originally written by Craig Hayes
DA-DUM…
When I was ten years old, I met a shark, face-to-face in the breaking surf. That encounter left me with a lifelong obsession with the species, and like every other shark fanatic I’ve got shelves overflowing with shark-related paraphernalia. Some of that is serious and scholarly, but hell of a lot more is just rip-roaring trash, and one of my prize possessions is Jersey Shores, an album released in 2008, by the sadly defunct Seattle trio Akimbo.
Jersey Shores is the best bone-crunching and heavy ass rock ‘n’ roll concept album ever recorded about sharks, and I’m going to tell you all about what makes it such a fantastic release. However, I’m warning you now, Last Rites is going Animal Planet for this series of shark tales, and I’m going to be circling Jersey Shores and talking a lot about sharks before taking a big ol’ bite out of the album.
I’ll be diving into the depths of psychology, history, art, literature, music, indigenous cultures, and one significant series of shark attacks that inspired Jersey Shores before I get close to the album. And our tale starts, with me being a nerd…
•••••
Being a shark fanatic means I geek out on all sorts of facts and figures about them. I know, for example, that sharks have been around for over 400 million years, and that there are currently over 470 different species of sharks swimming around. I also know that humans aren’t top choice off the menu for any shark, and that only a handful of sharks present any danger to us at all.
In fact, the odds of being attacked by a shark are around 11.5 million to one. But while we’re statistically more likely to get kicked to death by a cow than ever be attacked by a shark, the stock-standard image of a shark is a fast and powerful creature with a gaping mouth filled with razor-sharp teeth. You can cram all the factual information you want into your mind about sharks, but with images like that drilled into our brains, we’re constantly reminded that sharks are a fierce apex predator and they generate a deep-set fear for many of us.
Mention a species like the great white shark, and horror-filled scenarios leap into the imagination: the beast from below is always in a constant state of ravenous hunger, relentlessly hunting down its prey, and devouring anything that strays into its path. Hear a tale like the sinking of the USS Indianapolis in 1945, when 900 men entered shark filled waters, and only 317 sailors survived, and your mind constructs a picture of boiling blood-red seas and ceaseless attacks from deadly deep-sea assassins.
Of course, the truth is, human beings are an infinitely greater risk to sharks than they are to us. In 2013, there were 72 unprovoked shark attacks recorded worldwide, and only 10 of those were fatal. Yet, in that same year, 100 million sharks were killed by commercial and recreational fishermen – and that would a very conservative estimate.
The thing is, sharks mature very slowly. It takes them many years to reach their reproductive age. And they only give birth to small numbers of pups. All those traits make sharks extremely vulnerable to overfishing, and with something like 11,417 sharks being killed every hour, every single day, their numbers are in rapid decline worldwide, and a third of open ocean sharks are now threatened with extinction.
So, who really should be afraid of who?
Obviously, no matter how rare a shark attack, they do happen; because sharks are going to do what they’ve adapted to do – hunt and survive. As we all know, the prevailing scientific belief is that humans are mistaken for sharks’ normal prey in those encounters, but when sharks and people meet, and people come off second best, the (always) hysterical media reaction often sidelines that point.
In part, that’s because we’re simultaneously fascinated, intrigued, and terrified by sharks. But it’s also because sharks symbolize the perilous and uncontrollable side of nature. The influence of all that bible thumping over the years has ingrained a belief in vast swaths of humanity that it’s their God given right to harness and tame nature for their own ends.
Some of us don’t like to be reminded that we don’t have dominion over every inch of this earth. Or that deep under water, beyond our sight and understanding, lives an entirely ungovernable presence. So, not only do sharks epitomize danger, but they also conjure nightmares born from the exact point where humankind’s dominance over nature ceases.
We can’t control sharks, so they’re embedded in our psyche as merciless killing machines that must be feared, perhaps hated, and even hunted down and killed. There’s nothing surprising about that, because when nature seeks to follow its own instinctive course humanity often responds with a response way out of proportion to any actual threat.
•••••
DA-DUM…DA-DUM
If we cast aside fantasy tales of ocean dwelling exterminators, and the legacy of all that bible bashing bullshit, then we see that shark behavior is incredibly complex, and that sharks occupy a crucial role in the marine ecosystem. That’s something that should be cherished and preserved, not exploited and destroyed, but none of that matters when someone is killed or injured by a shark.
We blame the shark, and it must be punished in print, on screen, or in reality. The fact that it is us encroaching on their territory doesn’t seem to matter, because humanity’s arrogance has always been set on deciding who gets to share this earth, and how they must behave.
Still, look past attitudes informed by Western thought, and you’ll see that indigenous cultures of the past venerated sharks and respected their territory. In the South Pacific, for example, coastal inhabitants didn’t just see sharks as a potential food source, or seek to equate a shark’s value in economic terms. Sharks were ingrained in spiritual and cultural practices, and mythic tales about them were told in social situations not to frighten but to express awe at their beauty and raw power.
At that time, none of those indigenous cultures knew anything about the evolutionary history of sharks, and they didn’t know any scientific details about sharks taxonomic structures or their array of sensory capabilities. Yet, those peoples didn’t need to do any of those things to appreciate that sharks were not dim-witted, senseless killers because they had a far more sacred connection with nature.
Long before having scientific evidence, those cultures knew that the health of the oceans they relied upon meant that sharks must be protected. Just as they should be today. Those cultures placed a great amount of importance on honoring sharks, and they made sure to share that knowledge. But nowadays, thanks to our 24/7 media feeding frenzy, most of our knowledge about sharks comes from YouTube videos, histrionic documentaries, perhaps the rare decent television show, and a whole pile of dramatic reporting.
Guaranteed, nine times out of ten, that’s all going to be accompanied by the image of a great white shark, with terrifying jaws ready to clamp down on their prey. We can watch sharks hunt with ruthless efficiency anytime we like, from the safety of the couch, and be they fictional or factual accounts, those attacks are sudden and savage, revealing nature’s brutality.
That’s obviously been a hit and miss approach for educating anyone about sharks. There’s obviously informative material out there to enjoy, but more often than not, what we’re seeing is a myth and misunderstandings jumbled and amplified for the sake of sensational entertainment.
Personally, I indulge in that fiesta of myth and sensationalism every single day. Highbrow, lowbrow, good, bad, trashy, or scholarly; if it’s a got a shark in it, I’m going to want to check it out. I’m sure it’s much the same for other shark fanatics too, because if you’re going to be fixated on any one predator then sharks are the perfect choice.
Sharks lead lives filled with secrets that we’re only beginning to discover. Learning about that is intellectually stimulating, but then sharks also stimulate something far more primal too. They embody our preoccupation with mortality, and set our morbid fascinations with sudden and grisly death front and center. Sharks are autonomous and powerful creatures, living their lives beholden to none. We ravage their environment, and slaughter them at will, but sharks live on, at least for now, personifying nature’s abundant capacity to astound and impress.
It’s probably about now that you’re thinking, “What the fuck has a lecture about sharks from a rank amateur got to do with any heavy music?”
Well, everything, of course.
See you in part two, to talk about that…
