Sour Skateboards – Find A Way
Ph. Gustav Tønnesen
Words by Bo Rickardsson
Nisse Fucking Ingemarsson. He just bought a house. Two stories and a yard. Daniel Spängs is also working on his house these days. Josef Skott is also working, his first ever job outside of his soon to be 20-year skateboard career, as a controller in a cookie factory. Skröder is also some kind of engineer. Koffe Hallgren is today a nurse at an addiction clinic. Erik J Pettersson accompanies Grammy artists on guitar, flamenco and classical composition. Simon Isaksson is conducting research ‘at the intersection of economics and ethnography’. Gustav Tønnesen has tamed Mark Gonzales as his sidekick. Barney Page pushed through the UK to raise awareness of mental health issues. Albert Nyberg is married with kids.
This is not the credits. Just a catch-up. While you maybe didn’t know a lot about them before, the trajectory from their video parts must be acknowledged. They all seem to be doing pretty well. A bit too well considering the latest twists in the turbulent skate industry.
Nisse Ingemarsson, noseslide, Barcelona. Ph. Gustav Tønnesen
I reach the head of Sour, Björn Holmenäs, as he’s pulling his scraggly hair out in Malaga. The intricacies of tariff regulations seem ever-expanding. There’s always something to be figured out, be it the next graphics or the clothing lines. Logistics or bank appointments. Times are busy now. As they’ve always been. The staff is often working around the clock in the Barcelona bunker trying to make the sales, while doing everything else that is needed for this ship to stay afloat. Because tours don’t just automatically happen. The Insta posts don’t just magically appear. Whilst it might look like it, these board graphics don’t make themselves. Skateboarding and the industry surround-ing it, has never been bigger, they say. And it takes something spectacular to stay on top of the sketchy pile of rubble. Especially when you’re fully independent without the backing of a big distribution company. But Sour manages. Somehow. Yet neither tricks, videos or back-pats actually generate any revenue. While this article is in the writing the Sour crew is coming down to Andalucia, fourteen strong, to finish off their latest video, titled 3.3, with a world renowned filmer named Fritte at the helm. So, how do they actually manage to pull this off? Let alone exist at all? While it seems like a mystery, a mystery is nothing but a case unsolved.
Oscar Säfström, backside smith grind, Barcelona. Ph. Gerard Riera
Trying to understand how Sour does it, I’m told that for some years it simply used to be that Sour actually managed to live solely off cred from other skaters. Through spores growing in the back of their store in Barcelona the team had their gut microbiota mutated, making them able to break down and feed directly on respect by other skaters. This was a pretty stable model that worked well for a while, because after all their public relations are great. They’re not going to say it themselves, but you cannot not like Sour. The minor devastating issue was just that in order for you to like them, and further give them respect, you have to know about them in the first place. Now try for yourself, go to your local park and ask if the kids know about Sour. Unfortunately TikTok doesn’t support 4:3.
Barney Page, noseslide pop-out, Badalona. Ph. Gustav Tønnesen
Simon Isaksson, who himself has been part of the project since the beginning, is at the moment working on his dissertation treating the understatement of the skateboard scene and how money is extracted from doing skateboard tricks. Though no final results are ready to be published yet, his latest findings indicate that there might be a link between the economic models of professional skateboarders and what’s called “influencers”. The idea is that the professional skateboarder, just like other influencers, is supposed to influence people to want to buy products or services they promote. That is, in Sour’s case, the revenue is primarily supposed to come from selling skateboards promoted by the team. This might have been expected by some of you. But in practise this model does not seem to hold up as an explanation, because if anything the Sour team has conveyed to their audience that you don’t need to change boards that often, with Josef stacking on soft chipped wood and Vincent, who’s made a career of being tail-heavy, primarily cruises on a Skrazzle board these days to hold himself up. If anything Sour has managed to prove that you don’t even need to skate at all to be a professional skateboarder going on tours.
Vincent Huhta, frontside wallie transfer, Cerdanyola del Vallès. Ph. Gerard Riera
Adding another layer to this mystery, the team even manages to expand during these trying times, and not by some ad-hoc dist-kid. Firstly, Sour was joined by the phenomenon Simon Hallberg. A human able to do whatever he wants on a skateboard, wherever he wants. To make things more baffling Sour doesn’t stop there, and adds yet another whizz-kid to the team. Oscar Säfström is already a recognised one-of-a-kind in Sweden. Raised in the most hip-hop town of Sweden, Uppsala, he grew up skating together with Axel Berggren. But while one went for speed, the other went for heights. Since Oscar was a kid he has been popping the tricks he’s trying to learn as high as he possibly can. Before he even knew how to do them. When it later turned out that he also was destined to be two metres tall, the two circumstances added together, hence he is now also blessed with the ability to do whatever he wants on a skateboard. While they are somewhat opposites of each other in terms of physical attributes, both Simon and Oscar are granted free rein to their skateboards, and both chose to pursue equally rare and favourable effortless styles. If we reflect on this for a moment, we here have two skaters that can do whatever they want on their skateboards, in a time when the industry around skateboarding has never been bigger, and they chose to ride for a brand that has its improbable business model scrutinised. No rational behavioural models can explain this. With that being said, rational behavioural models might not be applicable to analyse this brand, as all we see Sour doing to try to navigate these tough times is to go out and film some more street.
Simon Hallberg, frontside 270 to lipslide, Conil de la Frontera. Ph. Gustav Tønnesen
So Sour has the coolest team. Making the best clips. Skating spots you only wish you could conquer, if you even knew where they were. Lazy. Now what? None of this seems to give any explanation to their business model. But looking at the team, trying to imagine what kind of criminal scheme they could be running, hiding their wealth from tax registration, that’s when it struck me. If the team has the integrity not to end up with their backs leaning against the glass walls of Macba, they’re probably also too pure for a criminal scheme, and I realised I was investigating using the wrong models. This all has been a mystery because no rational behavioural models can distil theories based on genuine stoke. While the industry surrounding skateboarding has never been bigger, the skateboard industry struggles. That is, no skate brand has a sane business these days. When you have to tighten your spending suddenly you’re able to skate the pool dude’s hand-me-down 9.25.
Martin Sandberg, backside nosebluntslide, Pula. Ph. Gustav Tønnesen
The industry for skateboarding is growing with funds coming from elsewhere, whether it be the Olympics, skateparks, social projects or sponsorships initially irrelevant for the hobby. That is not to say that if you are thriving these days you’re doing anything wrong, but it’s probably not by simply selling skateboards.
Through some undisclosed interviews I get it confirmed that a majority of the work at Sour is done non-profit. Basically a program where the team works voluntarily for the culture; travelling, scouting spots, filming, skating. Basically done out of some ‘personal interest’ to ‘go skate’. This impetus non-profit may be the best explanation of how Sour manages to keep the boat floating without subsiding to uninspired collabs. Because it’s fun to be cool and cool to have fun. That’s how a brand manages to add new people to the team in times like these, through simply offering to be part of Sour.
Oscar Säfström, backside lipslide, Tàrrega. Ph. Gerard Riera
A fair argument here would be that this is only possible due to the extensive Nordic social security system, helping foster this laissez-faire attitude amongst the Sour crew, offering a safety net if this skateboarding thing does not work out. As they can fall back into some comfortable work-training program. But symbiotically this non-profit seems to be helping desocialised young men into healthy habits. “If the road to hell is paved with good intentions it’s probably smart to take a detour”, as one puts it. A non-profit disguised as a private company, having qualitative standards as their raison d’être. The idea is that standards breeds standards. Does it work? There might be something to it. Looking at Martin Sandberg as an example, he started off as an unemployed illiterate, but after a couple of years at Sour ended up as an engineer, employed at the Swedish Aeroplane Corporation. Oscar Candon is a cabinet worker like Jesus himself. Vincent even showers these days, occasionally. Any country or organisation could only wish they had a social program this effective. Would Vincent make this effort to hang at a social centre? Probably not. It’s due to the opportunity to sit in a van with Nisse. Nisse fucking Ingmarsson. “Inspire others to inspire themselves” as Nietzsche once wrote.
Nisse Ingemarsson, pole-jam to street, Malaga. Ph. Gustav Tønnesen
Voluntary work run by passion might explain how they are able to survive. But it’s also supposed to be a board company, that is, at least in theory, Sour survives by selling skateboards. But as mentioned they’re not alone in this mess. While the industry surrounding skateboarding has never been bigger, the skateboard industry struggles. Yet while desperate times make companies quickly abandon former principles, feeding the epidemic of grab-the-bag mentality all over the world, that moment also leaves room for someone to stay put, true to their principles. Someone has to position themself as the brand that focuses on what brought you to the scene in the first place, and in a lucky turn of events that spot happened to be taken by Sour. That is the conclusion of this investigative rapport on how Sour manages to survive. By integrity. As strange and improbable as it might sound these days.
Vincent Huhta, Barley grind into the bank, Barcelona. Ph. Gerard Riera
With this being said we probably do best not to dig any deeper into the mystery of how Sour operates. There is always a risk of killing the phenomena you’re dissecting. Yet what can be acknowledged is that many of us are grateful for all the brands that keep the elusive dream many skaters are fuelled by alive, that there is a way for skate brands to survive straight off skating street; sitting on a curb far from the stadiums hosting the massive skate-orgy going on these days. That is, as long as Sour exists we can’t complain about the state of the skateboard scene, only where one chooses to pay attention. In times of trick inflation street skating doesn’t fail to excite. To make matters more impressive, when reality finally rears its head and the bubble of our skateboard-fantasies bursts, Sour has even proved to offer a wholesome trajectory for the skaters, filled with dignity, offering an alternative to the ever growing stall of cadavers the industry is trying to milk. While it’s tempting to think we should culturally protect Sour’s modes of persuasion, as easy as it would be with scholarships seeking to recognise important work both for its importance and the work behind it, and Sour having proved to do both, there is no need. If you appreciate Sour, you already know what to do.
Oscar Säfström, ollie, Barcelona. Ph. Gerard Riera
So if only props and cred generated sales, the boards would sell themselves. But it remains hectic in the headquarters. All the three staff are working hard in the Barcelona skate bunker. Too core to thrive but with integrity enough to survive. A business model that, presented in the reality of the skateboard industry, actually seems to hold better than many others. Some make a long term plan; others plan to be timeless. And in Malaga Björn still sits trying to fill in these forms. Not because he wants to, but because someone’s got to keep this dream alive.
Fritte & Barney in Badalona. Ph. Gustav Tønnesen
