Snfu

by Chris Walter

  The Modern Minds changed their line-up to become Troc 59. “They were sort of our equals,” says Evan, acknowledging the rivalry that existed between the groups. According to Evan, the Urban Surfers, Troc 59, and the Malibu Kens took turns opening for more established acts such as Rock and Roll Bitches at a new venue known as the Spartan Men’s Club, and the first show at that venue featured the Malibu Kens, the Urban Surfers, and New Values (with Terry Cox, RIP) in April of 1980. When the Surfers eventually broke up, the Malibu Kens went on to become one of the more popular local groups, and Ken Chinn even designed the cover of their Be My Barbie EP. Ken also introduced Mike McDonald to Rank and File when the two worked together at the local Saveco. Mike was so stirred by Rank and File that he went on to form the countrified punk band Jr. Gone Wild. Ken Chinn later named a band after Saveco. Inspiration comes from many sources.

  For now, the Malibu Kens, Troc 59, and the Urban Surfers played whenever and wherever they could. They got lucky when local punks commandeered the Spartan Men’s Club. “The place was indestructible and run by shady people, so Gubby eventually put down a standing damage deposit, and we used the place every Friday and Saturday for a few years,” remembers Mike McDonald, who rented the hall for that all-important first show. The “Gubby” he refers to is Gabor Szvoboda, who lived with future SNFU bassist Jimmy Schmitz. “The guy at Spartan’s would rent to anybody. There wasn’t much to break and, most importantly, there was no one around to bother,” recalls Jimmy. SNFU would play the Spartan Men’s Club countless times before it closed in 1985. Good things dry up overnight, the bad go on and on.

  Although Evan wanted to be in a hardcore band, he continued with the Urban Surfers, who gigged when they could. Scandals, a failed disco, began to host punk bands, and the hardcore scene kept growing. As more and more kids discovered punk rock, attacks also increased. “I was one of the first guys to have a mohawk, and shit used to happen,” remembers Evan, who had tattoos before they were cool. “The local rednecks used to sic their big dogs on us. Even the Natives gave us a hard time.” The drummer took to carrying a heavy wrench, which helped when the odds were stacked against him. Beatings were common but, amazingly, no one was killed. Cowboy hats and shotgun racks were the order of the day.

  The time had not yet arrived for Evan to join a hardcore group. In late 1981, Ken McKay of the Rock and Roll Bitches replaced Jungle Jim Algie, and they changed the name of the band to the Reverb Angels. Instead of taking a hardcore route, however, the new band began covering old Rock and Roll Bitches songs, which wasn’t quite what Evan had in mind. “They were great songs, and I didn’t mind playing them, but I still had Chuck Biscuits on the brain,” Evan remembers. All he knew was that “something better change.”

  Although Evan wasn’t really excited by the musical direction of his latest band, he stuck around mostly for a lack of anything better to do. They played a few shows that went over well enough, but the band didn’t attract the punks Evan hoped to see. Al Miller was a good enough guitar player and everything, but the Reverb Angels were too much like a normal rock band, and Evan was trying to break away from that. Fate was on his side, however, and when Al Miller smacked him around at a party one drunken night, the young drummer made up his mind to jump ship. He soon quit the band and began searching for like-minded musicians. “I wanted to get out and play with friends,” says Evan. “That meant more to me than anything else.”

  Soon, but almost not soon enough, Evan began to jam with Warren Bidlock and Anthony “Guido” Fulmes. Warren could play a bit, but Guido didn’t quite have the hang of it. Still, the teens wanted to play hardcore punk, and Warren, who worked as a roofer and owned a van, was as punk as fuck. Local punks had a habit of gathering in Warren’s van outside every gig for beer drinking and pot smoking sessions. “Warren’s van was sort of iconic,” says Marc. “Mike McDonald even wrote a song about it.” Evan liked hanging out with these guys and hoped they might somehow be able to form a band. All three were aware that it depended on finding the right guitarist and singer, but surely there had to be a few of those around. Why was it so difficult to find the right musicians?

  For both parties, the answer to the problem was simpler than they could have imagined. In fact, Warren’s van was the catalyst that brought them together. “We all sort of knew each other from gigs already,” Brent Belke recalls. No one can remember for sure who suggested that they phone Marc, but Evan thinks that Guido made the fateful call. Although a series of flukes brought the members of Society’s NFU together, the musicians were already associated because the scene was so small. Punks nowadays, of course, have the Internet.

  Guido, Warren, and Evan arrived for the jam at Marc’s house, but they hadn’t expected Brent to be present. Worse, Guido quickly became something of a third wheel because Brent was obviously a better guitarist than he was. Even Guido acknowledged that there was no place for him in the fledgling band, and no one had to hurt his feelings by pointing it out. The newly assembled band jammed without Guido, running through many of the punk songs that Live Sex Shows had covered previously. Marc, Ken, and Brent were pleased by the extra power Evan brought to the table. The kid could really bash the skins, especially for someone several years younger than they were. At age fourteen, Evan was the youngest member of the band that would soon be known as Society’s NFU.

  As 1981 became 1982, the band slowly progressed in the Belke basement. At first, Ted and Bobbie Belke were tolerant to the awful din that ascended from below, but they soon began to despair. Why did the boys have to play so loudly? With real regret, they told the boys that they would have to find a new place to practice. Although the winter of 1981 was the seventh warmest in the last hundred years, the unheated garage was not warm enough for band rehearsal, and the fledgling band started looking for a new spot. In the meanwhile, the youths were allowed to continue in the basement, but with restrictions. This was not an ideal situation for a group intent on practicing at least three times a week.

  Despite the reduced rehearsal time, the band began learning songs such as the Ramones’ “I Just Wanna Have Something to Do” and “Warhead” by the UK Subs, partly because they were so easy to play. It only made sense to keep Black Flag’s “Nervous Breakdown.” While they relied heavily on covers, Ken and Marc were also writing songs, with Marc providing the music and Ken writing the lyrics. The bandmembers were impatient to play live, and there was a growing desire to see how an audience might react. The music they were making sounded good to them, but they still didn’t know if anyone else would like it.

  Over the span of several months, the band searched for a name. Brent wanted to call it “SNAFU,” but then the boys saw a cover for a prog rock band by that name in a book of album art owned by Chris Belke. One night at RoseBowl Pizza, the musicians struggled to put the baby to bed. Several possibilities were bandied about, including The Skull Fucks and The Homicidal Maniacs. Unfortunately, the harder they tried, the further they got from anything they liked. The first two names had a certain appeal, but after being in a band named Live Sex Shows, they wanted something that offered more than just shock value. Finally, in abject despair, someone muttered that maybe they could just retool “SNAFU” slightly. They all fell silent, and then someone suggested that they call the group Society’s No Fucking Use, or Society’s NFU for short. Just like that, a band was born.

  Society’s NFU may have been fresh-faced and full of enthusiasm, but many Canadians were struggling just to get by. The most severe recession of the post World War II period for Canada, as measured by the Gross Domestic Product index, was making life difficult for the average citizen. Real GDP fell 4.9% between the second quarter of 1981 and the fourth quarter of 1982. The brutal economic climate made it difficult for the parents of punk rock teenagers, who had to work harder to support the ungrateful and noisy brats. Interestingly, due to the bleak economic situation, bars and hotels were desperate to attract drinkers, hence the advent of “punk nights” in places such as The Krieg, The Ambassador
Hotel, and even Flashbacks, a punk-friendly gay bar.

  When they weren’t drinking to forget, many residents of E-Town were forced to collect unemployment insurance or welfare. Although jobs were scarce and line-ups at food banks were long, Canadian punks finally had complaints similar to those that English punks had enjoyed for years. At last they had real reasons to be angry, even if they couldn’t howl as loudly as the American punks, who were stuck with President Reagan, who consulted a Ouija board to make important decisions. Good ol’ John Hinkley would have denied punks everywhere a great source of material had he been successful in his assassination attempt the previous March. In Canada, Prime Minister Pierre Trudeau was initially popular with young liberals, but the left-leaning politician was losing favour over the bleak economic forecast. These were interesting times for the burgeoning hardcore scene, even if most members of Society’s NFU were largely sheltered from the instability because they still lived at home.

  The band continued to progress. “Warren was Mr. Hardcore: the shorter and faster the song the better,” remembers Brent. Speedy songs were the flavour of the day, and some bands took that mandate to the nth degree. Warren may have loved to play fast, but Brent felt that it was getting to be a bit much. What was the point if the melody was lost? Was it all merely a speed contest? If so, Brent had no desire to win. Musical differences notwithstanding, the band continued to develop a sound that wasn’t as mind-meltingly fast as some, but was plenty quick nevertheless. After all, no one wanted Society’s NFU to be slow.

  By spring of 1982 it was time to start playing live. Instead of trying to get onto a bill at a licensed venue, the band decided to open for Lethbridge PIL (Phil Larson and friends), and Them Essentials at a pool party. While the headlining bands would soon fade from existence, the support act was just getting started.

  Val’s pool party, held on a pleasant spring evening in June, 1982, went as well as could be expected. No one was really anticipating much from Society’s NFU, but the other bands weren’t exactly huge either. Although the party was a casual affair attended mostly by friends, Warren Bidlock seemed a bit nervous, and Ken Chinn tried to reassure him that the show was no big deal. His words had little effect, and the bass player continued to suffer. Just for kicks, the other guests tossed a friend named Kevin Person into the swimming pool, who was wearing his leather jacket at the time. Kevin climbed out of the water, ripped off his soaking wet jacket, and began slashing at his arms with a broken beer bottle. The party was officially underway.

  After a few more warm up beers, Society’s NFU began to play, and the guests moved closer to watch. Ken Chinn may have been small, but he had a big voice and a strong stage presence, despite the fact that the band had to play on the lawn. Some guests whooped enthusiastically while others stood slack jawed as the sonic wave crashed over them. Kevin Person, a card-carrying member of the early scene, remembers how it unfolded. “Society’s NFU didn’t sound like any other punk band from Edmonton before them. They were truly our first hardcore band. I don’t remember the set list that well, but they ripped through it, playing songs like ‘See Spot Fry,’ a killer cover of the Circle Jerks’ ‘Beverly Hills,’ and about a dozen or so originals. At first, those in attendance didn’t know what was happening, but shit started to hit the fan by about the fifth song. The pool table in front of the band was getting trashed, beer bottles got broken, and shit got knocked off of Val’s parents’ walls.”

  Near the end of the set, a vicious fistfight broke out between Phil Larson and Val’s husband, Stu. Apparently, Phil and Val had been fooling around, but at least the drama took some of the pressure off poor Warren. The distraction caused the partygoers, most of whom were already in an advanced state of drunkenness, to forget about the band. Thus, Society’s NFU’s first public show ended as background music for a jealousy-induced spat over a girl. “I think Val got thrown out of the house soon after that,” laughs Ken Chinn. For Society’s NFU, there would be other parties, other fights.

  One afternoon, Evan visited a local artist named Spyder Yardley Jones and asked him to paint a banner for his band. “Spyder did most of the work, but I did most of the drinking,” Evan recalls hazily. The banner, which showed a mushroom cloud rising from a burning cityscape, was colourful and very punk, but the band replaced it less than a year later with the zombie head banner. That iconic banner went missing in 2005, and no doubt is the centrepiece of a private punk museum somewhere. Whoever has the banner needs to give it back.

  Summer of ’82 arrived, making it possible for the band to rehearse in Evan’s garage. The band was always welcome there, but the space was usable only when the temperature permitted. For now, the garage was perfect. “Evan even had a drum riser in there,” says Brent. At least there was a little space between the house and the steady thunder of noise that issued forth from the garage. “We wrote most of the songs that went on the first album there,” remembers Brent. While the neighbours certainly weren’t crazy about the latest development, they were tolerant to a point, just so long as the boys didn’t practice too long or too late. This was not the best situation for a band that wanted to practice at every opportunity, and they continued to hunt for a new space.

  Rehearsal issues aside, the band accepted an offer to play another party, this one in Calgary, Alberta some three hundred kilometres south. Transportation wasn’t a problem because they had Warren’s van, so the boys loaded up the gear and headed to Cowtown. At the time, Calgary had a larger hardcore scene and a number of half-decent venues, including Ten Foot Henry’s, The Calgarian Hotel, HC’s, and The Longbar. Although Society’s NFU was too young to play any of those places, they were happy just to be in a city that had such an established hardcore scene. As much as they felt that they were probably as good as most of the current bands, a little validation would be great. For all intents and purposes, Society’s NFU was untried and untested.

  The crowded house party was chaotic and disorganized. Trying to pretend they weren’t nervous and tense, Society’s NFU set up their equipment as the drunken guests became even drunker. Maybe the partygoers would boo loudly or throw beer bottles if the show didn’t go well. After a couple of beers but not nearly enough, Society’s NFU cranked up the amplifiers and bashed into the first song. To their relief, the guests seemed to like them. Only four songs in, however, the police stormed the house and shut down the party. Although they didn’t know why the police had crashed the place, the band hurried to leave before further problems could develop. They later learned the cops were responding to a report that a youth was trying to commit suicide on the front lawn. Society’s NFU drove back to Edmonton, discouraged but not demoralized. They would be back, and the cops couldn’t ruin every show.

  Although the summer went by quickly, the boys were invited to participate in the Youth Explosion show in August with the Stretch Marks from Winnipeg, and Riot 303 and Sting Zilda from Calgary. Society’s NFU practiced even more intensely than usual in preparation for the show, but the guys failed to notice that Warren Bildlock was uncomfortable. If the bass player seemed nervous, his fellow bandmates merely assumed that he was as excited as they were. Even Brent remembers being jumpy at soundcheck: “The room was empty and I could feel all the other bands watching us. Later, once the show was happening, there were too many distractions to be nervous.”

  After soundcheck, the boys repaired to a small park near the hall to kill a few beers. Dusk was falling, and Kenny was in a mischievous, destructive mood. He began kicking a little sand at Evan, but stepped it up when the drummer failed to react sufficiently. Finally, Evan got upset and told Ken to lay off. Instead, the singer kicked a huge volume of sand directly in Evan’s face, smiling devilishly the entire time. The scene was like a bizzaro Charles Atlas advertisement where the bully kicks sand in the face of a ninety-nine pound weakling, except in this case the weakling was acting as the bully. Furious, Evan jumped up and punched Ken in the face, who instantly smashed his beer bottle across the side of Evan’s head. Inc
redibly, the bottle caused no serious damage, and the band returned to the hall to do the show.The frontman was simply letting the drummer know who was in charge, and it wasn’t Evan. The incident may have been over, but years passed before Evan fully forgave Ken for the unprovoked attack. On a side note, Marc and Brent had to leave early so they wouldn’t be grounded. “We saw a bit of Riot 303, who we loved,” Marc adds. “Al Charlton was great.”

  Warren had butterflies the size of full-grown robins, but the bass player managed to get through the show and the crowd reacted appreciatively. His bandmates still weren’t aware that he suffered so terribly. If they did notice he was uncomfortable, they assumed that it would pass and tried not to worry about him. Evan occasionally barfed from excitement before (or during) shows. A little stage fright never killed anyone.

  Fall arrived and the chilly weather chased Society’s NFU from Evan’s garage. A friend offered them the use of a basement near the university, but a water pipe burst shortly after they arrived. “We put wooden pallets down and practiced on an inch of water, with electric guitars,” says Brent, giggling insanely. “We wrote ‘Bodies in the Wall’ there.” Looking around for a safer place, they caught a break when Gubby Szvodoba agreed to let them jam at the house he was renting with friends at 9824 -106th Street. Here, the band could rehearse almost whenever they wanted, without worrying about the noise. Sure, the basement was dank and smelly, but this was punk rock and such details were unworthy of consideration. Free at last, the band wailed long into the night, returning home very late, or some-times, not at all.

  Despite the fact that his lyrics were often whimsical in nature, and although Society’s NFU was not overtly political, Ken Chinn generally wrote songs based on his personal observations. The singer didn’t purposely aim to offend, but he never veered away from touchy subjects. “Life of a Bag Lady” condemns modern society for treating its most vulnerable citizens poorly, making Ken an advocate for the homeless long before it became fashionable. “Victims of The Womanizer,” a song that came a bit later, lashed out at sexual predators who used women for one-night stands. The song targeted not only jocks and yuppies, but those belonging to the punk subculture as well.