by Chris Walter
Even the gig in jaded LA was sold out. From the first note to the last, SNFU was a whirling, crashing, blinding ball of energy. Many of those present at the Roxy that night had never seen SNFU before, but now they knew why everyone was making such a fuss. When the band finally smashed out the last chord and staggered away drenched with sweat, the audience could only hope they would return soon. If SNFU had been the world’s best kept secret, that secret was now officially out of the bag.
The band didn’t know that a special guest had been watching them carefully that night. Backstage, Fat Mike of NOFX told them that Bad Religion guitarist and Epitaph Records president Brett Gurewitz had seen the show and wished to speak with them. The band met Brett at Epitaph headquarters the next day, where they learned that the label boss had been so impressed by the show that he wanted to sign them. This was a little problematic for SNFU, who were still planning to go their separate ways after the tour. The boys didn’t have the heart to tell Brett that the band was not getting back together permanently. Instead, they said they would consider the offer. The two parties shook hands and promised to speak again at a later date. Why couldn’t this have happened sooner?
Brett Gurewitz was a relatively new convert to SNFU, having been introduced to them by Dave Nazworthy of the Chemical People. “Dave told me how much he loved Chi Pig and how he was such a great singer, so I picked up one of their records,” says Brett. “I got into the band, and that’s when I went to see them at the club.” While signing SNFU may have seemed like a relatively simple process, it didn’t really play out that way. It would, in fact, take years.
SNFU moved on to Texas. Marc didn’t know much about Epitaph at the time, but he soon learned they were the largest label in punk rock, with enough money to promote their bands fully. This was exactly the sort of thing Marc had hoped would happen for the Wheat Chiefs, but now he was beginning to understand that the chemistry of SNFU could not easily be duplicated. Chi Pig had also come to the realization that while it was fairly simple to start a new band, it was very difficult to find the right magic.
Given these latest developments, the two sides began to mutter cautiously about a permanent reunion. No one wanted to sound too anxious for fears of scotching the deal. As much as it was tempting to start the band up again, the original issues still hadn’t been addressed. Were they even capable of working together again on a regular basis? The jury was out.
Across the South US and into skinhead-ridden Florida, the tour continued just as wildly as ever. The venues without exception were tightly packed, and the band was constantly arranging to have more merchandise shipped to them on the road. Little Joe and the Wheat Chiefs could only dream of this level of success, and both parties began to accept that they were stuck with each other. Hell, Johnny and Joey Ramone no longer spoke to each other and the Ramones were still together, weren’t they? Besides, it wasn’t as if the Belkes and Ken Chinn hated each other; the pair simply didn’t have a great deal in common these days.
Moving across the Midwest, the tour went up the West Coast, returning to some cities and visiting others for the first time. The shows were repetitively crowded and rambunctious, the atmosphere festive and fiery. The tired but happy musicians spent Christmas in Edmonton, replacing some of the weight they’d lost on the road. So far, the tour had been dream-like. They rested up, preparing themselves for the next leg of the tour.
On Saturday, December 28th, 1991, SNFU presented Edmonton punks with a belated and noisy Yuletide gift. Hitting the stage just after 11:00 PM, the band blew the roof off the Bronx, proving that the show ain’t over until the fat lady sings, or in this case, a psychotic Asian punk rocker in a frilly pink blouse with matching skirt. The musicians couldn’t help but notice that some of the kids pinned against the stage were the youngest they’d ever seen, and couldn’t possibly have been of legal drinking age. “I remember being really excited,” says SNFU fan Paul Karpinski, who was twelve or thirteen at the time. “I just stood at the front of the stage with my mouth hanging open until Chi Pig jumped off the bass drum and ran over to yank my toque over my eyes. When I pulled my toque up, everyone was laughing and the show had begun.” With the band going off like five tommy guns, the wee urchins slammed furiously, using the stage to support themselves when the effort to stand upright became too great. The level of intensity was almost more than the seasoned vets could bear.
Another fan remembers the show. “It was my first punk gig ever, and I was in total awe of Chi Pig. It was like seeing a fucked up, highflying version of Freddy Mercury. Some kid spit on him and there was this huge, thick wad dripping through his hair and into his face. It was fuckin’ gross, but instead of wiping it off with a towel and bitching into the microphone, it was full on revenge. I watched him whip his spit-covered dreads into these kids’ faces, and then he grabbed a carton of eggs and started pelting people. My buddies laughed their balls off when I got hit with a fuckin’ pie.” And there was still plenty more to come. “Chi Pig pulled everyone onto the stage when they played ‘This is the End,’ and the dance floor was empty during the breakdown. Then they shouted ‘1-2-SNFU,’ and shit hit the fan. People were running off the stage—sweet dive bombs and cannonballs; people were dog piling each other, and some huge skinhead dude launched me headfirst off the stage. I lost my house keys, my bus pass; everything.” That fan was Graeme MacKinnon, and his band the Wednesday Night Heroes would go on to release three albums and tour widely.
The gang moved across the prairies like a punk rock tornado, destroying all in their path. With the night off in Regina on New Year’s Eve, the boys went to a club like normal people. The tour went on, and if shows in the US had been successful, then these dates were twice as good. Although most of the venues were small, some were moved to larger clubs. Winnipeg, Toronto, Montreal, and even Quebec City were better than they had ever been. The idea of reforming the band made more sense all the time.
SNFU crossed into the USA, where they played Detroit with the testosterone-fueled hardcore band Pit Bull. “All you could see was fists and boots swinging. That wasn’t dancing; it was just violence,” comments Chi Pig. The venue was crowded, and there were so many people in the dressing room that Jon couldn’t reach the washroom. Instead, the resourceful drummer crapped in an empty six-pack and left it in the corner. SNFU did the show that night, but before leaving town they taped up the six-pack and asked some fans to bring it across the Canadian border. “We said we’d put them on the guest list at Call The Office in London if they got it across the border, but about fifteen of them showed up, so we had to let them all in,” laughs Chi Pig. The border guards would have been in for a nasty surprise had they looked in the six-pack, but they somehow failed to discover the toxic gift.
SNFU was on the home stretch now. All they had to do was gig their way home across the frozen North. Running on fumes, they plowed forward, socks stinking, around the Great Lakes and over the prairies, longing for a soft bed and a good night’s sleep. The musicians were in their late twenties and early thirties now, and touring was tougher than it had ever been. Still, SNFU was finally making money, so it was with some regret that the musicians finally parted ways. How could they go back to playing half-empty venues for pocket change?
Back in their respective cities, the estranged musicians tried to adapt to the drudgery of civilian life. Whenever they closed their eyes they could see the crowded venues and hear the screaming fans. They returned to their various projects, but not with the same enthusiasm. Little Joe hit The Cruel Elephant on Wednesday, March 25th, 1992, and even though a Discorder reviewer mentioned that Chi Pig had a sore back, the singer worked hard to prove he could entertain a crowd without the help of SNFU. While that may have been true, the room was less than full, so he didn’t really get the opportunity. Nevertheless, the band did their best to please, and the fans were appreciative.
Little Joe continued to gig, even teaming up with Curtis Creager’s Deadbeat Backbone for a show at The Cruel Elephant on May 9th.
The turnout was good, and Chi Pig was happy to see Curt again, even though the bassist told him that he wasn’t interested in rejoining SNFU if they got back together permanently. The bassist had a stable life in E-Town and did not wish to go gallivanting about the world. Touring is not for everyone.
The band was back two weeks later for a gig at the Nappy Dugout, and this time the crowd was noticeably thin. There were simply too many good bands playing for people to see the same band twice in two weeks. The band put in a solid show despite the sparse crowd, proving that they had the chops to survive in a town where competition was tough. Unfortunately, since Little Joe wasn’t playing the SNFU songs that everyone knew and loved, their music went mostly unacknowledged. When people saw Chi Pig they expected to hear SNFU.
Still, Little Joe was not going down without a fight. In order to secure a record deal, the band scraped together enough money to record a demo at Kevin Rose’s basement studio in Burnaby. Apparently, Chi Pig had forgiven Kevin enough to work with him by then. Tim Chiba recalls that Cam Boddy wrote the lyrics to the song “Fisher King” in his free time while they were recording. “The track was brand-new and my guitar goes off kilter two-thirds of the way through,” recalls Tim. They shopped the demo around but received no hits.
The Belkes and Chi Pig continued to discuss the possibility of reforming SNFU on a permanent basis. The money they’d earned on tour was inspiring, but mostly they were overwhelmed by the huge number of new fans. While it seemed like a no-brainer to reunite, the musicians would all have to move to the same city in order for the plan to work. Not just that, but the band had folded once before because of internal issues, and nothing had really changed. Would this be the right thing to do? No one knew for sure.
Marc Belke had already been thinking about moving to Vancouver, and he had one less reason to stay in E-Town when Trent Buhler and Dave Rees abruptly quit the Wheat Chiefs in late February. Although the Belkes had planned to keep the band as a side project if SNFU reformed, that would have been problematic unless the other members moved to Vancouver as well. Contrary to how it looked, Trent Buhler says he didn’t leave the Wheat Chiefs because SNFU might be regrouping. “At the time, SNFU weren’t officially getting back together. I quit mostly because I wanted to do my own thing. I was writing more and more, and had been playing in other people’s bands for many years,” the bassist explains. “I wanted my own band.”
Having left Montreal to join the Wheat Chiefs, Dave was a little resentful that the Belkes wanted to get SNFU back together, but he readily acknowledged that the band hadn’t worked out as anticipated. Given the opportunity, he’d have done the same thing. Dave had gambled but lost, or so he thought.
Shortly after leaving the Wheat Chiefs, Dave Rees and Trent Buhler formed Cowboy Dick with Brian Kassian, who had also moved back to Edmonton by then. “Brian was choked at me for leaving Montreal to join the Wheat Chiefs,” says Dave Rees. Cowboy Dick soon began to play locally, and though the members were not highly ambitious, they were optimistic about the chances of landing a record deal and doing a tour. The three, after all, had been playing together for some time now, and were writing songs they liked. Best of all, they were doing their own thing, free of bosses and orders.
Despite being abandoned by their rhythm section, the Belkes asked a friend named Rob Johnson to join the Wheat Chiefs. They weren’t ready to move away and reform SNFU quite yet. Since the brothers still needed a drummer, they joked about enlisting Ed Dobek (Malibu Kens, Live Sex Shows, Jr. Gone Wild), and were surprised when the accomplished veteran readily agreed.
With seasoned players on board, the band was soon ready to play again, and they performed roughly ten shows in the spring of ’92. Brent Belke was pleased with the new lineup. “We were quicker and more straight ahead; it was great,” recalls the guitarist. Marek Forysinski produced the bulk of the songs that would eventually appear on Redeemer, but the band later wrote and produced two more tracks with Dave Rees after moving to
Vancouver. Dave Ogilvie also produced “Joe Murphy” for The Hanson Brothers’ compilation. Unfortunately, Marc and Brent didn’t have much money to spend on production. “It says right on the album that Marek and Dave didn’t get paid,” says Brent, laughing embarrassedly.
Although the Wheat Chiefs would not formally disband until 1998, the Belkes eventually decided to join Ken Chinn and reform SNFU. “I realized that I could either play in a band or work at some shitty job,” says Marc Belke. “I didn’t want to leave Edmonton that badly, but my girlfriend Renée Bartkiewicz really wanted to move.” Chi Pig and Jon Card already lived there, so it made sense to relocate to a bigger city. From Vancouver, they could tour the West Coast and move across the USA to New York before dropping back into Canada. The band still had to find another bassist, of course, but Vancouver had plenty of capable players from which to choose.
Marc and his girlfriend Renée, (who had previously dated Mike McDonald of Jr. Gone Wild) were the first to leave Edmonton. They loaded up Earl Grey and relocated to Vancouver in July of 1992, where they moved into a house on Dunbar Street with friends Jeff and Shawna. “That was a huge mistake,” relates Marc. “We should have got our own place, because it didn’t work out at all.” Although rent would have been cheaper in East Vancouver, the house was fairly close to the UBC, where Renée would be taking classes in the fall. Brent soon moved as well. “I wish I’d done it sooner,” the guitarist laments. As of 2012, Brent Belke still lives in Vancouver.
One night Chi Pig ran into ex-Unwanted bassist Ken “Goony” Fleming at The Cruel Elephant, and soon SNFU had a new member. Although Goony would soon rub Muc Belke the wrong way, the bass player learned the songs without difficulty and proved himself an able player.
With the line-up complete, the band settled in to rehearse nonstop. The Belkes and Ken Chinn wanted to accept the Epitaph offer, but they had to make sure the band sounded good and that the new guys would stick around for a while. No label was willing to take a chance on a group that might fold in the middle of an international tour. With little money flowing in from the band coffers, the members were obliged to take low-paying part-time jobs—the type they wouldn’t regret leaving. They worked, typically, in the food industry, preparing and serving meals for well-to-do Vancouverites. While this was hardly a dignified way for legendary punk rock stars to pay the rent and put beer in the fridge, they lived with the knowledge that such desperate measures were temporary. They could see stage lights at the end of the tunnel.
After managing themselves for years, and although they were still low on the rock n’ roll food chain, the boys decided to find someone else to take care of the details. To this end, SNFU hired Dave Fortune as their manager. Although Dave was currently a publicist for Cargo Vancouver, the ex-Calgarian agreed to take on the extra work without complaint. The two parties had known each other for a while, and it was customary for SNFU to hire people they met on the road. In this case, the relationship would be mutually beneficial. Dave was no Colonel Tom Parker, but a friend with the band’s best interests at heart.
Meanwhile, Chi Pig and Little Joe played what would turn out to be their last show. Although she was still with Gorilla Gorilla, Bif Naked was also singing for her new band Chrome Dog when she landed at The Cruel Elephant on Friday, August 7th. The patrons were delighted when Bif and Chi performed “Don’t Go Breakin’ My Heart” by Elton John and Kiki Dee. “We said we weren’t going to do it because there was no time to practice with Bif and Chi, but then we saw that Paul had advertised it everywhere, so we felt obligated to perform,” recalls Tim Chiba, who understood that the duet was merely a gimmick to attract more guests. “Truthfully, we didn’t mind the full house and the extra cash it brought.”
Dave Fortune acquainted himself with the band’s complicated affairs while they did a short tour across Western Canada. Leaving town without delay, the boys landed in E-Town to play Moshfest ‘92 with friends the smalls and Deadbeat Backbone on September 5th. The temperature that fall was unseaso
nably cold, and Goony remembers freezing in the back of the van as the group continued on to Calgary, Saskatoon, Regina, and Winnipeg. Unwilling to embark on an extended tour until they could rehearse a little more, the boys returned to Vancouver for more humiliation in the food industry. The new bassist claims that he wasn’t of much use to the band on that tour. “Me and Jon were messed up. We couldn’t even fucking play,” confesses Goony. “They asked me to join the band at the wrong time in my life.”
Renée started classes at UBC while Dave Fortune helped line up shows for the band in Edmonton and Calgary to prepare for a two-month European tour. SNFU headed to Calgary for the first show, unaware that Jon Card was having substance abuse problems and was slightly sick. “I wasn’t aware that Jon was doing drugs at first, and didn’t know what was going on,” recalls Marc Belke. “When I did find out, his erratic behaviour suddenly made sense.” Although the show in Calgary was successful and no one noticed that the drummer was hurting, the situation would soon take a turn for the worse.
Rehearsals continued, but after staying up late drinking and doing drugs one night, Jon missed practice the next day. As this was something Jon promised himself he’d never do, the drummer was very upset. Despite this, the problems persisted. Planning for the European tour was now in the final stages, and the band started to worry. Would Jon be able to keep it together on the road? The veteran drummer had become a liability. With much regret, the decision was made to find someone else. “I went over and banged on his door every fucking day, but he wouldn’t answer. I had to fire Jon over the phone, and that is something I’ll always regret,” says Chi Pig. “That was a shame because there is no other drummer I’d rather work with.” Jon, however, claims that he’d already spoken with Brent before Chi called, and that he quit. The circumstances surrounding his departure are unimportant anyway. Jon was out.