by Chris Walter
This left SNFU in a bit of a pickle. The tour was only two weeks off, and they needed another drummer, fast. Marc phoned Dave Rees in Edmonton to see if he was available. At the time, Dave was finishing a jazz drumming course at the renowned Grant MacEwan Music College, where Brian Kassian was also studying guitar. Although he regretted leaving Cowboy Dick, Dave agreed once again to move at Muc’s request. In late October of 1992, because SNFU didn’t have enough time for him to take the bus, Dave Rees flew to Vancouver. He felt no remorse whatsoever about abandoning his restaurant job.
Arriving in town, Dave had only ten days to learn the songs. Luckily, he grew up listening to SNFU and had been studying music every day. If anyone was in a position to absorb the material in a very short time, Dave was that person. He was surprised, however, to learn that the band was offering the position full-time only if the European tour went well. Dave wasn’t happy, and told Marc that if he went to Europe, it would only be as a permanent member. Left with no option, Muc agreed. And why not? Dave Rees was eager to give SNFU everything he had, so his addition could only be seen as a positive thing.
Unfortunately, the Belkes had already been forced to move from the house they’d rented for the band, so Dave had no choice but to stay with Ken “Goony” Fleming in White Rock, which was a long way to travel for practice. Somehow the pair persevered, making the forty-five kilometre journey twice daily.
The band rehearsed vigourously before doing a show at the Nappy Dugout in late October. Despite having a new drummer, the event went well. “The gig was super packed and the energy level was off the charts,” says Dave Rees, who remembers almost dying of heat stroke during the hot and strenuous set. He also recalls an incident that occurred just after the show ended. “The sweat was running in my eyes, and I couldn’t find my towel anywhere. Then I look over and see Goony cleaning his bass with it. He’s an awesome guy, but he would do stuff like that sometimes.”
SNFU flew to Germany on November 2nd, 1992. Monk arrived from Montreal a day later, and the gang met in Amsterdam. This would be another bare bones tour, spent crammed and exhausted in a tiny van with people who didn’t speak English. Although the hardships were great, the hospitable Europeans would generally shoo dogs from the corner of the floor where the band was to sleep. The tour got underway, impeded slightly by electrical outlets that did not accept three-pronged North American amplifiers and hopelessly confusing maps in those archaic pre-GPS days. The usual, in other words.
In Rotterdam, Ken Fleming saw a big, cool sticker on a door, so he peeled it off and stuck it on his guitar case. Later at the club, the proprietor told Ken to remove the sticker immediately because it was the property of the local Hells Angels. Unfortunately, several disgruntled bikers spotted Ken’s guitar case before he could take it off. “Those guys were not happy with me at all. I had to put the sticker back right away,” recalls Fleming, who was quick to comply before the bikers demonstrated their displeasure. The bassist, however, continued to help himself to other souvenirs around town. “Goony took all sorts of gig posters, not just ours, from poles. I told him he was giving the band a bad name, but he didn’t give a fuck,” says Chi Pig. Goony defended his habit of taking whatever keepsakes he could find, insisting that “coaster collecting is fascinating.” Chi Pig found the statement so bizarre that he later used it as the last line in his 1995 song “Bumper Stickers.”
Ken “Goony” Fleming was definitely the odd man out. Marc Belke and Monk didn’t get along with the bass player, who did as he pleased and didn’t care what anyone thought. Although the guitarist and the roadie weren’t happy with him, the bassist performed his duties capably, even if he was inebriated most of the time. “I was drunk out of my mind almost every day,” contends Fleming, who had started drinking heavily after breaking up with his long-time Italian girlfriend, Maria. “We were engaged to be married, but she started giving me grief about joining another loser punk rock band, so I plucked the ring off the table and moved out when she was at work.” Free and unfettered, Goony was ready to break loose and raise some hell. “Maybe it was me and not Goony, but I found him annoying as hell,” Marc comments.
Monk also had a few issues. Previous to this tour, the roadie had been working for Voivod, who travelled in a fancy tour bus and lived like rock stars. “Monk was spoiled, and complained that he wasn’t making enough money. He was a fucking handful on that tour, too,” comments Marc. Despite his own general discontent, Monk was very protective of SNFU and felt that Goony was disrespecting the band. Dave Rees, on the other hand, thought that Goony played well and was an entertaining performer. Whatever the case, fans enjoyed the shows, and Goony, Muc, and Monk somehow refrained from beating the bejesus out of each other. “Goony was a total dipshit on that tour,” says Chi Pig with the immunity that musicians who have worked together for many years enjoy. “He was drinking at least a bottle of vodka a day.”
The band moved across Europe, with Ken Fleming telling them fishing stories all the way. “First the fish was one size, and the next day it’s twice as big,” groans Chi Pig. “He was nuts for fishing.” Although it sounds cliché, Ken really did enjoy exaggerating the size of his catches. The rest of the band, especially Muc and Monk, weren’t enamoured with his tall tales, and could have cared less about fish unless it came with chips. “Goony would be guzzling scotch and puking out the van window. He never knew when to stop,” remarks Dave.
While in Berlin, Chi Pig had the pleasure of visiting the world-renowned Tom’s Bar. “I read about the place in a gay tour guide and wanted to check it out,” says the singer, assuring readers that he was able to find entertainment in Europe. The rest of Chi’s bandmates did not accompany him on this foray, and although there were no baseball games to attend, one can be assured that they found other things to do. Chi enjoyed his day away from the band, free of Goony’s drunken fish stories and the relentless tension between some members of the entourage. Monk describes how they tried to give each other space. “Goony and the Dutch tour manager Yohan hung out pretty much the whole time getting fucked up, and I mostly hung out with Bunt. We were also doing a lot of partying.”
In Rome, the boys went exploring after the show and eventually wound up at the Colosseum. Finding the ancient tourist attraction closed, they climbed the fence with bottles of scotch in hand. Once inside, they found themselves in the hallway used famously in the Bruce Lee movie, Return of the Dragon. “We reenacted the scene where Bruce Lee kills Chuck Norris, with me playing Bruce Lee and Brent playing Chuck Norris. I kicked his fucking ass,” boasts the singer. “We met some guy from Edmonton there, which was pretty weird. He just happened to be wandering around the Colosseum at three in the morning,” Dave remembers.
Although not even Chi Pig was aware of it, the Colosseum was a gay hangout, and the darkened recesses of the giant arena were perfect for casual encounters. Again, this only interested the singer, and the rest of the band soon found reasons to leave, but not before guzzling the booze they brought with them. There was no point in letting perfectly good scotch go to waste.
Goony met a pretty girl in Switzerland and thought they would hang out. Instead he got drunk, and found himself lying next to a stolen bicycle with his pants around his ankles when he regained consciousness. “I still had my underwear on, but my wallet was hanging half out of my pocket. Good thing it didn’t happen in Canada because somebody would have stole it for sure,” the bassist recalls sheepishly. “I was doing some really stupid shit on that tour.” Dave Rees agrees that the level of debauchery was excessive. “Goony drank like a motherfucker. I think we all did, though, to be honest.”
Although the tour itself was without major drama, one can be sure that it was very exciting for those who lived through it. “Europe loved SNFU and I was having the time of my life,” says Dave Rees. “I could hardly believe that I’d made the right choice for once.” Dave remembers that as drunk as Ken Fleming was, the bass player hooked up with more girls than anyone else in the band did. “In Denmar
k, the bastard left the show with two hot girls!”
No detailed itinerary was available at the time of this writing, but we do know that SNFU returned home in mid-December of 1992, just before Christmas. Again, the band did not make a great deal of money, but they increased their fanbase and left an indelible mark on the hearts and minds of those who saw them. Although the shows were not substantially bigger than they’d been in 1988, they considered the tour a success, even if they never wanted to hear another fish story again. Monk returned to Montreal, and SNFU went back to Vancouver.
Marc waited until after Christmas before firing Ken Fleming. Although Goony was a good muscian, he just couldn’t deal with his cavalier attitude and careless manner. “I got my first tattoo with Goony, but he was totally out of control,” says Marc. “Part of my unhappiness, I admit, was due to the fact that I still wanted to get Creager back in the band. I didn’t hate Goony or anything.” Although he feels differently now, Chi also wanted to give Goony his walking papers. Whatever the case, SNFU was on the hunt for another bass player. “Curt [Creager] had become a major league bass player by then, and I asked him if he wanted to rejoin, but he was committed to Deadbeat Backbone,” Muc explains. Curtis was also too sane to make music his primary occupation.
Nevertheless, the band didn’t have very far to look, and the call soon went out to Rob Johnson, who had not only played bass for the Wheat Chiefs but had also paid his dues in the Dimestore Hoods and others. “We knew each other from the scene, and we all got along well,” says Chi Pig. Rob also knew Marc Belke from Earls in Edmonton Centre where the pair worked together in the kitchen. “Marc was a line cook, but I knew he’d been in SNFU,” clarifies Rob. The band picked Rob not only for his easygoing personality and friendly nature, but also for his musical skills. Even if Rob insists that he wasn’t very good in the beginning, it is clear that he caught on fast.
SNFU sent a plane ticket, and Rob arrived in mid-January of 1993. One afternoon shortly after moving to Vancouver, the new bass player went for coffee with the band. He finished his coffee and, bored, began to kick the empty cup around on the street outside. Because of this, and for no better reason, the new guy was dubbed “Starbuck,” a nickname that follows him to this day.
The band began rehearsing with Rob at Fir Street Studios, and Chi Pig says the chemistry between the new guy and the other members was there from the beginning. “You could hear it, and you could smell it. You could almost see it,” recalls the singer. Rob was not only learning the old songs, but he was also writing new material, so the learning curve was steep. “We practiced a lot, but I was horrible at first,” Rob says modestly. Whether or not that is true, SNFU plunged forward, and it was at this time that they began writing the songs that would appear on Something Green and Leafy This Way Comes, which would be released on Epitaph Records later that year.
Rob Johnson, of course, was but the latest in a long string of SNFU bassists. Unlike some who lasted only a tour or two, Rob would spend a respectable nine years in the trenches with the band. Granted, those trenches weren’t quite as grimy as they had been in the beginning, but nine years is a significant tour of duty nevertheless. In that length of time, he would learn more about SNFU, and the music industry in general, than is healthy for any man.
Settling into a house in the semi-posh Dunbar area of Vancouver’s West Side with the Belke brothers and Marc’s girlfriend, Renée, the new bass player began to acclimatize himself to his new home. Born in Edmonton on November 20th, 1971, Rob “Starbuck” Johnson was far younger than the principal members. His mother and father, of Eastern European and American descent respectively, were also born in E-Town, and his roots in that city went back at least two generations. Mr. Johnson pulled down a living as a photographer, while Mrs. Johnson worked in Health Services for the provincial government. The Johnsons weren’t rich, but with both parents working and only two children, they were not lining up at the food bank. Rob’s younger sister attended many SNFU shows with her husband, and was always there to support her brother. She obviously enjoyed the shows to appear so often. Sibling love only goes so far.
Oddly, and though Rob developed an ear for music at a very early age, he does not come from a musical background. His parents play no instruments, and he has no older siblings to influence him. “As a thirteen year old, I thought it might be easier to pick up chicks if I knew how to play guitar,” he says lightly, though it takes more than a desire to get laid to become a musician. Rob lost his gig cherry to Iron Maiden at Northlands Coliseum when he was twelve. “You know, dropped off by the parents,” he says, relating an experience common to thousands of young people. Just as familiar were the clouds of marijuana smoke that hung in the air at such events.
Around the time Rob attended his first rock show, SNFU was just beginning the siege of Spartan Men’s Club that would last until mid-1985. Even as a kid, Rob was aware of SNFU. “Everyone knew who they were, and you could see their shirts everywhere,” recalls the bassist. His own first band Disco Graveyard, was a quasi-punk outfit consisting of Rob and two friends. At age fourteen or fifteen, Rob was not yet ready to set the world alight with his music, but even rock stars have to start somewhere.
Like many youths, Rob’s first guitar was a “crappy Series ‘A’ Strat copy” that he bought at a pawnshop. A friend showed him how to play the mighty barre chord and he was off to the races. An average student with a normal, functional home life, Rob had no mandate to rebel. “I never had a mohawk or anything,” he admits. “I think I had a ‘Sid Vicious is Dead’ T-shirt, but that’s about it.” The young man graduated grade twelve from Ross Sheppard High School, but did not make plans to attend university. Other than music, he had no defined goals. “I just wanted to play in bands. I didn’t think about anything else,” says Rob. No doubt his mother could sympathize with Mrs. Belke.
Starbuck’s next band, the Dimestore Hoods, made a demo tape and shopped it around. “We weren’t popular at all, but you never knew what could happen,” says Rob. However, the bassist was the only member of the band to find a measure of success, and it wouldn’t be with the Dimestore Hoods. That he toured the world and released three records with an established band is a miracle unto itself.
In the meantime, negotiations continued with Brett Gurewitz in Los Angeles. Just to cover their bases, Marc also spoke with Randy Boyd at Cargo, who knew SNFU was about to sign with Epitaph. “No one came back to us with a counter offer, but Randy understood why we would rather be on Epitaph. Brett Gurewitz was a musician, and we wanted to work with people who knew what we were about,” says Muc. “But we should have gotten a written release from our contract with Cargo, because it became this ridiculous fucking issue.” Not that SNFU would have gladly signed with Cargo. The new owners were driving the label into the ground and still owed the band a fair bit of money.
The boys practiced until late spring before taking the ferry to Victoria for a gig at Harpo’s, rousing the islanders with a spirited and theatrical show. They returned home the next day for an engagement at the Commodore with DOA, which was also refreshingly crowded and noisy. For twenty-one year old Rob “Starbuck” Johnson, everything was brand new and his enthusiasm was contagious. “There were a million kids in punk bands across Canada who would have loved to play bass for SNFU, and I felt lucky to have gotten the call. It was awesome,” says Rob, who remembers the excitement vividly. His dream to be a professional musician had come true.
Back home in Vancouver, the band continued to work on new material in preparation for a trip down the West Coast to record the new album in LA. Rob “Starbuck” Johnson was fully up to speed now, and was looking forward to his first American tour. He had never spent much time on the road, and didn’t really know what to expect. Although not much younger than Dave Rees, Rob had never been in a working band before. “Dave was a bit worldlier, and Rob was the new kid,” says manager Dave Fortune.
Epitaph wanted an idea of what the songs would sound like, so SNFU quickly recorded a nu
mber of demo tracks and a single at Desolation Sound. “We blasted through the demos, and did the songs for the single as well,” says Bunt. The B-side of “Beautiful, Unlike You & I” was an alternate version of “The Watering Hole,” which would appear on Something Green and Leafy This Way Comes.
At last Epitaph was ready to sign SNFU. The boys wanted to get started as soon as possible, but they still had to wait while lawyers drew contracts and accountants counted. While they sat idle, the boys spoke to Brett Gurewitz about finding a producer for the new album. Although they were thinking about using Dave “Rave” Ogilvie, or Brett himself, the mogul steered them towards Donnell Cameron, who had worked with Rocket From The Crypt, NOFX, Bad Religion, Rancid, and Pennywise. Ogilvie was booked anyway, and wouldn’t have time for SNFU until the following year.
As it turned out, Donnell was also tied up with other projects and wouldn’t be free until August. This was problematic for SNFU because they wanted the album to be out for Christmas, and the label might not have enough time if they waited. Brett assured the bandmembers that the label could manage, even if they didn’t get the master tape until late September. The boys decided to give it a few months. But it wouldn’t be easy.
Living Large and All That Good Stuff
Although the Belkes and Ken Chinn wondered how they could work together after everything that had happened, no real problems materialized. “We realized that we’d created something of significance and we were happy to be able to do it again,” reflects Marc Belke. Instead of open warfare, or even steady bickering, the two parties simply avoided unnecessary communication. Chi Pig kept his cards particularly close to his chest. Even Dave Fortune, who always got along with Chi Pig, found him to be very reserved. “Maybe this will be the boring part of the book, but he’d leave the venue and go directly to his spot in the van, which was the passenger-side loft, and fall sleep until the next stop,” remembers Fortune. “In 2009, Brent Belke and I went to see Open Your Mouth and Say… Mr. Chi Pig, and we were amazed at how little we actually knew about him.”