Snfu

by Chris Walter

  Opening for SNFU on a fairly regular basis, Entirely Distorted grew as a band. Towards the end of 1986, they replaced guitarist Brian Toogood with a new guy, Brian Kassian. “I can’t remember if he [Toogood] left or if we kicked him out,” says Dave. “It was probably a mistake because he was really popular. People were calling for Brian the first night with our new guitarist, but they wanted Brian Toogood, not Brian Kassian. To be honest, he [Toogood] was a bit flaky in those days, so we replaced him with Brian Kassian.” Brian Toogood remembers quitting after a fight with singer/bassist Darren Vanstone. “I got really drunk after a gig and went off on Darren, who proceeded to confront me about my alcohol and drug use,” confesses Toogood. “I was taking myself far too seriously,”

  Kassian was from the metal school, and his influence changed the sound of the band. “We were young and kinda shallow, so we went with the better musician,” admits Dave Rees. Entirely Distorted now consisted of bassist and singer Darren Vanstone, Dave on drums, and Mot and Brian Kassian playing guitar. In fact, the musical style changed so radically that the band broke up, with some of the members moving on to form Broken Smile.

  The first line-up of the new band included bassist Bruce Shibley, drummer Dave Rees, guitarists Mot and Brian Kassian, and singer Kelly Service. Mot left the group to attend university in 1987, and Andy Rodgers replaced Kelly Service as vocalist. Later that year, Trent Buhler took Bruce Shibley’s spot on bass guitar. The group was in such a constant state of flux that it was possible for them to grow as musicians, but difficult to write new songs and find a cohesive sound. They had plenty of material from various configurations of the band, but not the wherewithal to record. Still they persisted.

  On the side, Brian Kassian and Dave Rees also played with Marc and Brent Belke in a “fuck” band (an informal group of musicians) known as The Belke Boys, rapping to rock, punk, and new wave songs over guitar, bass, and drums. This informal project would never be allowed to interfere with SNFU business, and was strictly for fun. Andy Rodgers and Brian Kassian were also covering classic punk songs in Under Your Sink with Curtis Creager and Ted Simm (until Ted moved back to Winnipeg). “Fun stuff and amazing times,” says Brian Kassian.

  Dave Rees was happy with the current line-up of Broken Smile. The addition of Trent Buhler and Andy Rogers had given them the proper ingredients, and they were ready to take the band to the next level. Although it seemed like a good idea to leave Edmonton, they couldn’t decide between Montreal and Seattle. They ended up moving to Montreal because Jungle Jim Algie convinced them it was the best place for rock bands to be, but some lingering doubt remained and they weren’t sure they’d made the right choice. “Musically speaking, we were a Seattle band that had never been to Seattle,” Brian quips.

  Nonetheless, the decision had been made. In early 1988, Brian Kassian and Dave Rees bought a van and prepared to move. Two weeks before they left, Trent Buhler telephoned Dave and Brian with the bad news that he wouldn’t be going with them. “I’d only moved to Edmonton four months prior, but I ended up moving back to Calgary and joining Ninth Configuration until the Wheat Chiefs called,” explains Trent. “I was going to save some cash and meet those guys in Montreal, but that never happened.” Andy Rodgers also bailed, leaving instead to upstate New York to work for his dad. The plan was in ruins.

  Despite these setbacks, Dave and Brian elected to leave anyway. The two were so intent on making music that they found a jam space even before renting an apartment in Montreal. Settling in and making friends, they quickly became immersed in the local scene. Broken Smile soon found a replacement for Trent Buhler in Stephane Hamel, formerly of Vomit and the Zits. The band continued to progress, writing songs and performing locally. Montreal was the right place for Dave Rees to be. The young man had recently turned eighteen, and Montreal was party town.

  In mid-1988, Dave agreed to play for a group thrown together for GG Allin when his drummer was unable to cross the border. “Poor Dave got swindled with promises of money, beer, and guest list status,” Brian chuckles. GG arrived in Montreal and, after rehearsing intensely for a week, the show took place as scheduled. The young drummer was astounded by the spectacle. “People say that GG didn’t actually shit on the stage, that he didn’t roll on broken glass or throw shit at people, but he did all that times ten,” recalls Dave, still shocked decades later. “I took GG out for breakfast the day of the show, and he was popping Ex-Lax pills by the handful. He was absolutely insane.”

  Andy later moved to Montreal, but he was still moving sailing boats from one point to another in New York State for his father, so Broken Smile practiced without a vocalist and did not perform often. Although Broken Smile toured with SNFU in May of 1989, the momentum of the band was stymied by Andy’s frequent absences. The band shopped around a five-song demo but could not get a record deal. With plenty of free time on their hands, Dave and Brian joined My Dog Popper. Although the band was known more for the satirical nature of their songs rather than the proto-grunge to which Dave and Brian were accustomed, they enjoyed the opportunity to play live music with an established and popular band. Even after the pair later moved back to E-Town, they contributed to My Dog Poppers’ 1991 album, Buenos Dias Jesus.

  Broken Smile slowly fizzled out after returning home from the 1989 SNFU Tour Tantrum. Although they had a great time and the shows were packed, the band made no money. American tours were fraught with danger, and Broken Smile had little desire to return. “After a gig, because we had nowhere to stay, we would either drive all night to the next show, or go to a late party. Typically these parties ended with someone freaking out and destroying the place with a sledgehammer, or skinheads would show up and headbutt the walls, or the owners of the house would get involved in a domestic violence incident. The shows were crazy fun, but it all seemed to self-destruct afterwards,” remembers Brian Kassian.

  Musically speaking, Dave and Brian’s plans for Montreal hadn’t really worked out either. Stuck in a holding pattern like a commercial airliner over Montreal’s crowded Mirabel Airport, the pair waited somewhat glumly for a break. They couldn’t go forward, but they couldn’t go back. “I felt that the music scene in Montreal wasn’t taking me where I wanted to go fast enough,” Dave recalls.

  Then one day in early 1990, the drummer got a call from Marc Belke. The guitarist told him that SNFU had broken up, and that he and Brent had formed a new band. More importantly, Muc wanted to know if Dave would be willing to move back to Edmonton to drum for them. The decision was difficult for Dave in several ways. First of all, he liked Montreal and was happy to have escaped the ice and violence of Edmonton. Secondly, he was still playing in My Dog Popper, and they would be upset if he left. Brian Kassian would also be pissed if he split. They had moved to Montreal together, and were equal parts of a musical team. On the other hand, the Belkes wanted him to join their band, and those guys were still his idols. In short order, Dave packed his stuff and his friends threw him a big farewell bash. He took a train to Vancouver, and a sympathetic porter allowed him to bring his drums at no extra cost. Although it was difficult to leave his girl behind, music was his life. “Before I jumped on the train, Brian Kassian and I swapped baseball caps,” says the drummer. Montreal would soon be but a distant memory.

  Arriving in Vancouver, Dave discovered that despite what Marc told him earlier, there was no room at the inn. Marc and Brent had rented a house where all the members of the band could live, but Brent’s girlfriend Glenna complained bitterly whenever they practiced. “We had a party once, and she stayed in her bedroom wearing pajamas. She was no fun at all,” remembers Marc. Not that it mattered, because the city soon forced them out so they could widen the highway. “It was a total disaster,” Muc muses. Left with no alternative, Dave crashed with his mom until he could find his own place.

  Not that Montreal was much warmer, but Edmonton was horribly cold in January of 1990, and the drummer began to wonder if he had made a terrible mistake. Still, the move had seemed like his best be
t. “I wanted to be in an established band, to tour and record, and do all that sort of stuff,” Dave remembers. He soon found his own apartment and started to practice with the new group. For better or worse, he had to make the most of it.

  Rehearsals went smoothly. Marc was the lead singer and guitarist, Brent played guitar and sang backup vocals, and Curtis Creager played bass. Although Dave says he didn’t mind the new band, he found the music a little poppy for his tastes, especially compared to the harder-edged stuff he’d been playing previously. “Not to dis Marc, and although his guitar stuff was phenomenal, I didn’t find him to be the strongest singer. He has a good voice, but it’s not quite Lead Singer Voice,” opines Rees.

  Whatever the case, Ship of Fools debuted on April 11th, 1990, and the crowd response was generally favourable. Some people, naturally, were expecting some-thing that sounded more like SNFU. Although the members of the new band were talented musicians and capable performers, the absence of the charismatic Chi Pig was hard to overlook. Still, the kids were happy to see the Belkes playing again. Edmonton missed them.

  Ship of Fools began to gig around town in the spring of 1990, getting their feet wet musically, so to speak. The Dimestore Hoods opened for them at their first show, and their bassist, Rob Johnson, would play a part in the second incarnation of SNFU. Bunt remembers an early song entitled “Tell Me Something I Don’t Know” that might have been a little longer than it needed to be. “Some of our early songs were kinda lengthy. We didn’t have to worry about a singer standing around being bored, so we did some crazy bridges and stuff. Eventually we had to rein it in,” he recalls. At times, the brothers would cut loose and go into full punk rock mode, but in general the music could be described as melodic rock—the type popular on campus. SNFU had also been well liked by the university crowd, even though they didn’t fit the melodic rock genre.

  Brent didn’t like the name Ship of Fools, but they kept it for lack of anything better. In early May, the band drove to Calgary in Earl Grey, the new van. James Brown had belonged to SNFU, so Marc sold it and divided the proceeds among the bandmembers. Using his own money, he made a down payment on the new vehicle, and was personally responsible for the monthly payments. On the drive to Calgary with roadie Rob Johnson in tow, Brent complained about the band name. This wasn’t the first time the issue had come up, and Brent’s protest inspired the musicians to think hard. Although no one seems to remember how the name “Wheat Chiefs” came up, they must have been driving through freshly seeded wheat fields at the time. The name was uniquely Canadian, and the musicians liked it much better than Ship of Fools. Although they were billed as (ex-SNFU) Ship of Fools, the guys played Skate Jungle as the Wheat Chiefs that night. The last time they’d been in this venue was as SNFU.

  The Wheat Chiefs show with the Forgotten Rebels at Bonnie Doon Hall on June 8th, 1990, never actually happened. Due to noise complaints during soundcheck, the event was moved to the Ambassador Hotel. “The show was originally supposed to be at The Bronx,” recalls Brent. “It got moved so many times that no one could find it.“ The poster read “formerly SNFU” just so everyone would be sure to know who the Wheat Chiefs were. Though the message implies that Chi Pig was part of the new band, no one booed when the singer and his cheerleader outfit did not appear onstage. For one thing, the bar was almost empty. “We just played our shitty set and got the hell out of there,” Brent says disgustedly.

  Around this time, the band recorded a demo tape at Technical Difficulties, John Oparyk’s basement studio. SNFU had also done pre-production work for Better Than a Stick In the Eye there, and the musicians found Oparyk to be inexpensive and competent. The inexpensive part was important, since they didn’t have a lot of money to throw around. The demo came out well, but failed to attract a record label. Nevertheless, most of those tracks would eventually find their way onto the Wheat Chiefs’ 1996 album, Redeemer.

  Summer arrived and the Belkes regretfully asked Curtis Creager to leave. “Although Curt was like a brother, he did not seem completely keen at rehearsals, and we practiced a lot. He was pretty grumpy at times, but I think it was because he hated his job,” Bunt remembers. As the reader may recall, Chi Pig had written “Snapping Turtle” about the churlish musician, who was at his nastiest in the morning. Moving on, and in urgent need of a bassist, the Wheat Chiefs more or less hijacked Trent Buhler—the bass player who had planned to move to Montreal with Broken Smile but stayed in Edmonton instead. By now, Trent had returned to Calgary, which was so close that the Belkes simply sent him a bus ticket. “Trent had a great songwriting talent, and he added a whole new dimension to the band,” imparts Brent. After intensive rehearsals, the Wheat Chiefs made several forays to Calgary, Saskatoon, and Regina. On July 28th, 1990, they opened for the smalls and Kathleen Yearwood at the Ambassador, whose management had forgiven the Belkes for not holding the last SNFU show in Edmonton there. As a band, the Chiefs were writing more material, but still struggling to find a wider audience. Fans wanted SNFU and would settle for nothing else.

  The Wheat Chiefs pressed on. The Belkes worked at various jobs to pay the bills, but the work certainly wasn’t glamourous. Summer ended abruptly and winter arrived, the snow sweeping across the prairies like a cold, white shroud. Somehow, the good times with SNFU were easier to remember than the bad times. “We should have kept SNFU going and done the Chiefs on the side,” says Marc Belke with the 100% accuracy of hindsight.

  In late February of 1991, the Wheat Chiefs embarked on a Canada-wide tour that started with the Doughboys in Edmonton and Calgary. From there the bands were supposed to carry on to Vancouver, where two smaller shows had been combined to make one big one at the Commodore on Friday, March 8th. The line-up for the new show was the Screaming Trees, Nirvana, the Doughboys, The Wongs, and the Wheat Chiefs. Unfortunately, the promoters felt they had too many bands and dropped the Chiefs from the bill, which was obviously a big disappointment for them. “We were pissed off that Chi’s new band, The Wongs got to play with Nirvana instead of us, but it wasn’t their fault,” says Brent.

  The Wheat Chiefs waited in Edmonton for the Doughboys to return from Vancouver so they could play Regina together. After that lukewarm consolation prize, the Doughboys went home to Toronto and the Wheat Chiefs carried on to Ottawa, Montreal, Quebec City, and a blowout show at Lee’s Palace in Toronto. The band then worked their way back across Canada, stopping at the Royal Albert Hotel in Winnipeg on dollar beer night. “That place was packed more for the cheap beer than us, but people were into the band anyway,” recalls Brent. As always, the musicians were willing to take what they could get.

  Despite the inclusion of “Redeem” on Thrasher Skate Rock Volume 10, the Wheat Chiefs were not gaining any real traction. They played forty shows in and around Edmonton and Calgary that first year, the crowds dwindling away due to overexposure. “The band was just a bunch of buddies playing hockey and making music they loved,” opines Brian Kassian of Broken Smile. “They were happy to do that, but as far as record deals and touring went, things were much different from the way they had been with SNFU. In the end, I think Muc realized that Chi was the magic ingredient.” Brent Belke feels that things were happening for the Wheat Chiefs, but not fast enough for their tastes. Then they got a call from Chi Pig.

  You Can’t Keep a Good Band Down

  In early January of 1990, upset at the demise of SNFU, Chi Pig took a short vacation to Vancouver to check out a group of musicians that his friend Dana Gingris wanted him to meet. Staying at Dana and Bernie’s house on Graveley Street, the singer could not help but notice the vast difference in climate. The temperature in Edmonton was a frigid -30° Celsius, but the mercury in Vancouver hovered at a balmy +8°. Not only was Vancouver much warmer, but the music scene was larger, and it seemed to Chi that any band he joined or formed would have a better chance of success here. Most importantly, he would be away from Edmonton and the resentment he felt towards the Belke brothers. “I told Dave Bacon that I was leaving town and he was
kinda shocked,” remembers the singer. This would be a fresh start.

  As promised, Dana introduced the singer to local guitarist and songwriter Kevin Rose, who was currently playing with bassist Ralph Allen, and ex-Death Sentence drummer Doug Donut. At his audition, Chi sang while Kevin Rose and ex-Scramblers Ziggy Sigmund played acoustic guitars. They were all convinced that the band could have potential, even though Ziggy was just sitting in for the evening. All they had to do was write some songs and practice religiously.

  They dubbed the new group The Wongs, and Chi Pig couldn’t wait to begin. The ex-SNFU frontman went home, packed his stage props, and returned to Vancouver on the Greyhound. Arriving on February 2nd, the singer immediately moved into the basement suite of Dana’s house. She only had to pay the utilities because her father owned the place. A sweet deal indeed.

  However, living in pot dense East Van posed a challenge for the singer, who was trying to cut back on his marijuana intake. Two pot dealers living upstairs made that test extra difficult. “I’d open the fuckin’ freezer and a pound of weed would jump out at me,” Chi remembers. With royalty cheques that arrived only sporadically and no band income to pay the rent, the singer was compelled to take employment in a T-shirt store downtown. He had plenty of experience in the business, and the things he’d learned screening SNFU shirts had not gone to waste. Still, the money he made was insufficient. “When I got paid, I owed more for pot than I did for rent,” the singer says wryly. That isn’t hard to imagine, since his rent was only $60 monthly. He also tried crystal meth for the first time, after being introduced to the drug via the gay scene. Meth, however, wouldn’t become a real problem until much later.