by Chris Walter
Only Cathy Cleghorn knows why the roller rink was chosen for the Edmonton venue. The stage, if there was one at all, was so low that only those at the very front were able to see the bands, and the ventilation was not designed to handle such a large crowd. Jostling for position and gasping for air, the fans waited impatiently for the show to begin. The first act did their best to impress, but the crowd was clearly there to see the DKs and mostly ignored them. At last, SNFU blasted into their set and managed to get the kids moving, even though the venue had the acoustic values of a… roller rink. The show went well enough, especially considering that Chi Pig had the flu or a bad cold. “I was as sick as a fucking dog,” the singer recalls. Despite this, there was no question that SNFU won a few new converts by the time their show reached a soggy and explosive conclusion. Chi collapsed backstage, relieved to have survived the set.
The Dead Kennedys were up next, and the fans pushed forward. Brent also watched the American punks, but from the safety of the wings. Though he had already made up his mind not to be impressed, he was in for a surprise. “Those guys were unfuckingbelievable. Jello Biafra was amazing, the way he controlled the crowd. Jello worked the room like a master, and Chi wanted some of that for him-self. The band was so tight, and, yeah…” Brent also feels that this show, and the two to follow, strongly influenced Chi Pig, who was also watching carefully. In fact, Chi schemed to mix a little Jello with ‘50s shock rocker Screamin’ Jay Hawkins to create his own magic. That he was successful is no secret.
Rolling out the next day in Otto’s van, SNFU were excited to be on the road. The temperature hovered just above freezing, and although the van didn’t seem to be running all that well, the young musicians were looking forward to the next show. This was just like the big time.
The Dead Kennedys drove ahead of SNFU in a refurbished school bus. Not only were the roads icy, but light snow also dusted the road like sawdust on a shuffleboard. Having lived in California all their lives, the American punks had rarely driven in snow before and were delighted, if not a little frightened, by the adventure. The old bus fishtailed back and forth across the highway as the driver fought to keep it on the road. After a hair-raising journey across the frozen prairies, the band arrived safely at the Broadway Theatre in Saskatoon. Although SNFU didn’t play Saskatoon again for many years, the show that night was well-attended and the fans supportive. Future SNFU member Dave Bacon opened the show with his group Government of God. “There were a lot of people there, but we didn’t go back for ages,” recalls Brent. “There were no venues, no scene to speak of, but obviously kids in Saskatchewan were interested in punk rock.”
Next up was Regina, the smallest event of the tour. If Edmonton was stuck in the past, then Regina was completely lost in a time warp. Even then, the show was fun and the bands didn’t lose money. “I remember hanging out with the DKs at a party in someone’s apartment after the show,” says Brent. “Jello told us that Alternative Tentacles would be interested in our album if BYO didn’t come through, which was good to know.” The DK frontman also called into ques-tion some of Chi’s lyrics. Apparently, Jello felt that “She’s Not on the Menu” had conflicting messages on the subject of sexual exploitation. To him, the song had a completely different message from “Victims of The Womanizer,” and he was shocked when Brent told him that Chi Pig wrote both of them. The original bridge for “Menu” contained a line that might have been misconstrued, even though Chi obviously didn’t intend to sound sexist. He changed the lyrics slightly to make his intention clearer. No one remembers the old lyrics.
Unfortunately, the show in Winnipeg was not to be, and SNFU were unable to participate because Jimmy had to get back to his construction job. The boys drove back to Edmonton in a funk, resentful towards their bass player for being gainfully employed. Although they only missed the last date on the tour, the show in Winnipeg would have been the biggest of the four they were slated to play. Still, the tour had been a huge boon to SNFU and the opportunity to support the Dead Kennedys could only be seen as a positive thing. They couldn’t wait to blow icy Edmonton to record their debut album. Perhaps Jimmy would get fired from his construction job before then.
SNFU travelled to Vancouver with Down Syndrome for a show on November 10th with Death Sentence and the Spores at the New York Theatre. The trip was gruelling, and the heater in Down Syndrome’s van was broken. “That was even before the Coquihalla Highway was built, and there was only this little road,” Marc remembers. “We had heat and we froze, so I can’t even imagine how cold Down Syndrome must have been.” The show itself was almost anticlimactic.
Even the Vancouver show failed to distract the guys, and they thought only of the trip ahead. Finally, in mid-December, after what seemed like an eternity, the anxious musicians loaded Otto’s van and left town, taking Gubby Szvoboda along as road manager. To say that the trip ahead would not go smoothly is a vast understatement. Almost everything that could go wrong did, and the fact that the musicians got there at all is a miracle unto itself. They had plenty of luck, but it was all bad.
For starters, the boys were concerned that Jimmy Schmitz might not get across the border. The bassist had a simple possession of marijuana charge that was several years old, but the Americans were not at all forgiving about that sort of thing. Still, Jimmy assured his fellow bandmates that he had a plan should the Americans deny him entry. The band travelled on towards the border crossing between Alberta and Montana, worrying about all the things that could go wrong. Instinctively, they knew there would be trouble.
Sure enough, the customs officers tore the van apart and gave our boys the third degree. Things weren’t looking good. After detaining them for hours, the officers finally told them that Jimmy Schmitz was not welcome in the USA. Not only that, but there was also a civil warrant on Marc Belke for failing to pay a parking ticket. Muc could avoid jail by paying his fine in Milk River, which was the closest town to the border. They put the guilty guitarist in the back of a police interceptor and sped away as if chasing an escaped murderer. Following behind in the van, the boys asked Jimmy about his backup strategy and were dismayed to learn that he didn’t actually have one. The trip was in serious jeopardy.
Back in Milk River, Marc paid his fine and the group was free to leave. When the boys failed to come up with a new plan to cross the border, they decided to regroup in Calgary. Maybe someone there could give them advice on how to proceed. The four-hour trip was an unhappy one, and the miserable group of punk musicians kept to themselves. “Evan was on a Black Sabbath kick at the time, and I’d never really listened to them before,” remembers Brent Belke.
The band arrived in Calgary and headed straight to the House of Love, where one of the tenants promptly gave Jimmy and Otto a handful of bennies. The girls also suggested they call DOA in Vancouver, who might have some suggestions. With nothing to lose, someone phoned Bob Montgomery’s Boys Club, and Bob promised to help. This inspired Otto and Jimmy to eat all the bennies to prepare for the long journey ahead. Even if SNFU did get across the border, they would have to drive all night if they wanted to reach Los Angeles by Monday morning. Bidding adieu to their lovely and gracious hostesses, the boys jumped in the van and left town. The long highway beckoned.
Night was falling by the time the boys reached the city limits. By now, they had already been on the road since late morning, and they were further from their destination than ever. Otto tried hard not to exceed the speed limit by too much, and no one had the strength to stop Evan from playing Black Sabbath again. The bennies gave Otto the energy he needed to keep going, but Jimmy “Roid” Schmitz was ready to take over should he begin to tire.
The boys drove 1,046 kilometres to Vancouver, reaching town around noon. The exhausted musicians went straight to “Too Loud” MacLeod’s recording studio, where they met up with Bob Montgomery, who offered to drive Jimmy Schmitz across the border. Perhaps it would be easier for Jimmy to cross if he was with an American citizen. After eating lunch with the guys in
DOA, they got back in the van to attempt another crossing. Much depended on their success.
Bob and Jimmy drove to the border while the rest of the band waited in Vancouver. The boys were relieved when Jimmy called from a restaurant in Blaine, Washington and told them he was in. SNFU proceeded to the border, but officials made them take all the gear out of the van and write down the serial numbers so they could prove they didn’t buy it in the United States when they returned. Reluctantly, the boys did as they were told, but one of them made the mistake of mentioning that they were planning to record an album in LA. Without the proper contracts, the musicians were not allowed to work in the USA, which automatically disqualified them from entering. The rejects were turned away, wondering if they would ever get across. They were doomed if Customs alerted the other crossings about them.
Instead of giving up, the boys decided to try the truck crossing, which was only a kilometre away. Jimmy was waiting, and they couldn’t just leave him in Blaine. Bob was already on his way back to Vancouver and wouldn’t be able to help them further. By now, the guys were running ragged after being on the road for more than thirty-six hours with little or no sleep. Sadly, the ordeal was not over yet, and the customs officials at the truck crossing warned the band that a group of truckers wanted to hurt them. The truckers saw punks as a menace to society, and were very angry. “They wanted to whip us with tire chains,” laughs Otto, still amazed that mere clothes and hair could affect people so strongly. To avoid a conflict with the enraged truckers, Customs allowed SNFU to pass and the incident ended without bloodshed. SNFU was finally in the USA.
The big adventure was just beginning. Still pepped up, Jimmy and Otto drove all the way to Portland before the bennies finally started to wear off. “We called those guys the McKenzie Brothers (of SCTV fame) because of the way they constantly horsed around,” laughs Brent. “Me and Jimmy had fistfights while we were driving,” confirms Otto. At one point, the cops tried to pull the van and six other cars over for speeding. Given wiggle room, Otto pretended he didn’t see the cop and kept going. When the officer finally did get them stopped, he was pissed. “He came walking up to my window with his gun out, and his hand was shaking so bad I thought I was going to lose an ear,” laughs Otto. He eventually received fines that totalled more than $200, with the exchange rate being what it was. That amount is still outstanding.
The “McKenzie Brothers” eventually took a nap, and someone else drove the rest of the way to LA, straight to Shawn Stern’s house in Hollywood. By this time, it was Monday night and the young musicians were utterly exhausted. Since Shawn didn’t have enough room for them all, half of the band slept at Mark’s apartment, which was nearby, at least in LA terms, where anything less than an hour by car is “close.” Thus billeted, the fatigued musicians fell into deep comas and slept like dead men for ten or twelve hours. “I remember having weird Black Sabbath dreams of lizards and slugs,” says Bunt Belke.
Although the trip had been long and gruelling, the band still had to cut the album. On Tuesday, SNFU drove to Track Record and rolled up their sleeves. Essentially, Shawn Stern would be the producer. Although an engineer was also present, Shawn was very hands-on and was always suggesting different techniques. “He took a lot of time with Chi to make sure the vocals sounded good,” remembers Brent. The guys had some experience in the studio but not all that much. Mostly they just followed instructions and watched carefully. The material on … And No One Else Wanted To Play was almost brand new, and Chi Pig regrets that no recordings exist of the earlier songs, if only for posterity. While the new songs were still fast, short bursts of violent punk rock, they were a step forward for a band that was learning rapidly. The first track, “Broken Toy,” with its fast/slow bridge, is a blueprint for the songs to follow, and sets a pace that never flags. Fast but not too fast, the album never loses its sense of melody, and a controlled but furious balance is retained throughout.
The infectious “Cannibal Café” is a perfect example of that structured power, and highlights the band’s ability to pen simple but instantly memorable music. Mike McDonald remembers when Ken was writing songs for the album. “I read the lyrics to ‘Cannibal Café’ before it was a whole song. That tune is based on the submarine sandwich place where Ken and I ate lunch.” Perhaps Ken had some doubts as to the origin of the luncheon meat.
Come with me, I’m on my way
to the cannibal cafe.
Won’t you come to the only place
where you can be the Special of the Day?
The album title itself, which came from a line in the first song, “Broken Toy,” was typical for Chi Pig in that it could be taken several ways. Although most people didn’t bother to read any deep meaning into …And No One Else Wanted To Play, they assumed it referred to the fact that the child on the cover was holding a live hand grenade. Who would want to play with a kid like that? Digging deeper, the title could also apply to the rejection early punks experienced from society at large. Sure, by dressing the way they did, the punks chose to become pariahs, but the extent of that persecution ran even deeper than they could have guessed. The general public feared and hated punks because they looked different, and those same punks slowly realized that there was no place for them in a civilization that valued money and power above all else. They felt alienated and isolated, rejected by a greedy, war-like, corporate world. In a sense, the punks were the child with the grenade, and that grenade was punk rock. Luckily, that metaphor was also an object of great power. If used properly, it could shake up the world and promote real change. If no one wanted to play, then perhaps playtime was over.
For the first week, SNFU shared the studio with Slayer, who were recording Hell Awaits at the time. Although the boys were stoked to be working in the same studio as the American thrash metal band, they would have been even happier to share the studio with, say, Black Flag or the Circle Jerks.
The contract between BYO and SNFU was simple: SNFU would pay for the production costs, but after that, all profits would be split 50/50, which was a good deal by industry standards. True, BYO had almost no promotional budget, but that money would have come directly out of SNFU’s pocket anyway. “We’d get statements from BYO, and the only items would be for recording and production expenses. Later, on Epitaph, there would be pages of magazine advertisements and other promotional incidentals,” recounts Brent Belke. “That stuff all went onto our bill, of course.”
After work, the boys generally kicked back with a few drinks purchased from Rock n’ Roll Ralph’s on Sunset Boulevard near Shawn’s place. Ralph’s was the supermarket for Hollywood miscreants—a place where haggard bleach blonde starlets, stoned surfer dudes, prostitutes, and all manner of drunken freaks could be found shopping for condoms or zucchinis at 3:00 AM. Brent remembers Evan made friends with one of the locals. “I was coming back from Ralph’s and he was sitting on the curb sharing a bottle of Jack with a homeless Vietnam vet,” laughs the guitarist. Evan, who wasn’t fussy about his choice of drinking companions, learned much about the neighbourhood and had a few laughs as well. All work and no play made Evan “Tadpole” Jones a dull boy.
Despite his ability to make friends, Evan was suffering. The sudden change was not easy on the young percussionist, and he struggled to come to terms with his new life as a recording artist and professional musician. Was he really cut out for life on the road? He didn’t like the constant upheaval of band life and missed being at home. There were too many variables, too many things that could go wrong and often did. Evan wondered and worried, drinking as much as possible and taking any drug passed his way. Luckily, no one offered him any heroin.
Work continued, and SNFU made considerable progress by the end of the week. To get out of the city and have some fun, Youth Brigade booked two shows: one in Tucson, and one in Phoenix, Arizona. The two bands packed up their vans and made tracks for the desert on Friday, December 14th, 1984. Climbing into the vehicle to leave, Chi Pig let out a horrible fart. “Otto was sitting in t
he driver’s seat and he puked right out the window,” laughs the singer. “That was one of my clearest memories of the trip.” Making the long, six-hour drive across the desert to reach Phoenix before nightfall, Otto and Jimmy did their Bob and Doug McKenzie routine as Black Sabbath played loudly and Evan fretted. The drummer was becoming increasingly uncomfortable, and the farther they strayed from Edmonton, the worse he felt. Physically, Evan knew he could handle whatever came along, but mentally he wasn’t so sure.
A member of the Pop-O-Pies smoked a joint with Evan before the Phoenix show, which helped ease some of his anxiety. “Mike was cool,” Evan remembers. “He had a big cast on his hand, so I asked if he was the singer, but it turned out he was the drummer!” The unlucky fellow had wiped out on his skateboard the day before and landed on a broken beer bottle. In order to play the drums, he taped his stick to the cast with duct tape. Mike Bordin’s work ethic later paid off when he joined Faith No More and worked briefly as Ozzy Osbourne’s drummer. A quitter would have called it a day and gone home.
The show supporting the Pop-O-Pies at Vivian’s in Phoenix was massive and ultraviolent, with hundreds of punks dancing in a huge circle as the band played. While Brent was awestruck by the scale of the show, Otto was horrified by the casual brutality. “People were bleeding all over the place and getting into fights every ten seconds. It was bad,” the roadie/driver recalls. The crowd reaction was immense, but perhaps those fans were just a little too enthusiastic. “There were lots of people there and they were totally crazy,” Jimmy “Roid” Schmitz confirms. Clearly, these Quincy punks had taken sensationalist media interpretations of hardcore at face value. Just as the first wave of punk rockers blamed hardcore for the death of their beloved scene, the original hardcore punks accused an influx of brain dead jocks for the demise of theirs.