Over the last few days, largely due to my unnecessary and cheap “swipe”, my post about “golf’s post-punks” created a bit of a stir over at Golf Club Atlas. In fact, I’m happy that it did, and a number of very thoughtful and detailed responses were put forth by Mr. Chadwick, Mr. Doak, Mr. Simms, and Mr. Mahaffey, among others, which, in turn, has caused me reconsider certain aspects of my initial article. There were, of course, a handful of swipes directed back at me too, which is fine and dandy and amusing, really: an eye for an eye.
The best essays or argumentative articles, after all, reside somewhere between universally agreed-upon dictums (i.e. “we should end world hunger”….well no kidding we should do that) and outlandish hot takes; and I do believe that mine successfully resides somewhere in this middle ground. However, in that piece, my statement that “by wanting to escape the potentially smothering shadow of Doak and co’s golden generation, their (golf’s post-punks, as I termed them) directions are slightly wayward: too big, too bold, too manufactured” triggered an entirely separate thread, one to which I’d like to add my own two-cents here, since I cannot do so on GCA. Moreover, I am busy for the next while and I wanted to get this out, so it has been, admittedly, rushed to press.
Once again, I do not claim to stake my res-judicata on the topic here. As Mr. Doak wrote, beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and I tend to favor understated, subtle golf courses like Mount Bruno, San Francisco GC, or Chantilly that only reveal themselves truly upon multiple plays. I hesitate to use the term, but like Mr. Doak, I do feel that “gimmicky”, loud, in your face creations tend to overwhelm the senses and wear on you quickly. In effect, once the novelty wears off, after the initial smoke from the magic trick clears, you often realize that there wasn’t a whole lot of actual substance on show. As such, that is why we tend to see these kinds of courses debut highly in national course rankings, only to plummet to their rightful places on subsequent lists.
My main quip, however, regarding many of these newer constructions is expressed by Mr. Mahaffey, in an eloquent way that I hadn’t quite managed to fully flesh myself. Namely, he claims that “we are in an era of golf course design where the golf matters but the look of the golf course matters more. And since many up and comers come from design trees that preached art first and foremost, it’s only natural that bigger, louder art seems the direction to take to build a practice. And add in that most designers now are also shapers who have become expert constructors.”
This, once again, harkens back to the point that I made about the still up-and-coming generation of architects feeling the need to emerge from the shadow of the venerable triumvirate of Doak, Coore and Crenshaw, and Hanse, a shadow that, of course, looms largely and darkly over this next generation, since the trio are all still active and, with valid reason as Mr. Doak expressed on this site, obtain many of the most sought-after commissions because they still produce the best works. As Mr. Mahaffey alludes to, then, in order to try to make a name for themselves, too much emphasis is thus placed upon drawing attention to their constructions, to their works, rather than how the shaping, the strategies, and the aesthetics actually engender the playing of the sport.
Another potential factor that has caused what Mr. Mahaffey cites, one which would need its own separate article however, is the sudden spotlight (due to the rise of popular social media platforms like The Fried Egg and such, as well as exposure of their work at majors and on the PGA Tour) that has been thrust upon architects who, hitherto, wouldn’t have commanded it, since they are not former touring professionals (as Nicklaus, Palmer, and Weiskopf were) or didn’t explicitly seek it (as RTJ, Thompson, etc, did) as part of their corporate ethos. Although it is for the better, and I’m glad that they are receiving the due that they merit, I’m sure that even Mr. Doak is probably tired of responding to requests for interviews and podcasts. Perhaps terming it “the rise of the cult of the architect” is too harsh, but I do think that the sudden fame available to architects has bred a bit of envy, as it naturally does in any field. Fame breeds a desire for fame, that’s human nature.
To use an example this time that isn’t too pretentious for the GCA crowd I hope, the focus now appears to be slightly too skewed towards building houses that are aesthetically divergent, innovative, and quirky, rather than liveable, comfortable, and practical. Put differently than Mr. Mahaffey, as such, the attention becomes primarily drawn inwardly on the construction itself (and, in turn, on the architects) rather than on the inhabitants (the golfers). Of course, Doak (at the Loop, for example), Coore and Crenshaw (at Dormie), and Hanse (at Streamsong Black) are also guilty of doing this from time-to-time, but their very best golf courses, those that will remain timeless and stand forever among the greatest ever built (Pacific Dunes and Barnbougle, Sand Hills and Friar’s Head, and Ohoopee, just to cite a few), are those that not only seek to emphasize the surrounding natural splendor first and foremost, but also provide great playing experiences.
Among other reasons, they do so because their shaping was done in a manner where, for example, the clever golfer can consistently use the offered kicker slopes because they are built broadly enough to be hit, where a well placed tee-shot will leave the golfer an angle from which he can then have a decent chance to find the correct segment of the green according to the pin location because said segment is shaped receptively enough to allow that to happen, and where you do not simply stand on a tee, reach back as far as you can, and smash it without worry. Ian Andrew is another architect here in Canada who really gets it right with the size and severity of his shapings; and Laval-Sur-Le-Lac’s Blue course is a favorite of mine in this regard.
These golf courses are all boldly shaped and undoubtedly severe in places, but they are also extremely playable and fair and therefore reward good shots that have been astutely calculated. They find that blessed balance between the enchanting randomness that makes the game what it is and the fairness that competing golfers look for, in a way that these newest creations have not quite done so yet. Again, as my use of the adverb “slightly” in the original statement was meant to imply, in most cases, that they’re not far off from finding that balance; however, we’re dealing in fine margins at this level and ultimately these small margins differentiate the 125th golf course in America to 70th best to the 15th best. And even the 15th, heck even the very best, has elements that are imperfect.
In my experience, the same can be said of Raynor’s and Macdonald’s courses, which are “big, bold, and manufactured” too and unabashedly so. The best of their works, however, also strike this balance, wherein the architecture was manufactured in a manner that the playing experience is rendered slightly more welcoming to the golfer. They also fit into their settings: big settings require big architecture; whereas smaller settings require smaller architecture and so forth.
To compare the reverse-redan 7th at Sleepy Hollow to the quasi-reverse redan 7th on the Karoo at Citrus Farms perhaps illuminates the difference I am seeking to explain. I don’t mean to pick on Mr. Franz, in particular, who is a highly promising architect and built a really riveting golf course in Brooksville; however, the Karoo is simply the last course that I played and so it is still fresh in my mind.
The 7th at Sleepy Hollow features one of the most severe kicker slopes to the left of the green, coupled with a sharply back-left to front-right pitched green, one which features little internal countering otherwise though. Standing on the tee, the sensible shot is to play it way left and let the ball feed down the slope to the green. Playing on a sparse day traffic wise allowed me to hit a handful of shots after my first, which I thought I had judged deftly but was instead directed into the front bunker, in order to grasp exactly how far and on which line you have to start your ball. After my first failure, though, the ones that I started on the correct line all wound up on or near the surface. As such, on this hole, an element of luck is still present, yet a good shot is likely to be justly rewarded. And to me, that’s great architecture.
Meanwhile, the 7th on the Karoo at Citrus Farms features elements of a reverse-redan (a raised left side and an angled green) mixed in with a lower, Biarritz-like swale, an aggressive false front, and a cavernous bunker lurking closely at the back. The shaping of the raised pad of fairway to the left of the very thin surface is severely rumpled, meaning that the balls can be deflected in every direction off of it, totally at random since no one is accurate enough to hit such a small target; moreover, the false front forces you to fly it onto the surface, which is amongst the most internally contoured on the golf course. Merely one of the four golfers in our group hit it anywhere near the hole, and it was the worst of the four strikes off of the clubface (it landed way short, scurried over the mound, took the side of the Biarritz swale, and nestled close…and no, he didn’t intend it to be played that way). I, on the other hand, hit an ideal tee shot to the middle, which landed off a downslope and careened into the back bunker. The other two also hit seemingly good shots that, however, ended up terribly. Again, I get that such randomness is a part of golf, but I tend to think that the balance is slightly skewed, that the shaping is a tad too bold here for my taste, although it’s still a really fun par 3. In effect, they need fifteen percent less “stuff”, fifteen percent less “insert architect’s name here”.
I understand that praising essentially anything RTJ-related has become profane, but I do think that his notions of “fairness” in architecture and of good shots being rewarded are valid stances, because they are true of the best golf courses, ultimately. Pacific Dunes is eminently fair, in my eyes: if you hit a good shot, you’ll be rewarded; but if you hit a bad one, or if you leave yourself in a bad spot, you’ll be punished. Golf courses should be vehicles to the competition played upon them, and competition should favor good performance. At times, Sweetens, Karoo, Streamsong Black, and The Loop just feels slightly (SLIGHTLY, not massively) too funky, as you’re simply at the mercy of chance, not skill.