Leave Me Out There | A Ben Bilocq Interview
Pillow popper, Hokkaido, Japan.
Words by Darrah Reid-McLean
Photos by Oli Gagnon
BEN BILOCQ made his snowboard debut with the rest of the Sugar Shack crew in the mid-2000s. The French Canadians introduced us to tasteful spot selection. They exemplified what a press on a snowboard should look like. They pushed the limits of how tight snowboard pants could really be. And they demonstrated how a group of friends could work together and create something meaningful.
I watched Ben's Videograss (2009) part to Roky Erickson's "Night of the Vampire" on repeat. Later in his career, his Déjà Vu (2013) part to The Smashing Pumpkins' "Bodies" made me emotional. That same year, Ben was unexpectedly dropped by all his sponsors, leaving the rest of us to wonder what he might have done with a few more years of professional snowboarding. What he found instead was a new lane for him to remain involved in the thing he loves the most. He wears many hats, but he's best known, and most respected, for his building and shaping skills.
It takes time to understand Ben. He's quiet if you don't know him, but he's extremely opinionated, and once you get him talking it's hard to get him to stop. He's focused and dedicated to his craft, which can make him seem intimidating and unapproachable. Really, he just cares a lot about the things that are important to him. We're very lucky that snowboarding is one of them.
Ben and Jess (Kimura) have become my family, and even though he annoys the FUCK out of me when he tells me I'm "shovelling the wrong way," I know his precise methods always result in something incredible. In the 20 years I've known him, he's become a close friend, a teammate, a coach, a road trip companion, the person I call when I have truck questions, and so much more. We need at least 10,000 more words to scratch the surface of Ben's insights, but this interview is a nice start.
I'm officially recording.
Wait, you weren't recording before? How are the people going to know I'm actually capable of small talk?
I'll let them know. You're extremely particular about everything you do. So much so, that you asked me five times if I was prepared for this interview. Where do you think this comes from?
That's something I've talked about with Jess (Kimura) recently. It's like, the hard part has already been done. Whatever brought me to the peak to build a jump, or brought us to Japan to hike around and find spots, everything that got us to those points... that was hard. Now that we're here, it'd be a shame to not go all in.
I see what you're saying.
Imagine you're putting together the sickest, most intricate vegan cake, and then at the end you don't pay attention to how long it bakes for. It's about respecting the amount of work you put in. It's so easy to take the Whistler backcountry for granted, or going to Japan and taking it for granted, but all of these things we do are out of the ordinary. And you never know if you're going to have access to them again.
I think it's cool that you have that awareness. Let's backtrack. What's your current job title?
There isn't really a title. Or there's multiple sometimes. I'm kind of everyone's assistant—a bit of a guide, a bit of a filmer, a bit of a photographer. Definitely a builder, whether or not I was hired for it. Building tends to be the constant. That's what people take me out for, to find and build features.
How did you figure out you were good at building and how did you realize you could make a career out of this?
It's not so much about whether or not I knew I was good at it. I realized that there's really nothing else I'd rather be doing. And looking back at how long I've been doing this—not just as a job, but how long I've been shovelling and moving snow, making shapes, and learning what works and what looks good... So why not identify as that? Why not identify as the thing I've been doing for 30-something years? I have a lot of experience, and I know not everyone cares as much as I do. But it's really important for the rider, and it makes a huge difference in the outcome of whatever they're working on—a video part or a contest or whatever. Individuals have reached out because of that. Anto (Chamberlain) and Craig (McMorris) hiring me for a month to help them with Real Snow, or Jess hiring me.
You've teamed up with Jess for a long time now. How did it start?
It started with a day or two in the backcountry to help build features, and then the next year she asked if I'd work with her all season. That's what kickstarted it all.
You build the Uninvited Invitation setups, you're the lead builder for RnD, and you've had a huge role in many of Jess's video parts. What else is on your resume?
There's the big events and stuff, but a lot of my proudest moments are the features in my friends' video parts that I was able to be a part of. It's always gratifying when you watch someone's video part and you're like, oh yeah, I fixed that landing. I helped make that happen. One of my first super-proud moments was the Mikey LeBlanc ollie on the Big Bear staircase (closing clip of Bon Voyage, 2010). I was really focused on that landing, making sure it was fluffy or whatever. So I can look at that shot and know I played a role.
Just to be part of something is so meaningful. What that's all humans really want.
Yeah, being a part of something and having purpose. Not just being there but being fully present, and paying attention to how I could improve it. Maybe to a fault—sometimes people are annoyed. You're annoyed often with my techniques, but there's a reason to it all.
Tail Grab. Mount Seymour, B.C. [o] Liam MacDonald
You were a professional snowboarder yourself, and you're more behind the scenes now. Can you talk about that transition? Did you see it coming?
I'll open that up by saying that in the big picture, it's no longer a big deal. Like, my career was a tiny splash in the pan when you think about it. I started getting paid around 2009. By 2013 or '14, I was cut. Very, very short. In the big picture of what I've established since, that part was really not a big deal.
You were involved in some of the heaviest video projects from that time. I'd say your career was significant.
Okay, I guess. But I'm curious if it is like that from everyone's perspective. What's your question? If I saw it coming? I mean, fuck. It was what it was. We had just come out of filming Déjà Vu, which was probably our best offering, and probably one of my best years. We'd been working with good photographers, there were lots of good clips, the best editing. Hayden (Rensch) did a good job. Everyone was really all in, because this was a once-in-a-lifetime project for all of us. There was a group effort and really great teamwork. It was a good year. And then before the video even came out, I got a call from ThirtyTwo saying they weren't renewing my contract. A week or two later, I got an email from Nitro, who I'd been with for nine years, saying they could no longer afford me. I think I was making $2,00 or $2,500 a month, so it really wasn't a big expense for them. Whatever, they probably had their own internal reasons. But, yeah, that was out of nowhere. I had a cover, I had a full part, I had multiple interviews. On paper, I had done my job.
Some would say that was your best season, and there are measurable ways to back up that statement. Then you got dropped.
I often bring this up with riders. Expectations from your sponsors might be very different than the expectations you have of yourself. It's always subjective—whether they think you're cool or not. And I'm realizing now, it's not really about the riding or the tricks.
That's a heavy statement.
Yeah, it's the reality. I'm not the only one who's experienced this. If they decide your region doesn't matter, you could get cut based on geography. If they decide that Instagram engagement is not high enough, you could be cut. If your team manager changes and the new one wants to start fresh, you could be cut. Everyone's on the chopping block. It really doesn't matter what you've done.
So then you went into the next season with no sponsors, no income. How'd that go?
That's the year we filmed Encore, the follow-up, which was a two-year project. I went into it fired up. I was like, I'll show them, you know? I'll show them they made a mistake. I was jumping off roofs and taking all these risks. A few weeks in, I was in Quebec with the boys, and I was like, this is ridiculous. We were at dinner and they were all getting steaks, buying beers, all on the travel budget, whatever. And I'm thinking, every dollar comes out of my retirement savings account right now. I was using my RRSPs to fund the season because I had no income. Eventually I was like, I'm risking my life—for who? For what? It really opened my eyes to where professional drive comes from. You end up doing it to impress someone, whether it's viewers, your friends, the filmers, the photographers, or your team managers. You forget about what you're actually chasing. You're just trying to prove yourself. You're not going in an artistic direction. It really slowed me down. I decided I should just do what I really want to do. I don't need to try to land switch in powder. I don't need to jump off roofs to try and keep up with my friends who make $100,000 a year. And it transitioned into just being with my friends and helping them get the tricks. Louif (Paradis) was doing Real Snow that year so I tagged along with him for a few weeks and would basically be there to make his shit happen.
Did losing the support and the funding change your relationship to snowboarding?
I had to find a balance—wanting to be there because I love this stuff, but not needing to chuck myself. That's the transition phase. It revealed to me, and Mt. Seymour was a big part of this, that I could get just as much validation from riding Seymour as I did chasing clips. When you're in your bubble with pros, nothing's ever good enough. You become jaded. But then you go to a small mountain and experience the community aspect of what snowboarding is, and it's so special. Hitting a side hit with three to five people, sharing the simple things of snowboarding—it reopened my eyes to what I wanted to do, which was indie grabs and methods. Bringing it back to simple. If people want to film it, so be it. That's kind of been my approach up to now. I'm still chasing the sickest backside air. It's like going fishing for some people, you know? You always hope to catch a big fish, but in reality it's the whole process that you appreciate.
Knowing what you know now, would you do anything differently?
I don't know if I could have figured this out then but: if your relationship is off with the team manager, if it's hard to communicate with the people in those deciding seats, that's likely going to bite you in the ass. That's what it was for me. I was never tight with those guys. I should have tried to get closer to the people I naturally clicked with. I was 25. You don't know anything then. You're just happy that someone recognizes you and offers you something. I thought loyalty and hard work and skill was going to pay off, and that just wasn't the case. It really is also about creating those relationships. You think, just do the work and people will see.
You came up when a video part was the be-all and end-all, not Instagram stats. What do you make of the landscape now?
Well, I did think video parts were the be-all and end-all... and then when I got cut, the first thing a friend of mine told me was that I didn't have social media, so of course I was the first one on the chopping block. So, I think I was in the first era of feeling that transition. To be completely honest, I consume most of my snowboard content on Instagram now. It's more candid, more digestible. You can't say that one thing is now bad and outdated. They're just different vehicles, and it's up to you to accept and recognize which one suits you. If a video part is what makes you happy, do that. I believe a video part is still a sick art. I don't believe it's the art that pays these days.
I'm not saying that Instagram and social media are good or bad. But I hope we still put just as much or more emphasis on the video parts. I think it's important to do both, and not lose the art of the video part.
That's you. I'm saying it potentially doesn't matter to the consumers and fans of snowboarding these days.
Doesn't that bother you?
No, because I think it was bullshit all along. We were taught by the riders we idolized, who were taught by the riders they idolized, that this is the way. So your perception of what "is" is based on people who idolized a world they didn't know. And we took that to be the rules. I learned from the older guys at Sugar Shack that a backcountry shot isn't worth it if you didn't get there by sled. They had all these rules, and who was I to question them then? And it turns out no one has to obey these rules. You go to the U.S. and they're like "Oh yeah, let's just throw a jump right here. Who cares?" You can have certain standards, but this industry was always flawed. It's always going to be fucked up, because like anything else in the world, it's not just based on merit. You think it's just about the skills on your snowboard, but there are all these other things you better pay attention to. There is a game. We don't like it, but there is a game.
Upside down in the trees. Hokkaido, Japan.
What do you think snowboarding needs more of right now?
More smaller hills, and community-based things. We need to stop looking up to the Olympics and all the leagues and all the bullshit. Let's go on the hill and create more community events. I think ski hills should organize their own events, and just keep the scene alive at the smallest scale possible. Not in order to bring in new people—they're welcome—but to make people want to be involved in this forever.
We briefly touched on the Uninvited Invitational. How rewarding is it to see the progress, and how much girls' snowboarding has changed over the years, partly as a result of your contributions?
Our contributions. But yeah, it's insane. We've been at the Uninvited thing for almost 10 years. There are girls now who have never known the snowboard world without it. So they'll never point at it and say, this is why I'm here. But it played a role by offering an alternative route to success that wasn't just snowboard clubs and contests. And hopefully there's no need for it someday. Maybe the Uninvited will become meaningless, because girls will rule snowboarding, or at least it'll be equal. At the first event we were seeing so many frontboards. Now that's barely a warm-up trick—girls are switch frontboarding kink rails.
What is next for the Uninvited, and for yourself?
Just more of the same, but trying to keep it newish every year without being too different. Building courses for progression, and for as many people as possible to be able to show their skills. Oh, and aside from that—I'm still trying to build a good hip at Seymour. Still trying to get the backside air bigger every year. [Points to a poster of Ingemar Backman] My very first snowboard film, that was the opening clip. So my goal in life is to create, or get as close as possible, to something like that. I'll probably never be satisfied with it, but it's a very fun dream to chase. That's why I don't care about doing spins anymore. I just want to go that high.
We need to get you to Riksgränsen—home of the Ingemar backside air that could be described as the most iconic clip/photo in the history of snowboarding. Also the holy grail of transition hits, basically a Ben B paradise.
I think Seymour's fine. Seymour's my favourite place on Earth. Of course I'd like to go to Riksgränsen—would definitely have longer sessions. If the sun never goes down, people are just gonna leave me out there.
We'd have to drag you off the mountain. Do you have any last words right now?
I think the most important stuff really is how we, the snowboard community, are more important than this industry. It's kind of my main message to the world.
Okay. I like that. I'm going to transcribe and edit everything, then I might have some more questions, or we can go over things together and see what holes we need to fill. You know what I mean?
Uh, let's not talk about filling holes, okay? Let's keep it professional.
Method. Hokkaido, Japan.
Leave Me Out There | A Ben Bilocq Interview was originally printed in King Snow Issue 18.1. We offer free subscriptions for all Canadian addresses and have a digital archive accessible for global consumption for those who can't get our printed offerings.
If reading isn't your style, all good! We highly recommend reviewing Bens video parts from across the years, especially his Videograss and Déjà Vu parts as mentioned by Darrah in the introduction to his interview. If you're gunna talk some real shit like Ben, you've gotta be able to back it up. We've included those two, and a couple more of our favourite Ben parts, below.
