Snfu

by Chris Walter

  The guys were happy to have new wheels, but money was tight that winter and the struggling musicians had plenty of time to consider the life they’d chosen for themselves. Marc, twenty-five years old and working at Earls Restaurant to make ends meet, had to ask himself what he was doing. Gadding about the country as a young man was one thing, but was this really what he wanted to do for the rest of his life? Brent Belke was also at a crossroads. One minute he was jumping around on a stage in front of hundreds of screaming fans, and the next he was busting his ass to cover the basics. Would the band ever be able to do that on a regular basis? The question begged an answer.

  Playing as many shows as they could locally that winter, SNFU also travelled to Calgary at least three times just to put a few bucks in the coffers. There was no glamour in being broke, and the musicians had bills to pay. Slowly, SNFU was becoming just another job.

  Spring slowly approached, and the boys were heartened to learn that Flipside had voted them Best Live Band, winning out over such luminaries as the Red Hot Chili Peppers and Fugazi, whose singer Ian MacKaye was an icon to Marc and many others. Issue #56 of the popular punk fanzine, which featured the Sylvia Juncosa Band on the cover, also included an interview with Henry Rollins, and a colour advertisement for Social Distortions’ Prison Bound on the inside cover. The honour was gratifying for SNFU, and though it may have seemed as if they were banging their heads against the wall, at least people enjoyed watching them do it.

  Around the Corner and Down the Road

  A few weeks of rest was enough to restore sagging spirits, and soon SNFU was back at maximum power. Consequently, the show with Ninth Configuration at the Multi Purpose Rumpus Room on April 8th, 1988, was a desperately intense and adrenalized affair. “That gig was beyond insane,” recalls record storeowner Richard Liukko. “Humidity was dripping from the bare light bulbs on the ceiling, and a pole supporting the ceiling in the middle of the pit was wrapped with barbed wire to keep people from climbing it, or from pulling it down.” The hometown fans were as appreciative as ever, even if they seemed to be getting younger and more normal looking every time they played. Many had long hair, which had been strictly verboten in the hardcore days.

  Almost a month later, SNFU kicked off the new tour opening for Gang Green at the Eastwood Community Hall. Before the show, Ted Simm asked Marty Chatrin of Euthanasia to be his drum tech. “The Eastwood was your typical stuffy hall with limited windows and no air conditioning, so the temperature on this hot, spring night was mindboggling,” recalls Marty. “Ted asked me to fill a large beer pitcher with ice water to drink during his set. It was so damned hot in there that he was pouring sweat even before the set started.” SNFU opened with “The Electric Chair,” which wasn’t the easiest song to play. The fan aimed at Ted might as well have not been there for all the good it did, but the drummer was about to cool off in a way he had not expected.

  Halfway through the song, a problem developed. “Ted was yelling at me, but with his monitor blaring, I couldn’t make out what it was. He kept pointing in the direction of the water jug and then back to his head with his left stick,” Marty remembers. Thinking that Ted needed to cool off, Marty picked up the jug of ice water and dumped it over the startled drummer’s head. As it turned out, Ted was actually pointing to a butterfly screw that had popped off his ride cymbal and landed beside the jug. “He just wanted me to put the screw back on the cymbal,” laughs Marty. Instead, Ted had to finish the challenging song suffering from shock, though he probably felt better after a minute or two. The heat really was incredible.

  Three months later, the SNFU drummer got his payback. Marty Chatrin was filling in for Jr. Gone Wild drummer, Paul Duke Gaetz at a fancy club on the boardwalk of downtown Edmonton when Ted Simm and Marc Belke arrived to watch the show. “I was dressed in black jeans and a black dress shirt, and the stage was so small that I could barely squeeze my fat ass behind the drum kit,” says Marty, setting the scene. Five songs in, the crowd parted a little, and Ted and Marc approached the stage carrying a large tub full of ice water, which they proceeded to dump directly on the helpless drummer. “They let me have it with about twenty litres of freezing water!” laughs Marty, remembering the sudden shock to his system. Ted might forgive but he doesn’t forget.

  At last, Monk flew in from Montreal and packed the van in preparation for the long journey ahead. By now, SNFU had border crossing down to a science, and rarely were they delayed for long. It helped to have a new vehicle, free of spray-painted SNFU stencils or unsightly dents and dings. On this occasion, the group breezed into the United States almost without slowing down. This would all change after 9/11, but in those relatively carefree times, crossing the border was not a real problem.

  SNFU no longer looked like dangerous punk thugs, which also made border crossings much easier. By 1988, the overall appearance of the band had changed considerably. While the members were still skinny from a combination of steady touring, skateboarding, and street hockey, they had abandoned the outdated hardcore guise in favour of the current metal look. Chi Pig’s hair, though still short on the sides, fell in tangled dreadlocks halfway down his back, and the other members were even hairier, looking more like their brethren in Corrosion of Conformity than a hardcore punk band. That dodo was all but dead, and only Bunt still had short hair. The trademark SNFU sound, though metal-influenced at times, was still the melodic and speedy punk rock that fans loved and expected. Hair length made little difference, but to change their sound radically would be commercial suicide.

  Having a professional roadie made life on the road much less stressful. “Monk once replaced a string on my bass while I was still playing it,” Curtis Creager recalls. Most bassists don’t break the heavy strings, and this was just one of the difficulties Monk faced. SNFU was notoriously tough on musical equipment.

  The tour went on. Curtis remembers being excited about doing a show with Slapshot and the possibility of a street hockey game afterwards. They were very disappointed to learn that Slapshot didn’t actually play hockey, and that their act was just a gimmick. “That was a drag,” says Curtis, “although we did play whiffle ball with Verbal Assault once.” On June 7th in LA, the boys went to the Dodgers vs Astros game at Dodger Stadium with Bug-face, who roadied for the Descendents and ALL. Drinking beer and eating franks, the gang cheered when the home team beat the visitors in extra innings.

  That night, SNFU hit the Hollywood Bowl for a show with the UK Subs. “Mike Ness and Dennis Danell were barbecuing burgers backstage,” Muc recalls. The same aggressive fools beat themselves bloody in the pit and Chi Pig wore the same red cheerleading outfit and waved the same red plastic pompoms. Monk pushed the same kids off the stage when they overstayed their welcome, and the boys drank the same cheap American beer backstage afterwards. SNFU pushed on that night bound for New Mexico, wondering if anything would ever change. Yesterday they had owned the world, but now they didn’t know if they really wanted it. More than anything, they were exhausted.

  Arriving in San Clemente at the same time a lesbian biker convention happened to be in town, SNFU learned that several shows had been cancelled, giving them a few unwanted days off. “They had a band called The DykeTones,” says Monk, remembering the shortage of eligible females. Moving on, SNFU performed in New Mexico for a high-spirited crowd of young adults. Chi fell off the stage but landed on kids in the pit and didn’t even hit the floor. Later, the band snacked on real Mexican food and swilled more cheap American beer. They slept in a real punk house with real punk rockers and stepped around real dog poop on the floor. Same old, same old. Marc, Brent, Monk, and Curtis took in the Giants vs Reds game at Candlestick Park in San Francisco on June 11th. General admission tickets were only $2.50, which made the pricey $3.50 beers seem more affordable. “We got sunburned as hell, and then we had to go play the show,” remembers Curtis Creager. The boys were in pain when they played that night, but the beer was free. After the show, they slept at the promoter’s house with three big dogs and a n
oisy parrot.

  Because of cancellations, the boys had a week to kill before the gig in Tacoma at the Community World Theater on Saturday, June 18th with the Dehumanizers and Skinyard. In order to sound as tight as possible, they wanted to play as often as they could before reaching Vancouver to cut the new album, but now those plans were lost. The boys grumbled discontentedly, but there was nothing they could do but proceed.

  From Tacoma, SNFU hit Seattle before landing in Vancouver on June 21st. They drove straight to Profile Studios at 3448 Commercial Street (just off Commercial Drive), where producer Cecil English, whom they had met on their last pass through town, was waiting. Since the band needed accommodations while they were in Vancouver and couldn’t afford to rent a hotel, they made hasty plans to lodge with local musicians or other members of the scene. Curtis Creager stayed with Jon Card’s sister-in-law, Ken stayed with Jon, Marc went with Chris Crud, who did sound and roadied for DOA, Ted stayed with friends, and Brent crashed with Eric Thorkeleson in East Van.

  The living arrangements were problematic because they divided the band at a time when they badly needed to be together. “Instead of talking about the songs and discussing arrangements later, we all split up after recording each day and didn’t see each other again until the next session,” Marc Belke says regretfully. “We should have been talking about how we wanted the album to sound, but instead we were scattered all over the city.”

  Nevertheless, Cecil English set up the equipment with a minimum of fuss, and SNFU started to lay the bed tracks. The band played live on the floor, and only Chi Pig cut his tracks independently, using a vocal booth for separation. Other than that, the sound was stark and unadulterated, the tone loud and hard. The songs, honed to a razor’s edge from months of touring, would have been even tighter had the West Coast mini-tour gone as planned. Pissed off by the cancellations, the band tried to channel that frustration and anger into the recording. The plan worked to an extent, and the finished album would be a raging slab of wax indeed. Life was too short for regrets.

  When the tape started to roll, it was immediately clear to Cecil English that the opening track “Time to Buy a Futon” was a knock ‘em dead rocker. A clever jab at consumer trends, the song starts with an orgy of drums and bass that soon gives way to a blood-curdling scream and an avalanche of crunchy guitars. The Chinn/Bacon penned two-minute blast of punk ecstasy is as catchy as it is memorable, a testament to the power and skill of a group that had reached maturity.

  “GI Joe Gets Angry with Humankind” picks up where “Broken Toy” leaves off—an even shorter burst of energy directed at evil, genital-grabbing figurines. A psychoanalyst might conclude that not one, but two songs about defective toys screams volumes about Chinn’s dysfunctional childhood, but none of that is any secret. Carrying on in the two-minute vein, “Quest for Fun” is a cryptic warning regarding the perils of excessive behaviour. “Tears” hints at the conflict Ken suffered as a gay man who had yet to reveal his sexual identity fully. While these conflicts still hadn’t manifested themselves noticeably, his life would rage out of control when they did. Although manageable for the time being, both his psychological problems and his drug use would later reach crisis levels.

  The recording continued. “In The First Place” is a bitter lament to failed per-sonal relationships, and one of only two songs on the album longer than three minutes. Side two opens with the speedy and contagious “Postman’s Pet Peeve,” which is distinctive for its catchy chorus and the guitar notes that cut through the barrage of thunder like searchlights in the forest. “What Good Hollywood?” is a furious and slightly nostalgic ode to the passing of the classic Hollywood stars. Continuing at breakneck speed “The Happy Switch” expresses the band’s determination to forge ahead, despite the many obstacles and hardships along the way. “Straightening Out the Shelves of My Mind” is a sobering observation about the numbing effects of urban density. Other than a Satanic chuckle of derision at the end of the somewhat quirky “Thee Maul That Heats Peephole,” the album is free of studio gimmickry, unadorned with novelty effects. Chinn’s lyrics provide the only humour; as always, the singer was as nimble lyrically as he was onstage. The penultimate song, “Tour Tantrum,” accurately depicts tension on the road and gives the listener a glimpse into the life of a touring punk band:

  Stuck in a van too far from home

  I need some time to be alone.

  I don’t mind the guys, just can’t stand their smells

  Now I know the meaning of road hell.

  The album concludes with a high-speed but surprisingly faithful rendition of Cat Stevens’ “Wild World” that demonstrates a cheerful playfulness not readily apparent elsewhere on the recording. Better Than a Stick In the Eye is a solid collection of short, fast, metal-tinged songs, even if some weren’t as immediately infectious as those from the previous album. Nevertheless, Cargo Canada would hardly be disappointed.

  With the bed tracks complete, work started on the mix. They didn’t bother to double track the guitars, which is standard for most rock albums. “They wanted a live-off-the-floor sound, so that’s what we went with,” explains Cecil English. “Marc liked it at first, but afterwards he seemed to change his mind.” For his part, Marc wishes they had accepted Jon Card’s offer to assist in the mixing room. “Our pride got in the way, and that record would have benefited big time by having Jon on board.” The passage of time often clears the vision.

  Brent was on his way to the studio one afternoon when a pickup truck full of East Van loogans happened upon him. Riding his board Bart Simpson-like with Slurpee in hand, the guitarist didn’t pay much attention to the thugs until they parked the truck and returned on foot. After a conversation in which the greaseballs attempted to justify the cowardly attack, the biggest one rushed forward, fists swinging. Brent threw the Slurpee at his attacker and deflected a blow with his skateboard, causing the bullies to withdraw. But soon they were back, snatching his deck nd punching him in the head numerous times. “One of them hit me and said ‘Welcome to Canada,’” Bunt remembers. “I got up and shook myself off after they left, and realized that I wasn’t too badly hurt. The worst part was that I fell down in dog shit and had to clean the mess off my jeans at the studio.” Everyone at Profile was outraged when Brent told them what happened. They scoured the neighbourhood looking for revenge, but the loogans were long gone. “Jon Card was especially pissed,” Muc recalls. The funny thing was that SNFU had travelled all over the USA, through some very sketchy neighbourhoods, without any trouble at all. It wasn’t until they got back to Canada that Brent got beat up for “looking weird.”

  The band was listening to the playback one afternoon when Curtis wasn’t around. Something wasn’t quite right, and they wanted to hear how the kick-drum and the bass were working together. Bringing down the levels on the board until only the kick and bass remained, they listened carefully. “It sounded muddy, so we took the kick out of the mix and we were stunned to hear how loose the bass sounded,” Marc Belke remembers. “We should have got Curt to re-do it or used someone else, but he was our friend and we didn’t want to hurt his feelings. Later, Curt really did become a good bassist, but the album would have been better if we’d fixed that.” Money was also an issue, and the guys were mindful of the extra cost.

  Curtis Creager was aware of his shortcomings in the early days. “I wasn’t comfortable in the studio, and I never felt that I was as good as those guys,” the bassist admits. The newest member did the best he could and tried not to let his inferiority complex run rampant. After all, SNFU had been grinding it out since 1982, and he’d only been in the band for a year.

  Muc may have had his regrets about Better Than a Stick In the Eye, but there was at least one thing about it that he really liked. “I think Chi’s vocals on that record are the best he ever did, and he was still writing lyrics about things that had some social importance. Other parts of that record might be lacking, but his vocals are fucking great.”

  At last the mi
xing was complete and the boys rolled out for the final leg of the tour, stopping briefly in Edmonton before pushing on to Saskatoon and Regina. After a show in Winnipeg, they crossed the border to land at First Avenue and 7th Street Entry in Minneapolis, where they met experienced soundman Paul Smith, who expressed interest in touring with the band. From there, they moved east, hitting Detroit, Cleveland, and Pittsburgh before reaching Boston on August 9th, 1988. The boys (with the exception of Mr. Chi Pig), were watching a ballgame at Fenway Park when they learned that Wayne Gretzky had been traded to the LA Kings. “I don’t remember who won the game that night, only that Gretzky got traded,” says Monk. Indeed, what did it really matter who won a baseball game? The Great One was gone from Edmonton.

  SNFU moved into New York City for a disappointing show at CBGB. The date at Maxwell’s in Hoboken was much livelier, and so was the gig in Trenton, New Jersey. Fans in the secondary markets were more appreciative of SNFU, which is not to say that punks in New York City wouldn’t have liked the band had they bothered to check them out. Sadly, with the exception of the Bad Brains shows, NYC would never give SNFU the credit they deserved.

  In Lincoln, Nebraska, the band did a show in a gymnasium with a stage that wasn’t built with SNFU in mind. “The stage was like a bunch of cheap card tables jammed together, and the legs kept moving when the guys jumped up and down,” Monk remembers. Taking his life into his hands, the roadie scuttled under the treacherous structure to deal with the problem. From one side to the other, Monk crawled on his hands and knees, knocking the flimsy legs into place with a hammer whenever they started to spread. Anyone who doesn’t think the roadie deserved a full share of the earnings must consider this and many other semi-suicidal acts committed on behalf of the band. “The show must go on, and I didn’t know any better,” quips Monk. SNFU played the same venue twice, and Monk spent most of both shows under the stage. “The second time, the kids actually pushed the stage back about ten feet,” remembers Brent. Monk, of course, was under the shaky platform the whole time.