by Chris Walter
Chris Walter
Beer
Punk Rules OK
Mosquitoes & Whisky
Kaboom
I Was a Punk Before You Were a Punk
Boozecan
East Van
I’m On the Guest List
Langside
Welfare Wednesdays
Rock & Roll Heart
Wrong
Punch the Boss
Sins of the Poor
Up & Down on the Downtown Eastside
Biographies
Personality Crisis: Warm Beer & Wild Times
Argh Fuck Kill: Story of the Dayglo Abortions
SNFU: What No One Else Wanted to Say
Short stories
Shouts from the Gutter
Shrieks from the Alley
GFY Press
Stewart Black / Chris Walter – Destroy Canada
Simon Snotface – Prisoner of Evil
Drew Gates – The Crooked Beat
Coming in 2013
Chris Walter – Chasing the Dragon
Chris Walter © 2012
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Published by GFY Press
Vancouver, British Columbia
All rights reserved. No parts of this publication may be reproduced, saved in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any form or by any means mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording or otherwise without written permission from the publisher.
Every effort has been made to trace the copyright holders of the photographs in this book but several were impossible to identify. We would be grateful if the photographers concerned would contact us.
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Walter, Chris, 1959-
SNFU-- what no one else wanted to say [electronic
resource] : a biography / Chris Walter ; foreword by Scott
Beadle.
Electronic monograph in HTML format.
Also available in a print format.
ISBN 978-1-927053-08-9
1. S.N.F.U (Musical group). 2. Punk rock musicians--
Canada--Biography. I. Title. II. Title: What no one else
wanted to say.
ML421.S672W23 2012 782.421660922 C2012-904221-8
Cover design by Dan Shnier.
Author photo by Jen Dodds.
Visit us at www.punkbooks.com
“Playing live is the best high I’ve ever had.”
—Mr. Chi Pig
Foreword by Scott Beadle
I discovered SNFU almost by accident after taking over my friend Mike’s CiTR radio program at UBC in 1985. With a name like Party With Me Punker, one could be certain that the audience expected to hear punk rock, which by then usually meant “hardcore” punk. To be honest, I’d pretty much lost interest in the genre by that point. The period of my most intense interest was from 1978 to 1981, and to me, this period would always be the “golden age” of punk rock. Even by 1981, the Vancouver scene had undergone many changes. A lot of the original bands were splitting up, and the character of the scene was mutating. The audiences were growing, and inevitably attracting people (outsiders) who formed their opinion of punk from sensationalist or hostile media reports focusing on violent imagery or fashion. Gradually, the physical spaces in front of the stages (when there actually were stages) became less fun, less tolerant, more threatening, and more machismo.
From about 1981 (and here I am still speaking strictly locally) the division between hardcore punk and new wave or post-punk bands was being established. Whereas “punk” once referred to a mixed, variegated “scene” of new music fans, now it was more narrowly defined as a musical genre (with its own style guide), and that genre was becoming known as “hardcore.” Bands, fans and musicians who felt that they did not belong in this emerging definition simply moved on, and carved out their own performative and social spaces in one of a number of post-punk splinter scenes: neo-rockabilly, ska, no-wave, power-pop, synth-pop, etc. By 1982, the scene division was clear and irrevocable, the era neatly bookended by the demise of the Subhumans, who, aside from the indefatigable DOA, were the last vestige of that original Vancouver punk scene.
During this period, I took a break from the punk scene. Dismayed by the macho posturing of newcomers and bored of the cookie-cutter ineptitude of many of their favourite bands, I retreated into a process of backwards-facing musical exploration and learning. I started going to shows fairly young, and, as a consequence, I had yet to learn the roots and antecedents of this music I loved so much. I thought I knew everything I needed to know about punk, but incredibly, I had yet to appreciate the Velvet Underground, the Stooges, the MC5, or the New York Dolls.
By the time I landed on the university radio show in 1985, I was a jaded punk rock snob. I was convinced that punk, as a genre, was deader than a doornail. With precious few exceptions, the field seemed to be ruled by samey-sounding bands who’d all adopted the least interesting hardcore musical formula: a generic “1-2-1-2” thrashing monotony. The last punk band that really excited me was Personality Crisis, but they split in 1984 after burning brightly and intensely during their short existence. [Ed note: Personality Crisis was actually a rock band.]
Working at the university radio station, no doubt annoying the program’s putative punk fan base, I passed the time playing glam-rock, hip-hop, and metal records in between old punk tracks. I quickly ran out of my own records to play, so I started mining the station’s library for material, and surveyed a number of compilation LPs. Back then, compilations were consistently great, often labours of love carefully compiled by music fanatics who sought out worthy unsigned or obscure bands. It was a great way to discover interesting new groups. Remember, there was no Internet back then, and no MP3s. Barbaric, I know.
One day I came across SNFU via two compilation records: Something To Believe In (BYO Records 1984), featuring their track “Victims of The Womanizer,” and It Came From The Pit (Psyche Records 1985), with SNFU’s version of the Warren Zevon tune “Poor Pitiful Me.” I’d never heard of SNFU, and I picked up the BYO compilation only because it contained a track by Personality Crisis.
“Womanizer,” in particular, stunned me. I’d given up on hardcore ever again producing insightful or interesting social commentary; most purveyors were awash in the de rigeur obvious targeting of Reagan, Thatcher, the KKK, and the religious right. These tired themes no longer challenged their audience, and bands were merely preaching to the converted. But singing about sexism to a hardcore punk audience? I was energized, happy; transported back to the halcyon days of my socio-politically-tinged West Coast punk coming-of-age years. I immediately acquired their debut LP with its now-iconic cover featuring the Diane Arbus photograph, and began playing it constantly on the radio show. SNFU’s other songs delivered introspection, social commentary, satire and outright comedy in equal measure—over a bedrock of highly energized and inventive hardcore punk. The program’s original listeners almost forgave me for shunning the genre.
As a matter of fact, I first heard about SNFU years before, and then promptly forgot them until my pal Richard reminded me. When we were in high school together, Richard was a competitive skateboarder and member of a sponsored team called the Ripper Squad. He and his team had traveled to Calgary in 1982, where they’d attended some sort of house party/punk gig full of skaters and punks. Richard returned and told me about one of the bands he saw there, a really great Edmonton group called Society’s NFU. In hindsight, news of this band coming from a member of the skateboarding community was appropriate. The cultural correlation between skateboarding and punk rock was not yet firmly established in the early 1980s but, over the following decade, SNFU was one of the bands that helped make that connection. In fact, SNFU was the foremost Canadian band to illustrate the link between skat
eboarding and punk or hardcore. Before, there were bands that skaters liked, such as DOA and Personality Crisis, for instance—but SNFU were in perfect synchronization with skate culture. I have no idea if any of the members actually skated, but I assumed they did. SNFU were the totem head of the punk-hardcore-skater subculture. This factor, along with their keen musical acumen, helped foster a fierce allegiance among their fans. The SNFU brand spread quickly. I sometimes wonder if fans adopted SNFU symbols and logos before actually hearing the band.
During this same period, the so-called “crossover” movement in hardcore was spreading like wildfire. Some hardcore bands, as they became more proficient musically, began dabbling in the heavy metal music that many of them grew up on as youngsters. The emergence of NWOBHM (New Wave of British Heavy Metal) bands and their North American counterparts was a huge factor, drawing many fans from the punk-hardcore fan base. These kids were receptive to a style of metal that borrowed some of the energy and stance of punk and hardcore, most notably Metallica, Slayer, and Anthrax. It was inevitable that some punk bands began moving towards a symbiotic hybrid of punk and metal such as DRI, The Accused, and Corrosion of Conformity.
SNFU benefited from this burgeoning sub-scene almost as much as they had from the skater crowd. They didn’t have to change their musical style to please this potentially broader fan base. Their appeal was tailor-made: loud chugging metal-esque guitars, a mix of breakneck tempos, and slower “headbanging” tempos (often in the same song—a formula that would become cliché in crossover and metal-core in the following decade); challenging arrangements performed with impressive musical dexterity, and memorable sing-along choruses. Metal fans quickly accepted Chi’s freak appeal and unique, easily identifiable voice; his presence was a welcome relief in the sea of hardcore and crossover bands that could be hard to tell apart. In the following decades, the SNFU brand and logo became one of the most widespread emblems in the underground music cultures, rivalled only by the Dead Kennedys, Crass, DOA, Circle Jerks, Germs, and, of course, the ubiquitous Black Flag bars. The SNFU zombie head is worn proudly by the crusty punk, the skater, and the metalhead alike.
I lost track of how many times I saw SNFU over the years. They never failed to deliver the goods and delight their audience. Their music was always solid, as good as any live band I’ve seen. Lock-down bass and drums rhythm section, a tandem of churning, metallic-tinged guitars, and an unencumbered, unhinged lead vocalist whose outrageous onstage personality (Chi Pig’s gangly, lithe physicality is flamboyantly “freaky”) was matched by a unique, instantly recognizable vocal style. Chi Pig’s lyrics were intriguing: a mix of irreverent humour and a dark frankness that suggested something troubled or tragic just below the surface.
SNFU broke up (the first time) in 1989. Most of their career up to that point was spent on the road in various states of poverty and exhaustion. Touring the underground scene in the 1980s was a brutal grind, utterly lacking in financial remuneration: “street cred” does not buy security or stability. Still, that initial run of LPs …And No One Else Wanted To Play (1985), If You Swear You’ll Catch No Fish (1986), and Better Than a Stick In The Eye (1988) was an impressive feat. I’d be hard-pressed to match a string of three consecutive quality long-players in the whole punk rock (let alone hardcore) genre. Although I don’t hold the three Epitaph albums in quite the same high regard, those releases also contain many fine moments. 2004’s triumphant return, In The Meantime and In Between Time, is an overlooked gem; hopefully it will be recognized by some future generation for the masterpiece it is.
By 2005, the original members had all parted ways, and no one expected to see SNFU again. Not just that, but the downward trajectory of singer Chi Pig was obvious to all. Years of drug addiction and mental health issues had taken a toll, and the troubled singer rarely strayed from Vancouver’s drug-saturated Downtown Eastside. Incredibly, Chi Pig assembled new players in 2007 and “SNFU” began to tour again. The fans were happy to see Chi Pig back onstage, even if some of those shows were a little erratic. We are all waiting curiously to see what the next chapter of this long and compelling saga will bring.
Scott Beadle
August, 2012
Vancouver, BC
Once Upon a Time in Edmonton, Alberta
Unless truck pull derbies and professional wrestling matches could be considered cultural events, Edmonton circa 1977 was not a thriving mecca of art, music, and literature. Law-abiding Edmontonians didn’t much care what was happening in Toronto and Vancouver, so while obnoxious groups such as the Viletones and DOA exploded nationally, punk rock did not immediately gain a foothold in this mid-sized Western Canadian city. Although a small number of youths managed to catch the tangy scent of rebellion, punk records were hard to find, and locals did not want to know about the Ramones or the Dead Boys. When Edmontonians did think about punk rock, which wasn’t very often at all, they worried that the Sex Pistols would fly into town and sully the airport. However, despite how it may have looked, not everyone was in love with mainstream rock groups of the day such as Styx and Kansas. This respectable, God-fearing city would, in fact, eventually give birth to one of Canada’s wildest punk groups ever.
Tucked away at 11467- 48th Avenue in the quiet residential enclave of Malmo, Ted and Bobbie Belke were too busy raising five sons to pay much attention to news reports of foulmouthed British teenagers on heroin. Even rumours that punk rockers had been spotted as close as Vancouver didn’t cause them to lose much sleep. Their lads were much too sensible and intelligent to become mixed up with punk rock, not that such a thing was readily available. The Belkes went about their daily business, blissfully unaware that their two youngest sons would one day become the local forerunners of a faster and even more nihilistic hybrid of punk rock known as hardcore. Not that there was anything that anyone could do to stop it from happening.
Born an hour and a half apart on February 1st, 1965, Brent and Marc Belke were reasonably well-adjusted and happy all-Canadian teenagers. Marc wasn’t doing all that well at school, but the brothers kept busy with skateboarding and rock music, fighting amongst themselves occasionally as siblings often do, but never seriously. They drank a beer now and then, or smoked a little pot once in a rare while, but although the boys rode skateboards, they were not bad eggs. . There was not a great deal of strife in the Belke household, and Marc and Brent seemed to be on track to lead normal, productive lives. Or at least they were until they heard the Sex Pistols. From that moment on, the brothers seemed destined to follow that scary punk rock path to the bitter end.
As a civil engineer, Ted earned enough money to support a big family, but after five boys in rapid succession, he and Bobbie gave up trying to have a daughter. They would have their hands full as it was, even without a girl. Although Brent doesn’t recall any turkeys tossed about during Christmas dinner, his brother Marc feels that a lack of interaction between family members made things difficult at times. “My brother and I were always getting grounded because we wanted to go out and experience life. There was not a high level of communication in our family,” reflects Marc. “You don’t realize how much that affects you until you’re older.” Those who grew up in the ‘70s are well aware that child rearing was not about communication, and that children were expected to do as they were told without a great deal of backtalk. While Brent managed to pull down good grades at school, Marc had difficulty following the rules and ran afoul of the authorities with depressing regularity. School just wasn’t his thing.
The boys were equally unenthusiastic about organized religion, but the Belke family attended the Holy Spirit Lutheran Church on 51st Avenue every Sunday without fail. “Me and Brent got kicked out of Sunday School class because we weren’t focused on our lessons,” says Marc. “We drew sports logos and swastikas when we should have been studying. We had no idea what a swastika meant.” Because of this, the brothers had to take their confirmation a year later. Although he wasn’t down with church, Marc professes a grudging admiration for
Martin Luther, who was the first person to tell the Catholic Church that what they were teaching was wrong. “But it’s still Christianity, and I’m not a Christian,” he adds quickly. Church was just another cross to bear.
In place of religion, the boys had sports. “We played soccer in the summer and hockey in the winter,” says Marc. “I was obsessed with sports.” This love never disappeared, and Marc and Brent later carried nets and sticks in the van when SNFU toured so they could play street hockey in their free time. They also attended professional sports games on the road whenever they could.
Bobbie’s father, Bob Hoy, played piano in the long-running country dance band, Bob Hoy and the Badlanders. When they weren’t running wild in the streets, the Belke boys regularly attended dances with their parents in the rural district of Drumheller. Some of Brent and Marc’s earliest memories involve making the 288-kilometre drive from Edmonton to watch granddad and his cohorts whip the locals into a two-step frenzy. “Those were some good times,” remembers Brent. Music was a family tradition, and both Marc and Brent took piano lessons growing up. “I soon forgot how to read music, though,” Marc admits.
Music was important to the Belkes; Brent played flute and Marc played alto sax in the junior high school concert band. “There were trombones and saxophones around the house,” Brent recalls. “My brother Chris also had a big fancy stereo and tons of records.” Chris was drawn to the first wave of glam bands such as Sweet and Kiss, so Brent and Marc picked up on those groups as well. “Luckily, he never got into prog rock,” laughs Brent. “He bought a couple of Yes records, but that was as far as it went.” SNFU might never have happened had Chris been a fan of Genesis. The oldest brother David Belke went on to become a respected playwright, and his fascination with comic books would later help Marc and Brent develop an iconic piece of SNFU merchandise.
Chris Belke did not introduce his younger brothers to punk rock. Rather, Marc and Brent discovered the new music through an unexpected source when a pastor and his family moved in down the block. After meeting the Larsons at church, Mrs. Belke ordered her boys to befriend the pastor’s adopted son. “We didn’t want to hang out with him at first, but Phil turned out to be a good guy,” says Brent. The older boy quickly became good friends with Chris Belke, due in no small part to their mutual love of music. Before long, Phil was a fixture at the Belkes, and Brent and Marc began to spend time with him on their own accord. “Phil had a great sense of humour, and was fun to hang out with,” remembers Marc. Little did Mrs. Belke know that Phil would be responsible for introducing her children to the Sex Pistols. “He became the bad influence on us,” laughs Brent. Some might say that God works in mysterious ways.