The Dick Dale Chronicles: Preventing Crispy Critters

Today Dick Dale concludes his 65-minute monologue in a crustier mood. He has been talking non-stop for 45 minutes, and his attention turns first to unprepared journalists who don’t read the four emails of stories about Dale sent my his wife Lana. They’re not links to stories; they contain stories that have been cut and pasted into the email—stories with no obvious sources, and one with a byline that is only initials.

The Dick Dale Chronicles: The Parable of Jesse and Frank

Dick Dale is now 74, and on the phone recently, he held court for 65 minutes without pause to talk about his life, his career, his wife, and a host of topics I never expected him to get to. Dale will play The Howlin’ Wolf Monday night with Mahayla opening, and today we present the second installment of what Dale said in his monologue.

The Dick Dale Chronicles, Pt. 1

For years, Dick Dale seemed to be a poster child—okay, poster man—for how to grow old gracefully. He didn’t hide his age onstage, but nothing about his performance hinted that there might be an AARP card in his wallet. He sawed his guitar strings on “Misirlou” and countless surf instrumentals with punk intensity, on more than one occasion holding up his pick to show the damage he had done to it with the fury of his playing.