​If you’re a member in good standing of the San Francisco Bay Area surf-music scene, the name Ferenc Dobronyi is as recognizable as “Fender Jazzmaster,” or “Deluxe Reverb.”

 

Since starting the band Pollo Del Mar in 1994, Dobronyi has been a constant evangelist of surf music in general and local surf groups and players in particular. He did his part during the surf resurgence in the 1990s (sparked by the inclusion of classic surf tracks in the Pulp Fiction soundtrack), by bringing the sound of reverb to audiences at home and abroad as Pollo Del Mar’s leader, guitarist, and producer.

 

But he didn’t stop there.

 

He celebrated the California surf community—and broadened its scope—by founding The Battle of the Surf Bands in 2004, supported by South Bay radio station KFJC and renowned disc jockey, Cousin Mary. The event is still going strong today.

 

In 2009, Dobronyi formed Frankie and the Pool Boys. Originally, the band wasn’t meant to do live performances, instead concentrating on recording projects showcasing renowned surf musicians across the globe. But the whims of creative muses often have a way of messing with plans, and while Frankie and the Pool Boys has released four albums, the band also performs regularly on stages locally, nationally, and internationally. Not surprisingly, Dobronyi is keeping both Pollo Del Mar and Frankie and the Pool Boys simultaneously active.

 

But Dobronyi doesn't use his stature as a leading surf-scene influencer —or his vast knowledge of surf music, surf bands, and surf guitar techniques and tones—as a license to uphold or protect time-honored surf conventions from the 1960s. He appears far more invested in nurturing the musical trajectory of a song and being true to his muse, than following so-called rules. 

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For Frankie and the Pool Boys' Endless Drummer album, Dobronyi has followed the paths of other musical disrupters who pushed past conventions to define stylistic hybrids that are definitively—even at first listen—their own.  QQQ such as the Red Hot Chili Peppers (a fusion of punk, funk, and pop), Beyonce (her QQQ of country, aaa, and aaa on Cowboy Carter), Billie Eilish (electronica, pop, and alt-rock), and The Courettes (the Motown-garage rock mash-up of The Soul of ... The Fabulous Courettes). 

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Endless Drummer begins in a traditional surf mode with "Grind My Beans," but then veers into "Wiggle Room"—a funky, garage-rock romp that would sound awesome in a '60s B-flick about a wayward motorcycle club crashing a teen beach party. "Seki Go Eleki" somewhat returns to classic surf motifs, except that it doesn't. Instead, it's a homage to Japanese Eleki surf music that appeared in the 1960s after The Ventures toured Japan. "Swamp Thing" opens with an almost militaristic groove and winding, distorted guitars and gritty sax lines. "Tattoo of a Broken Heart" opens with Golden Earring-esque punches ("Radar Love" anyone?) before unveiling churning "(Ghost) Riders in the Sky"-style acoustics, and then blistering yet slow and yearning guitar melodies. 

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I've published a broad, fan-focused view of Endless Drummer with my content partners at The Music Soup. You can read that interview here. This version is more for players, producers, and home-studio geeks, as it dives into the specifics of how Dobronyi recorded the album, as well as the gear he used to craft its sounds and atmospheres. 

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I always love talking shop with other creators—not just to steal their methods and ideas (hahaha), but also to share their strategies with the vast community of ambitious artists out there who want to forge new sonic frontiers, explore unique arrangements, craft surprising tones, and build stronger musical brands. 

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To that end, Endless Drummer provides an enjoyable and educational "aural seminar" in how to expand and disrupt surf-music conventions while still paying homage to its roots. Dobronyi is the definition of a stylistic strategist, and every song on Endless Drummer is scrupulously designed from the first swack of a drumstick upon snare drum to the final, ebbing waves of guitar reverb.

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Do you tend to write specifically for a surf audience, or seek a broader, crossover to all fans of instrumental guitar music?

 

First of all, who is the surf audience? A very small group of people, to be sure, and among that group, I’ve found they came to the genre from varied places. Maybe they started out liking mostly prog rock, classical, jam bands, punk, or ambient music. As a result, they tend to be open to variety. I know very few hardcore, trad-surf-only fans, so our albums seek a broader audience. Ultimately, though, I try to make an album I want to listen to.

 

We actually talk about surf music very little. Surf music has a lot of rules—which we respect and adhere to on songs such as “The Ambassador’s Twist.” But I would get really bored with an entire album of trad surf. I like the mix-tape approach, where every song is different, keeping the album fresh and surprising for repeated listening. This album, more than any of our others, offers a great range in styles—from dub to new wave, spaghetti western to ’60s soul, exotica, and more.

 

For the sake of context, could you share what you feel are the essential elements of a good surf song?

 

If you are going to do a trad surf song, you must have a great melody and the right sound. For instance, a digital reverb isn’t going to cut it and leave the humbuckers for your blues band. Compositionally, I think you have to push way beyond I-IV-V chords.

 

Where do you feel some composers “lose the plot” when writing surf instrumentals?

 

A couple of ways. First, it’s obvious when bands use the paint-by-numbers approach—a “Wipe Out” tom roll, a Dick Dale glissando, and some raked minor chords from “Pipeline.” That’s really generic. The original surf canon was widely varied stylistically, so the possibilities are endless, while still staying under the surf umbrella. My advice would be to just cut the fat—no lengthy solos or too many parts. Get to the point and then finish it.

 

There’s a Jeff Beck vibe in parts of “Brotherhood Way.” Was that intentional as a compositional tool, or was it more a factor of your guitar influences speaking to you?

 

As a group, we have wide and varied influences, and we love to let them percolate. “Brotherhood Way” sat around for a long time before it found itself. We started playing “Beck’s Bolero” as a tribute to Jeff Beck after he passed, and when we came back to “Brotherhood Way,” we determined the Beck influences should lead the arrangement. Pool Boy drummer Eric Ruel really nailed that swing groove and march. I went with a nice big, fat Strat tone for the lead.

 

What’s your method for developing sweetening parts to energize and expand the basic rhythm track?

 

As a producer, I try to leave space for ear-candy parts. For example, if you want to use a kettle drum to emphasize hits, ask the drummer not to play fills in those spots. Or, rather than having the piano play straight eighth notes, find the places where the rhythm guitar isn’t slashing away. All instruments need to interlock, rather than play on top of each other. That makes the track jump. Keyboard parts are usually the last elements to be added to the arrangement. We use a Nord, a Vox Continental and a Yamaha Reface—all for their vintage tones—and, more than anything else, the keys tilt a song towards a specific era or genre.

 

What’s your personal definition of a good mix?

 

I want everything to sound natural with minimal processing. We go to great lengths during the recording to use vintage equipment—mics, effects and attitude—but I don’t want the mix to sound like it belongs to any current era. I hate when you hear a song and know what year it was mixed just because some gadget had just come out. [Note: Such as harmonizers in the ’80s and intentional pitch-correction glitches in the ’90s.] All that said, I also don’t want it to sound like a “live mix.” I love echo and reverb and playing with dimensions. The most important thing for me in a mix is to be able to hear all the parts and at the right levels.

 

Do you reference your productions to other songs or albums to see how they match up—or not—with big label and indie releases?

 

Gary Mankin and I haven’t done that for a long time. Mostly, I let Gary do his thing, and he does that really well. However, for the song “East of the Reverb Dial,” I sent Gary some recordings by Augustus Pablo, as he wasn't really familiar with Dub music.

 

Are you ever inspired by the work of other producers?

 

I don’t know if I can list specific modern producers I consistently follow—maybe Brendan O’ Brien [Red Hot Chili Peppers, AC/DC, The Offspring, Bruce Springteen]. I do listen to a lot of modern artists and get inspired by them. I’ll think, “How can I recreate what’s going on in a Lana Del Rey song with an echoplex and a plate reverb?”

 

Could you share your approach to audio-engineering?

 

I’m from the “less is more” mindset—keep it simple and use your ears. It seems like such an obvious thing to say, but people can get so caught up in what they’ve read about professional recording techniques and try to replicate those setups. I’m recording in a basement with a nine-foot ceiling, so my studio will never sound like Olympic Studios London. But I can try to make it sound like the best basement studio in the world.

 

How did you mic the drum kit at your studio?

 

The house drum set is a 1967 Rogers kit—famously used on “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer” [Elmo and Patsy, 1979]. I used a pair of Neumann KM 56s for the overheads, Audio-Technica ATM25 on the kick, Audio-Technica ATM23HE on the snare, and an Audio-Technica AT4050 as the room mic. I might add tom mics if needed, and those are usually Shure SM57s.

 

What was the process for some of the other instruments?

 

For guitar amps, I’m always looking for the magic combination, but I settled on two mics positioned a few inches off the grill—a Shure SM57 and a ’60s Reslo RV ribbon mic. Keyboards were all recorded direct, and for the bass, I took a direct line and miked the amp. There was only one plug-in used—a Moog Music Moogerfooger for “Brotherhood Way.” I wish I had a real one.

 

I'm curious how you'd cast a particular guitar amp to voice certain parts? 

 

When choosing any amp and guitar combination, it’s all about doing the best we could to match what would be appropriate for the era and genre. Luckily, we had a good variety of gear to play around with. 

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The number one amp choice was a Fender 1962 Bandmaster with a 2x12 cabinet. When I needed less headroom, I used a 1989 Fender Vibroverb, and for “snappy parts,” it was a 2000s Fender Deluxe. For the Jeff Beck tone on “Brotherhood Way,” it was a Carr Mercury. A ’50s Fender tweed Deluxe appeared on “Swamp Thing.”

 

What were your main guitars used on the album?

 

My main guitars were my ’83 Tokai/ESP Frankencaster and a 1965 Fender Stratocaster. There was also a 1963 Fender Jazzmaster, a borrowed and beautiful blackguard Fender Telecaster, 2002 Yamaha SVG800, 1982 Ovation acoustic, and a 1962 Sears Silvertone 1446—the “Chris Isaak” model. Jono played a ’90s Fender “partscaster” and Jeff used a Stingray-style bass.

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For “Swamp Thing,” we were trying to get really swampy, so the rhythm guitar is the hollowbody Silvertone into a Fender Bandmaster with the tremolo cranked up. The lead is the blackguard Telecaster screaming through a ’50s Fender tweed amp. I was trying to make the guitars sound as vintage as hell.

 

“The Ambassador’s Twist” is the most trad surf song on the album, so it was the Fender Jazzmaster, a Fender reverb tank, and the Bandmaster with a lot of treble dialed in. The Yamaha SVG was used on “Seki Go Eleki,” because that song is a tribute to the 1960s Japanese “Eleki” surf-rock genre. The blackguard Tele also came out to play the funk parts on “Wiggle Room” and the skank in “East of the Reverb Dial.”

 

What about pedals and other effects? 

 

The most frequently used effects were the Fender Reverb tank, Echoplex, and amp tremolo. My favorite stompboxes are the Strymon Flint, Ibanex ES3 Echo Shifter, and Boss PH-3 Phase Shifter. The phaser is featured on “Chroma Key” and “East of the Reverb Dial”—appropriate as those songs are ’70s based. In “Quicksilver,” where you hear a minutes-long delay echoing throughout the song, it’s the Echoplex.

 

I used a Surfy Industries SurfyFuzz to mimic Davie Allan on “Tattoo of a Broken Heart.” I think the Fender reverb tank was used on every guitar track—except for “Wiggle Room,” which has a dry, funky sound. The Flint was great for the psychedelic thumping on “Super Bloom,” because it can get a really deep tremolo effect—almost a square wave. 

 

Did you use any digital amp models?

 

No. All the guitars were recorded with an amp and a microphone or two. The bass had a direct line and a mic on the amp.

 

Do you have a “go-to” rig for surf-instrumental sounds?

 

In the studio, it’s a Jazzmaster into a Fender reverb tank into the Bandmaster—nothing else. The Fender Jazzmaster and Jaguar are the quintessential surf guitars—mostly because of their magical pickup combinations. The Fender reverb tank, because, when dialed in correctly, provides that desirable surf drip. There isn’t a digital box that can replicate the weird mechanical dysfunction that defines the genre. A Fender Showman is the more correct choice for surf, but I find them too harsh in the high end. It’s that icepick sound you either love or makes you run.

 

My live rig is my Frankencaster, which is wired so I can get the bridge and neck pickups to mimic a Jazzmaster. I use a Quilter Tone Block 200 going into a 2x10 cabinet, and a Surfybear reverb. I use the Quilter because it sounds great, and I’m too old to drag Fender amps around. My Fender tank is fragile to travel.

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