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— by James Montgomery
It's not exactly breaking news, but Bam Margera has a pretty awesome life.
He lives in an honest-to-goodness castle in West Chester, Pennsylvania, on 14 acres of rolling hills, heavily wooded forests and the occasional smashed-up all-terrain vehicle. Inside "Castle Bam" are three floors of jukeboxes, skateboards, slot machines, suits of armor, video games, hot tubs, motorcycles, a pirate-themed bar, crates and crates of complimentary energy drinks, and cats (Trouble and Mischief — though perhaps unsurprisingly, they frequently stay outside).
His days, it seems, are spent skateboarding, driving expensive cars, screwing around with an ever-revolving cast of friends, and, as the tagline to his show, "Viva la Bam," says, generally doing "whatever the f---" he feels like. Today, this will include demolishing part of his uncle's house, hanging out at a local tavern (big up to the Blarney Stone!) and taking over a farm in nearby Gradyville to stage an impromptu performance by one of his favorite bands, British black-metal act Cradle of Filth.
"Yeah, my life is pretty awesome now, I know it," Margera laughs. "But I'm always motivated, which I think has a lot to do with the music and skateboarding and all the friends around me. We all get motivated to do things, and to get Cradle of Filth to play out here is just a phone call — like, 'Dude can you play or not?' It can be that simple, and we take advantage of it. And I wouldn't have it any other way."
But Brandon Cole Margera, 25, didn't get where he is by pure luck (though he goes to great lengths to make it appear that way). It's actually quite the opposite. He's worked tirelessly for years — skating, directing, producing, designing — to cultivate an image of the ultimate slacker, a dirty layabout in baggy pants. Which was true about eight years ago, when he was just another bored suburban skate-rat from eastern Pennsylvania, making home movies and playing somewhat sick pranks with his pals.
But somewhere along the line, Margera got the idea that there are probably millions of kids around the U.S. just like him, kids who like seeing skateboarding mishaps mixed with the occasional bodily function joke. And so he released "CKY: Landspeed," a DVD full of skating, profanity and shopping-cart smash-ups (featuring tunes from his brother Jess' band, Camp Kill Yourself). It was such a hit that it spawned three successful sequels and landed a spot on MTV's similarly themed "Jackass." And Bam Margera took the first step toward becoming BAM, the icon — rebel, hero to 13-year-olds, cottage industry.
This month, Element Skateboards — the company that sponsors Margera professionally — opened an 1,800-square-foot shop in the heart of Times Square in New York. Its walls are lined with polished metal, TVs pumping out images of skaters tearing up half pipes, and about 50 million "BAM" T-shirts (and decks, beanies, pendants, sweatbands, keychains and belt buckles — and that's not including the footwear, eyewear, deodorant, DVDs and CDs he also endorses). Margera caused a near-riot when he appeared at the store's opening, with a 20-deep crowd spilling out of the shop's doors, and it was a visceral confirmation of something that advertisers have known for a long, long time: Kids just love Bam Margera.
"Kids like everything that's going on [with me] because they know it's for real," Margera says. "I didn't have Cradle of Filth out here because MTV wanted it, I had them play because I wanted it. I don't listen to what other people tell me to do. I do things I want to do because I want to do them. And kids know it."
Still, the question remains: just how much Bam is too much? When will the legions of kids who snap up his products get tired of him or grow out of him, and grow weary of seeing his mug on TV every three seconds? Kids love Bam because he is "real," a hooligan with a wanton disregard for authority and his own well-being. He's kind of like a supersized version of the cool older brother who skates, has a few bust-ups with the cops, is frequently shirtless, hangs out in the basement and plays you all the killer records. But how "real" can a guy be who shills deodorant and hangs with celebrities in Las Vegas?
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Photo: Jason Campbell
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