Torment Mag Issue EIGHT Release Party
Mutiny Music Collective, Salt Lake City, UT
Photography by: Austin Squire, Colt Morgan, and Hiro Sun
A ‘my, my, how the time flies’ mood is sitting with me. Been a handful of years coming to these mag releases. Issue FIVE seems like it was just the other day. I was riding the very same train I’m riding now, working on the same article. Issue SIX could’ve been yesterday for all I know, when Matt and I were the last ones left standing outside the Depot wondering what the hell we had to do to get an Uber to the after party. And Issue SEVEN — that’s where I got my last hug from Sammy. I could’ve swore I just saw him. The mag parties really have a knack for jostling these memories loose. It’s like the memories are all in a parking lot in my brain and someone just turned on the lights. Couple of them are broken down, some are parked, idling. Then there’s a few kicking up plumes of rubbery smoke whilst spinning donuts around the others.
That thought popped up in a parking lot somewhere in Eastern Nevada along I-80 E. I’d hitched a ride with Hupp and we were taking our sweet time; those 500 miles separating Reno and Salt Lake are littered with skateparks — quirky at their finest, decrepit and lethal at their worst — and we had every intention of hitting as many as we could. We started off hot in Lovelock Thursday morning and to be honest, it pretty much went downhill from there. We didn’t quit easy but car-legs are a real thing in old-age, so as the lights came on in Elko at our fourth park, and I was limping and Hupp was bleeding and we were still looking at three more hours in the car, we hightailed it to The Crossroads of the West.
Before long I was at our BnB with your beloved Torment staff — Ian, Matt, Caleb, Austin, and our new industry mogul Jeff — draining green bottles and laughing over a deck of cards. Hearsay of our snowboard kinfolk igniting a debaucherous night out seemed less enticing, especially when considering that we had the whole weekend ahead of us. I found myself shacked up with Jeff that night. His breathing — a deep, wet snore afforded by the nose piece he wears for sleep apnea — delivered me a reflective moment. Was staying-in a sign of the times? I’ll admit, this last year has seen me taking stock of my emotions; love and loss, the sight of clouds — mortality — on the horizon. But rarely am I aware of the moment as it’s happening. I was in that mood, that wispy daydream of a mood. How much more time will fly by? “No more” I decided, so I looked to the future and got excited. So many friends to see this weekend. So much snowboarding to watch. So many pages to peruse! The anticipation could’ve kept me up all night. Lucky for me I was rooming with the human white noise machine. It curbed my giddy-up, and I fell asleep.
Friday morning came with Austin in the kitchen cheffing bacon, egg, & cheeses and a couple pots of Folgers. We headed over to the venue — Mutiny — to check the space and realized that we had our work cut out for us. The open warehouse was ours to build out how we wanted, but aside from a slew of chain link fencing and some lights it was bare-bone. What maybe once would’ve overwhelmed me was now adding to my excitement, thanks no doubt to Ian’s vision, Matt’s opinions, Caleb’s technical prowess, Austin’s iron-clad work ethic, Jeff’s zoomer-isms, and dare I say me and my goddamn forklift certification. You heard that right. I thought my warehouse days were long gone but apparently we’re magnetically intertwined. The beeping of the scissor lift brought me right back, yet another mediation, and with it went the day.
Our work was stopped abruptly by one of the warehouse owners and despite that being laughably irksome, it was probably for the best; chances are high we would’ve gone on working right into the evening and missed the 686 shindig. We rallied and showed up to Evo just in time to secure drinks on Sarge’s tab. Thank you Sarge 🫡. I chain-smoked for a good while and have the Best In Show to blame for missing the movies. Or did I? How else could I know that Hupp and Colton outdid themselves once again? That B-Mo and Keegan’s Tahoe footage makes me want to learn how to snowmobile so I can try to dump fat 720s like them? That 686 made a sound investment bringing on Savannah, Coop, and Rob - while simultaneously postulating if there’s even a kink rail on planet Earth that one of them couldn’t handle. (Not to mention, if Coop couldn’t find any skinnier sets to grind down.) I don’t know man, you watch ’em and tell me.
The movies wrapped up and I followed the party to Bar X. Or had I smoked myself into a mild case of indigestion and went home to drink tea with Austin and Caleb? That’s a tough call. A few bar-goers have text receipts that say I was on my way. Then again, how would I know that Caleb’s food-grade peppermint oil capsules have the power to quell a tummy ache? Maybe that riddle isn’t as difficult as the last — and maybe that makes me a liar — but at least I went to bed happy.
Saturday started identical to Friday — Austin’s bagel sandwiches and gallons of coffee. The UPS man missed out on breakfast but still dropped off the mags, which was awesome given that the impetus for the whole weekend was to unveil it to you, our dear shredders, that very afternoon. We loaded up the mags, threw on clothes, and got right back to set-up at Mutiny. Personally, I do best with a job, so personally, I was thriving. A little anxious — sure — but that came with the time crunch. And just to remind you: time flies. Next thing I knew the sun was down, S.T.A.Y, The Box, and Lampshade had booths, Dang Brother Pizza had a dang firetruck in the lot warming up ‘za, and people were filing in, grazing around the warehouse to the beat of DJ Lava Lamp’s drum. I was ready for a cold libation, and lucky for me there was a king sized Yeti filled with Fat Tire and Topo Chico in the green room. I took one of each and the night slowed down.
I mingled with my people, each had a hug and a story, a smile and an update. And what I found cooler yet was in the brief in-betweens: when I looked out I saw that was happening throughout the warehouse; everyone was with their people. Everyone was together. I was getting sappy, so it actually served as a blessing when Buster 2 came on. I needed some action.
Without divulging too much, the quadruple D’s — Denver, Dillon, Dusty, and Drayden — came correct. Somewhere in the mix of what seemed like an entire Spring’s worth of a private park shoot at Donner Ski Ranch and a dense continental street section set to Nickatina, you could find me hollering to my heart’s content. That right there, boys, was money.
Then Ian introduced Varmin, The North Face’s tribute to his friend and our fallen boarder, Alex Pashley. The short film was a collection of Baden, Austin Smith, and Mateo Massitti’s AK footage from their last trip with the legend. Despite feeling sentimental by nature, it was still gnarly. That squad of boarders in AK just felt right. Forgive the repetitive visitation on my feelings, but I’ll be damned if it wasn’t videos like this that didn’t pull ‘em out of me. Or maybe my predisposition to that mood is making me an aging softy.
Next came the beginning of the end, where the night shifted its focus to a singular subject. The cover got revealed and the warehouse erupted for Krugs. It’s difficult articulating how beautiful it was seeing him stand with his family holding that cover. Jacob’s been an institution in our community for a decade, and coincidentally that’s how long we’ve been friends. I’ve watched him take nightmare slams right before my eyes, only to dust himself off and go back up and get the clip. Over the years I’ve watched him do the same thing in his parts with Ride, VG, and DC. And after his cover was revealed, I got to watch him display that determined attitude of his, a staple at this point, in his own damn project (It’s a Mess). By the time the credits rolled, the mood was harkened — albeit with an ear to ear smile — and I couldn’t help but feel it: my, my, how the time flies.
The rest of the night rolled out as easy as a rug. Des raffled off some Rome and Bataleon gear for S.T.A.Y. The green room maxed out capacity and sent the Mutiny honchos in a tizzy. Team Elevin stole the skate ramp show by attempting to clear the trash can while Sully and Jayden were in a trash can, resulting in one quick trip to the hospital. (Everyone is okay.) And that was it for the night. I piled in the ‘Burb with Austin at the helm and headed home. He threw the car in park and with it, too, parked a handful of memories. We went inside and had another cup of tea.
~
I woke up Sunday morning looking across the room at Jeff’s butt cheeks hanging off the edge of the twin bed. It made me happy, for the sight alone indicated that he had a great night. And with all this time flying by I realized that that’s all I can hope for: that the people I care about, myself included, are living exactly how they want to. I think about all the special people I spent time with this weekend and how and why we got to spend time together, and the answer is obvious. Among all the sponsors — Skullcandy, Fat Tire, Topo Chico, Ride, Yeti, The North Face — I’d like to thank Ian and Matt and Caleb for making Torment a home for our people. Who knew Jeff’s ass would bring me such gratitude.
