throngs of 16-year-old punk rockers going, “Boo…get off the stage!” Then I stop thinkin’ about it. Gotta stay positive. We press on and I mention my worries to my friend Shaun and he tells me not to worry. He says, “I always support you brother.” I say, “Thank you brother. Besides what does it all matter, we will always have this. We will always have waves to ride. It doesn’t matter what they think” I do agree. It doesn’t matter what they think. “What do you think?” asks Shaun. “I think I’m getting too old to do this,” I reply. “Is your heart still in it?” he asks. “Sometimes not. In fact a lot of times it’s not these days. Then all of a sudden the muse comes back…like a wave…It’s like us looking for waves….waiting on waves. Sometimes they just don’t come..” “Well, do you wanta do this tour?” asks Shaun. “No,” I reply. “Why not?” “I don’t know why.” “Come on man, it’s gonna come back, just give it a couple shows” “We’ll see.”

I call up my old pal Chris in Surfside Beach. Luckily he picks up and is hanging out at his house. He’s on the back porch watching sports on one of his three TVs stacked in a column. He’s got a fridge next to the TV sets with a beer tap of local Carolina brew sticking out of the front. We arrive, pull up chairs and have a couple. I ask Chris if he wants to go for a surf and he says, “It’s like a lake out there, but we can try…” So we pile into his van and drive down to Garden City. There’s a spot there with three steel jetty’s, which help to keep the sand in place preserving the shoreline. There’s actually a small right breaking wave peeling off the middle jetty! Two surf fishermen have their lines set right in the prime spot. One of their girlfriends warns us of a six-foot shark in the area. She says, “We done seen it three times ahhready tuhday! That motherfucker’s huge… right ovah theeer whar it’s breakin’ gooood!” We heed her advice and paddle out further down. As we get into the lineup, which is just the three of us. (the wind shifts.) I get one short, but good ride about 50 yards. I’m on a borrowed long board…Chris rides an egg and Shaun is on a longboard as well. Shaun picks off a wave and then Chris — looking like “the bull.” Within 15 minutes the wind totally ruins the form so we hang on for a little while longer, but that was about it. We had our 15 minute window of wave opportunity, now it’s gone. I paddle in and sit on the beach. About six high school boys show up and rush into the spot the surf casters are working. Rudely disregarding them, I feel bad as they pack their gear grumbling at the young kids. Suddenly a large fish gets airborne about 75 yards off shore. I thought it was a pelican, but it was a shark, not a six-footer, probably more like four-feet.. Shaun says, “I think it was a spinner shark.” Man, it made a huge splash. It was goin’ after something! Shortly thereafter we notice a large object floating into shore. It comes closer and finally makes it into the shallows so we can make out its form. It’s a sea turtle!

Upon closer inspection, I see the turtle is dead and has a large chunk missing from the back of its head. Shark bite! The turtle is about 36 inches long and 30 inches wide. The arms and legs are muscular, like a dinosaur. I turn my head from the poor creature laying on its back now in the sand. Gulls come from nowhere and start pecking at it. We head back to the van speechless.

In a lot of ways this whole process is like the music business.

Three — Summer is almost gone
I always get sad this time of year. When summertime is on its last leg, but there really is no reason to be. The kids have gone back to school and the beach towns are preparing for the last big weekend. Labor Day — that’s this weekend. Tuesday will be like the day after Mardi Gras, well not as big of a mess to clean up. They’ll take the meters off the parking slots by the beach.. Lift surfing restrictions. The crowds will have gone and the sands will have wind to clear the footprints. Water remains warm and the surfing will be better as autumn comes. As the weather shifts. I can feel it in the air. The first morning chill. Biggest news of the week, front page headlines: “Local dwellers get best conditions to enjoy for fishing and surfing with no crowds! SUMMERTIME IS OVER!!!” Whew! It’s time to relax now and have a good time.

Four — Mr. Stinky
I met Mr. Stinky at Fred’s loft and he never has a harsh word. If he could write he would only write of soothing things. He is a talkative cat, with blondish golden hair. He is a miniature tiger — a swamp cat. Perched on the chair beside the couch. The paws are much larger than normal. He uses them to grip the arm rests. It holds him in place for a perfect view of the room and the other two cats. He keeps a watchful eye…always. Mr. Stinky does not stink though….and being the largest of the three cats, he eats the least. Mr. Stinky is one solid cat. He answers any question I ask no matter how complex or childish. He is a solid cat creature. My favorite cat next to Greybee in New Orleans.

Five — I listened to Neil Diamond today on my daily trip to the church of the sea. I can’t believe it. “Skybird… sing your song…” I picture him in a private jet wearing white silk pajamas, gazing out upon the clouds..Sun glasses on always. He gets the idea for that song “Skybird” in his head and has his stenographer jot down the lyrics for him.

David Dondero Official Site
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Team Love Records