Snfu

by Chris Walter

  Luckily, the Sterns did not hear from the estate of Diane Arbus and, despite the cover confusion, the refurbished album continued to sell briskly. SNFU would not begin receiving royalties until somewhat later, when most of the members suddenly began to receive cheques. Evan was the exception, having accepted a flat sum of $1,000 several years earlier. The band had approached Jones at a time when he wasn’t thinking lucidly, which probably wasn’t the most ethical thing they could have done. How was Evan to know that the album would finally pay off? The cash came in handy at the time, but he realized later that he should have waited. To this day, the drummer feels resentful and hurt.

  Doubling back across the border for a show in the USA, the band encountered a particularly overzealous squad of customs officials who went over the vehicle with a high-powered microscope. It was here that the mescal was uncovered, along with a bewildering assortment of children’s toys, and a nasty machete that had also crossed the border several times. Luckily, Chi Pig saved the day by telling an African-American border agent that “SNFU” stood for “Systematic New Funk Unit.” The situation was tense for a while, but after a lengthy delay, the band was finally allowed to pass. “She liked that,” laughs Dave Bacon.

  SNFU eventually reached the show in Michigan, where the musicians hosted a mock rendition of Stampede Wrestling. “Detroit is a wrestling town, and they loved it when we dropkicked each other and deployed the elbow smash,” drawls Bacon. “It was hilarious, and even the crowd was getting involved.” Twenty years later, Dave met an American at a bar in E-Town who remembered the gig well. Since the fan was presently doing lights for the Red Hot Chili Peppers, he gave Dave four free passes to the show. Membership has its privileges.

  Finally, after a mind-numbing and exhausting string of shows across Eastern Canada, including a wild blowout at the St. Charles Hotel in Winnipeg, SNFU arrived back home in Edmonton. For a first tour, SNFU had done all right. They left home with $200 and returned with $1,000. Split six ways, the money didn’t go far, but at least they weren’t in debt as many bands were after a first outing. Best of all, the musicians had travelled many thousands of miles together without killing each other. Recounting the stories to friends and fans, the bad times faded from memory like the stench of crusty socks removed from the van.

  Home at last, Dave picked up a nickname walking into Gubby’s house one day. Jah Rick, the friend who drew the pointillism version of the …And No One Else Wanted To Play album cover, noted Dave’s long hair, substantial facial growth, and leather pouch, and said, “Oh, look, it’s Grizzly Buck Bacon.” While the tag didn’t make it onto any albums or promo packages, Dave did sign autographs as “Grizzly Buck” for some time.

  The boys were greeted as heroes home from the war. Beers were consumed and joints were burned, but not by Gubby, who was completely straight edge. Marc had a rare beer, but didn’t smoke pot either. Despite the festive atmosphere, the band kept a strict rehearsal schedule. They were working on new material at every practice to prepare for the next album, which the band decided to cut in Edmonton at a yet-to-be-determined studio. As always, the band wrote the music and Chi went through his scrapbook to find lyrics that fit. In a sense, the songs were loud jigsaw puzzles, assembled painstakingly by trial and error.

  On September 22nd, 1985 SNFU played a homecoming gig at Spartan’s to a packed and rowdy house. The band’s popularity had grown by leaps and bounds—so much that they had to turn people away. Sadly, due to complaints from parents, the owners of Spartan’s announced that they were soon closing the hall to make room for “new developments.” A rumour persists that the young daughter of a city councillor returned home drunk after spending an evening at Spartan’s, prompting the angry father to make a few phone calls. The Melvins played the final show the next weekend, making SNFU wish they had waited another week for their homecoming gig. “Spartan’s was our living room, and we didn’t even play the last show,” Marc Belke laments.

  Spartan’s was soon knocked down and the rubbish hauled away. Twenty-seven years later, the spot where the infamous hall once stood is still vacant. In fact, the whole block has been demolished. Unable to attract buyers, the City of Edmonton now dumps snow where the wild young bands once played.

  In October, the band shanghaied Ken Chinn’s roommate and fellow musician David Mockford to help them record the track for It Came From The Pit. At the time, Dave had just completed a recording course at a local studio, which made him more qualified than anyone else within beer bottle throwing range. Mockford’s teachers encouraged him to produce a real live band for his course, so he brought SNFU into the studio. Now he would put theory into practice.

  Rather than use material from their next album, SNFU chose to record “Poor Poor Pitiful Me” by Warren Zevon. The song was an unusual choice for a punk compilation, but Marc and Brent, who were fans of Warren Zevon, wanted to have some fun. Making themselves at home, the team immediately got to work. “I didn’t know the band that well at the time,” recalls Dave, “but we were all really into doing the best job we could.” Despite his lack of experience, Dave avoided the rookie mistake of messing with the knobs too much and simply allowed the tape to roll. The finished track was simple but sounded good, even if the song selection itself remained a bit of a mystery.

  The boys were enthusiastic when Jello Biafra asked them to support the Dead Kennedys on their final tour. By now, violent jocks and meatheads had long replaced the intellectuals and underdogs of the original punk scene, and after eight long years, the seminal punk band was throwing in the towel. Despite the underlying sadness, the boys in SNFU were delighted to participate. This small handful of shows would introduce them to scores of new American fans. So what if they were a little violent? SNFU weren’t fussy.

  Although the band was largely unknown in the USA, their connection to Thrasher magazine was helpful, and the band kept in touch with the editors of the US-based publication. Skaters who bought Thrasher would read reviews of SNFU shows and see pictures of the Edmonton punks. “We’d put those guys on the guest list when we were playing a show, and they’d come down to check it out. It wasn’t any kind of clever marketing ploy on our part; we just liked Thrasher, so we’d call them up,” explains Brent Belke. Intentional or not, the skate magazine was a great marketing tool for a band that had few ways to spread the message.

  Chi Pig and Dave Mockford, at the time, were living in a punk house known as the Bella Brie, which took its name after the stinky feet of its residents. Curtis Creager, who would later play a significant role in SNFU, also called the old dump home. Like most punk houses, the Bella Brie was beat-up and run-down; cold in the winter and hot in the summer. With the chilly weather, Chi Pig couldn’t wait to get into the van where he could crank the heat until they reached California. The boys, most of them suffering from bad colds, looked forward to leaving frozen Edmonton behind.

  Heavy snow was falling when SNFU split town in mid-December on the ill-fated Shark Sandwich Tour, reminiscent of the trip to LA last year. That journey seemed as if it had happened a million years ago, and the gang could scarcely believe it had only been twelve months. Despite the cruel misadventures that had befallen them already, this outing would make that harrowing ordeal seem like a walk in the park in comparison.

  To be fair, the show at the UBC Ballroom in Vancouver was fantastic, full to bursting with excited fans that sang along loudly to all the old songs and reacted favourably to the new ones. Even Jon Card—so sick with the flu that he puked into a bucket several times á la Evan C. Jones during the set—was pleased with the large turnout and appreciative response. “Jon was in pain,” Brent recalls. SNFU left Vancouver with soaring spirits and a goodly whack of cash, eager to take Seattle by force. This tour was sure to draw attention to the band.

  As it turned out, the promoter at Gorilla Gardens in Seattle cancelled the show after a performance by the Circle Jerks the previous night went bad. “The promoter tried to burn us by splitting when everybody was looking the ot
her way,” says Circle Jerks’ singer Keith Morris. “We went to his house at three or four in the morning and knocked on his door. He paid us, but I heard later on that he was losing money and was gonna close down.” There was nothing SNFU could do now but press on towards the rendezvous with the Dead Kennedys in LA on Friday the 13th and hope for the best. With any luck, the gigs in Portland and Salt Lake City would help make up for the lost show. The band slept in the van that night and rolled out the next day, discouraged but still optimistic. All would be well when they reached the next show.

  Slush and snow made the streets of Portland, Oregon difficult to navigate, but Dave Bacon expertly piloted the van to the show. Unfortunately, both support acts cancelled because of the bad weather, leaving SNFU to perform all by themselves for the nine people who did show up. Morale at this point was low and getting lower, compounded by nagging colds and Jon’s persistent flu. Not only that, but since they weren’t due to play Boise, Idaho for five days, the band had time to kill, which meant spending more money. Fortunately, Jon knew a girl who put the band up at her house, which was nicely appointed with all the modern conveniences. A local promoter lined up a small show, which was better than sitting around twiddling their thumbs, but the situation was less than ideal.

  At last it was time to leave for Boise. Road conditions were still poor, but a little black ice wasn’t going to stop Dave Bacon, or any other hardy Canadian from the prairies. The boys were finally starting to shake their colds, and even Jon was feeling a little better. And then the van blew up. “First I heard something rattling under the hood, and then the engine just crapped out completely,” Bunt Belke recalls with disgust. “We were stuck just outside Ontario, Idaho a hundred and ninety-five miles from Boise.”

  A tow truck hauled the van to a nearby garage, and SNFU took a hotel for the night. The next morning, the young promoter arrived from Boise and took the band back to his house. When the boys learned that the crankshaft was broken, and that the van needed a new engine, they pondered their next move. They hung out with the local punks that evening, but the new day brought a sobering reality. They had a decent guarantee for the show in Salt Lake City, but they would have to rent a van at great expense and hope that nothing else went wrong. As it was, they couldn’t afford to go on. With the luck they’d been having, a semi-trailer would veer into their path on the freeway. Although they would later deeply regret it, the boys decided to cut their losses and go home. Not only had they lost the opportunity to support the Dead Kennedys on their final tour, but the trip had cost them thousands of dollars.

  And the ordeal wasn’t over yet. While Dave and Jon wrangled tickets from their parents and flew home, Ken and Brent took the bus, and Marc and Gubby were left to haul the gear home in a rented truck. Sick and cold, the boys just wanted to get home for Christmas to lick their wounds. The importance of having a reliable vehicle was more obvious than ever.

  After missing the first bus because of lousy road conditions, Brent and Ken slept in the bus depot overnight. The pair rode all the next day before finally reaching Spokane, where Ken phoned a girl who set them up in a college dormitory for the night. They continued onwards the next morning after Brent bought a sweater from a thrift store to ward off the chill. Sadly, the garment hadn’t been cleaned, and Bunt caught scabies from it. “He was scratching like a motherfucker all the way home,” laughs Ken. The boys reached Calgary just in time to catch the milk run bus that stops at every hick town along the way, turning a three-hour jaunt into an eight-hour ordeal. Bunt finally stumbled off the bus and walked to his girlfriend’s apartment in the freezing cold, wondering what the hell he was doing in a punk rock band. The road to nowhere was slick with black ice.

  Christmas came and went, leaving the usual mounds of torn wrapping paper, piles of empty booze bottles, and brutal hangovers, or at least for Ken, Jon, and Dave. SNFU struggled to forget about the disastrous tour. The van was gone, and now they would have to borrow vehicles to get from show to show. Why was it always one step forward and two steps back? Still, despite this latest setback, they were not about to give up. Ken Chinn simply didn’t want to do anything else, and the Belkes were too stubborn to let their mom win.

  Trying not to feel sorry for themselves, the boys planned a trip across the prairies. Sure, the country was still shrouded in ice, and Winnipeg was probably even colder than Edmonton was, but the boys wanted to push past the misery of the last tour. Sadly, this tour would also be a drain, both financially and emotionally. They couldn’t catch a break.

  After lining up a number of dates along the route to Winnipeg and back, the band borrowed a primer-covered 1974 Dodge van from B Bloody AKA Robert Bulback, which had formerly belonged to Down Syndrome. The old vehicle did not inspire confidence, but it was free and available. The boys loaded up and struck out for Calgary in March of ’86, bringing along friend Cameron Noyes to help carry stuff. A frigid wind blew across the prairies, putting to rest any hopes of an early spring. Sitting in the back, Chi Pig eyed driver and bassist Dave Bacon speculatively. Tall, lanky Bacon was all cock and ribs, but Ken decided he would chew on those bones if the vehicle broke down again and they ran out of food. He wouldn’t starve to death as long as Dave was around.

  The shows in Calgary and Saskatoon were great, making the boys glad to be on the road. This was more like it, and it was good to be in Canada where fans truly appreciated them. Not just that, but they weren’t all that far from home if the noisy old van decided to pack it in. Hell, they could practically walk back to Edmonton. As fate would have it, the boys weren’t far from Saskatoon when the van actually did break down, but Ken didn’t have to put Bacon on the menu because they were so close to civilization. They towed the treacherous vehicle to the closest garage and had it repaired, spending money they could ill afford.

  Because of the breakdown, SNFU missed the first night in Regina, but picked up the van and arrived in time for the second engagement. Again, the show was a huge success, and they left town with more than enough money to cover the repairs. If the damn van would just stay together, then all would be well. Dave drove carefully, trying not to tax the vehicle any more than absolutely necessary. The guys held their collective breath.

  In Winnipeg, the band played a sweaty show at the legendary Wellington’s, with support from Leatherface and the Scales, featuring ex-Nostrils Bruce Hallett and Scott Coats. With the guitars cranked up really high and the kids going wild, it was easy to forget the petty details. The action was here on the stage, not on the side of some deserted highway. SNFU had a job to do, and they intended to perform to the very best of their ability. No stupid van could slow them down.

  The band stayed in Winnipeg overnight, and headed back to Regina on Sunday to make up for the show they had missed. They were making good time moving into Saskatchewan when the van broke again, and this time the problem sounded serious. “There was a horrible clanking noise under the hood, and we could tell that the engine was totally cashed,” Brent Belke remembers tiredly. The van went to a garage in nearby Whitewood, and the band rented a motel room in town where they waited for an estimate on the repairs. Not good.

  Frustrated by the situation, the boys got into a serious pillow fight. “Jon Card hit Cameron Noyes so hard that he almost knocked him out,” laughs Chi Pig, recalling the look on poor Cam’s face. Although the pillow fight ended without broken bones, the band not only missed the make-up show in Regina that night, but they also waited three days to learn that the engine couldn’t be fixed. After renting yet another U-Haul, they loaded the gear and slunk back to Edmonton in defeat, where they had no choice but to give B Bloody $1,500 for the totalled van. “I bought a ‘79 Nova with the money,” Bob recalls happily.

  Endlessly frustrated and angry, the band called an emergency meeting and decided to lease a 1984 Econoline van with low mileage and a good warranty from Bill Schuler, who was selling cars at Danny Andrews’ Ford dealership. The boys immediately dubbed the white vehicle “Vanna White,” and they quickl
y cut away part of the roof to add an extended cap. The extra room made it possible for the band to travel comfortably, even with all the gear. Over time, the guys built a shrine to Vanna White in the rear. “We decided that we would collect every picture we could find of her and put them in our van,” Chi Pig remembers. The vehicles the band had owned previously may have been cheaper initially, but they ended up costing more in the long run.

  A show at the Bonnie Doon Hall on January 18th, 1986, helped restore the band’s spirits. Fans in E-town were as appreciative as ever, even if there seemed to be a lot of new faces. Many of their early fans had grown up and moved on, but new supporters had moved in to replace them. The new kids didn’t look quite as radical. In fact, many of them looked almost normal. Ken Chinn looked out at the sea of eager young faces and wondered what they were doing here. He hawked up a lunger and spat into the crowd. SNFU was a punk band, gawdamit!