Snfu

by Chris Walter

  Everything Good Must Come To An End

  Not that he didn’t have enough on his mind already, but one afternoon in early January, 1996, Chi Pig received a phone call from his sister Peggy, who tearfully told him that their mother had passed away. Although he rarely saw the woman anymore and his childhood had been extremely dysfunctional, Edna’s death affected him greatly and may have triggered his first full-blown schizophrenic episode. The singer refused to attend the funeral when he learned there would be an open casket, but not out of disrespect. “I didn’t want the last images of my mother to be dead, lying in a coffin,” he says flatly. “I’d rather remember her being happy, going out to bingo with a beehive haircut, or dancing around to Charley Pride records.”

  Although Edna’s passing was the main cause of Chi Pig’s nervous breakdown, there were other contributing factors as well. The two albums that SNFU had recorded for Epitaph had not sold well enough, and his relationship with the other bandmembers was superficial at best. Even his boyfriend Lon had drifted away, leaving Chi behind. Although his father was still around somewhere, the singer did not crave constant communication; he simply needed reassurance that he was not alone. “That was a dark period where nothing, nothing, made sense,” the singer recalls, repeating the word for emphasis.

  Alone in his basement suite on Knight and 33rd, the grieving singer refused to appear at rehearsal and would not explain why, which caused his bandmates a great deal of concern. They banged on his door, but he wouldn’t tell them what was happening. The boys eventually gave up, thinking that for sure the singer had flipped his lid. Chi Pig was so distressed that he couldn’t even go to the store for cigarettes. The darkness was upon him.

  In what sounds exactly like a prolonged schizophrenic episode, the devastated frontman took all the pots, pans, and dishes from his cupboards and stacked them in the middle of the floor with other personal effects such as albums, toys, photographs, and clothing. “I piled all that stuff up in a great big mountain. The place was total chaos,” recalls the singer. He remembers drinking a bottle of PowerAde in the fridge that was actually blue window cleaning fluid he’d mixed with water. “I was losing my fucking mind!” he cries. Finally, after examining every postcard and photograph, he slowly began to put everything away and, when his possessions were back in their rightful places, his thoughts began to sort themselves out. “After that I was fine. I was over it,” the singer declares. The storm had passed. Or had it?

  Chi’s fellow bandmates were relieved when the singer returned to practice as if nothing had happened, but they were very concerned about his mental well-being, especially when they saw that he’d hacked off his dreadlocks with some dull instrument. What little hair remained was dyed an unappealing, orangey-brown colour. “Even before his breakdown, Ken was very reclusive. We’d go to see bands, and he’d tell us about something he saw on TV,” remembers Brent. SNFU began to rehearse at Renegade Studios again, quietly wondering what was happening with their singer, who could be hard to understand at the best of times. “He wasn’t the most normal guy in the world,” say Dave Rees, stating the obvious. For the most part, Chi Pig seemed to be okay, and his bandmates were cautiously optimistic that his mental health would improve. As the cold rain fell in Vancouver and junkies shivered in the streets, the boys prepared to ship out.

  On February 22nd, the band flew to LA with Simon Head for a furious show at the Whisky A Go Go. The boys lived like rock stars that night, staying at the Hyatt Hotel and partying until dawn. The next day, the guys watched Star Wars on laser disc at Brett Gurewitz’s house. “We were smoking ten dollar cigars, and Brett told me that I’d done a good job on sound the night before,” Simon recalls, pleased by the acknowledgement. Generally, the glory is reserved for musicians.

  Saying goodbye to LA, the guys boarded a flight bound for New Zealand, taking roadie Brian “Duckman” Downey, soundman Simon Head, and merch guy Dan DeVloo along for good measure. The tour was supposed to have started in Japan, but a squabble between booking agents killed those plans. Somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, Chi Pig casually mentioned to Rob Johnson that his mother had died several months ago. Rob was stunned, as were the rest of the band when they learned the news. Although they were relieved to discover the reason behind the singer’s mental breakdown, they were also deeply unsettled that he hadn’t bothered to tell them about it earlier. How could anyone possibly keep something like that a secret? Chi Pig informed them he was fine now—that he had gone through the darkness and come out the other side. The guys wondered if that were really true.

  The band landed in New Zealand where they met driver Brian Wafer, who also acted as road manager. “Brian liked to put stacks of bologna on the dashboard to nibble while he was driving,” recalls Brent. The boys headed out in a HiAce van, the type popular with touring bands. Moving across the semi-tropical north island, the musicians were surprised to see that the countryside was still relatively undeveloped. “It was like an old black-and-white movie,” recalls Rob Johnson. He also remembers that the driver never wore shoes or socks. “I felt like we’d gone back in time to the 50s or 60s.” From the start, the HiAce vans were a problem, and they soon went through three of them. “The first one was barely big enough to carry us. There were limbs and guitars sticking out the windows,” Muc recalls. Driving along, Simon felt a bump and was shocked to see the right front wheel roll past them and fly into a ditch. Back at the rental place, they convinced the operators to give them an airport shuttle bus, even though none of them had a Class One licence. “That vehicle held up at least, even if it did use more gas,” Simon muses.

  SNFU played shows in New Plymouth, Hamilton, Auckland, Tauranga, Rotura, Napier, and Wellington, performing for enthusiastic crowds of less than 200. All the shows were on the north island, except for one in Christchurch, where Chi Pig discovered an active gay hangout on the way back from the show. Leaving his bandmates—who were not as successful at finding companionship—he went out alone to meet a few locals. Since the band was staying in hotels, away from opportunities to mingle with the fairer sex, the other members had to settle for beer and TV. Still, Dave Rees remembers the trip fondly. “I love New Zealand and had a blast there. I even married a Kiwi,” says the drummer, who had met his future wife Louisa only weeks earlier. Incredibly, when he told Louisa he was going on tour, it turned out she was preparing to visit family in New Zealand, and they were able to meet there. Some would say that such things are more than coincidence, even if science does not support them.

  Finishing in New Zealand, SNFU flew to Australia and were greeted by booking agent and promoter Chris Moses. “A very excellent guy,” says Brent. Bracing themselves for the next leg, they packed up and moved out for a gig in Newton at Feedback on March 6th. Although they had no hope of recouping their losses, the gang saw the tour not just as a way to increase their fan base, but as a holiday of sorts. “The shows weren’t huge, but they were a lot of fun,” Starbuck confirms. Unfortunately, expenses spiralled ever higher when the driver backed the rented vehicle into a stationary object. “That cost us a lot of money,” Simon remembers stoically. SNFU played two nights in Melbourne, and although more than 200 guests attended each show, the money they earned barely covered the hotel bills.

  On March 17th, the boys reached Sydney for a final show with Frenzal Rhomb on a cruise ship in the harbour. “That was the best shit ever, and another one of the best memories I have of that tour,” says Dan DeVloo. The entire group remained in Australia after the tour ended, treating the entire crew to a week’s paid vacation at Bondi Beach. “Brent changed the dates on our airplane tickets. It was the coolest thing ever,” says DeVloo. “I think it was cheaper to fly later, so we decided to stay,” Brent recalls. The band and crew certainly deserved a holiday.

  SNFU arrived back in Vancouver, but the tour wasn’t over quite yet. Although the tired musicians just wanted to go home and sleep, they were whisked to an icy outdoor show in Whistler, BC. Even though it was March now,
Whistler is located at a high altitude, and the band wasn’t happy about playing outdoors in frigid temperatures. Simon remembers that the stage was literally made of ice, and Bunt remembers that his hands were very cold. “I could see my fingers moving, and I could hear the music, but my fingers were totally numb,” remembers Brent. The show at a bar in Whistler later that night almost turned into a mini-riot. Fans tore a decorative snow fence from a railing and threw it into the mosh pit. Tables and chairs began to fly. On “Watering Hole,” the very last song, a drunken fan pulled a huge light fixture from the ceiling, which smashed to bits on the dance floor. Luckily, the show was over and the destruction stopped.

  The guys woke up hungover the next day, half-delirious from jetlag. When they finally arrived in Vancouver they were ready for a good long rest. “Everyone was on a different clock,” says Simon. The guys soon recovered, but other problems popped up. Although Chi seemed like his usual enigmatic but functional self most of the time, his attendance at rehearsal again became sporadic. Trying to work with a tardy singer made things difficult, and the band needed new songs to finish the album. “Ken told me that sometimes he changed his clock at home so he couldn’t tell what time it was,” recalls Dave Fortune. Apparently, the singer didn’t reserve that stunt just for roadies.

  Since there was nothing the Belkes could do about the situation, they began to rehearse as the Wheat Chiefs. If SNFU went down the tubes, at least they would still have that. After sitting on the demo tapes for years, the Belkes decided to release the material as an album. Adding “Everything“ and “Redeem,” which they had recorded in 1993 with producer Marek Forysinski, drummer Dave Rees, and engineer Vince Gotti, to the eight tracks from 1992, the brothers cobbled together a full album. They also used “Joe Murphy” from The Hanson Brothers compilation. “We called the engineer ‘Vinnie the Face Rubber’ because he rubbed his face a lot,” laughs Brent. “But Vinnie knew his stuff.”

  Although Cargo still wasn’t paying royalties for Better Than a Stick In the Eye or The Last Of the Big Time Suspenders, the Wheat Chiefs entered into an arrangement with the Canadian arm of the same label, who agreed to manufacture and distribute Redeemer for a percentage of sales. While this seemed like a risky move, the major labels weren’t exactly beating a path to their door, and the band had to get the album into stores. If the deal sounds complicated, it was.

  Considering how little the band spent on it, the finished product was surprisingly strong. While fans of the Circle Jerks and Black Flag would not be lining up to buy Redeemer, the album packed a solid wallop nevertheless. Moving swiftly through three fast-paced rockers, the album slowed slightly on the title track, “Redeem” before smashing into “Neighbours.” The fifth track, “Crawl,” had massive MTV hit written all over it. Any director worth his-or-her salt could surely whip together an accompanying video featuring some pouty-lipped vixen quarreling in the rain with her rock star boyfriend. The heroic guitar work alone was enough to give even the most jaded A&R executive a woody. “Hard 2 Love” and “Everything” are aimed at the hearts of female college students, even if most of the musicians also belonged to a nasty punk band. The last song, “Rock & Roll Makes Me Party On MTV & The Radio In The USA” which plays backwards, is a perfect example of why marijuana should be left out of the decision-making process, and the album would be better off without the track. Still, Redeemer was a fairly impressive release, and worse albums have sold millions of copies.

  With this success behind them, Brent and Marc put together a Wheat Chiefs video for “Refuse,” directed by Brent’s girlfriend Mina Shum. The band was pleased with the way the video turned out, and Dave Fortune even managed to get it played on MuchMusic. The flashy little clip was nominated for a Pacific Music Industry award, causing the Belkes to wish that Mina would make a video for SNFU. Unfortunately, Mina preferred the Wheat Chiefs to SNFU, and needed jobs that would pay the bills.

  The Wheat Chiefs seemed to be doing well, but all that glittered was not gold, and Dave Fortune feels that the decision to reform the Wheat Chiefs signified the beginning of the end for the Epitaph line-up. “They were so focused on SNFU for so long that it started to fall apart when they took a break,” suggests Dave Fortune. Brent also knew that things weren’t going well at Epitaph, and didn’t need a crystal ball to predict the future. Dave Rees wasn’t overjoyed either. SNFU’s days with the label were numbered unless the next album sold well. For now, Dave and Brent decided to stick around and try to make it work.

  Surprisingly, while the Wheat Chiefs were still rehearsing, Chi Pig appeared at Renegade Studios and expressed a willingness to work again. The guys were becoming accustomed to the singer’s mood swings and quickly dropped what they were doing. If they wanted to make another album, they had to act while Chi Pig was in a good state of mind.

  At rehearsal, the pressure to produce fresh material intensified. “Chi said he’d done his part, so I grabbed his lyric books and took them home. I went through both of them, but I could only find several lyrics I wanted to read again. He had two or three hundred songs, but most of it was nonsensical pop culture stuff that didn’t say anything to me,” says Brent. No one accuses Britney Spears of writing meaningless pap because everyone takes it for granted, but Chi Pig was held to a higher standard, and rightfully so. Fortunately, and even if Chi’s lyrics no longer carried the political messages that had drawn the attention of Jello Biafra, his pipes were in fine form.

  The band already had a number of songs, and others—including “Fate,” which Bunt had unearthed from Chi’s lyric book—eventually took shape. In late May, Simon Head began recording demos for pre-production, and the band burned the midnight oil putting lyrics to music and working on arrangements. The new album was finally starting to come together.

  On Sunday May 5th, 1996, the last night of the Music West Festival, SNFU performed with Spiderbait from Australia and Seaweed for a small crowd of 200 at the Commodore Ballroom in Vancouver. Seaweed gave the show everything they had, but seemed somewhat mystified to be headlining the event. Although reviewer Rodney Gitzel for Drop-D magazine claimed that SNFU turned in a “solid but uninspired set,” perhaps he was just angry that Chi Pig dumped a large bag of flour over his head. The crazed frontman also lit several things on fire, including a devil doll and his shoes. And so it goes.

  Soon it was time to record, so Dave Fortune booked Mushroom Studios for two weeks in mid-June, and the band began to lay the bed tracks for Fuck You Up Like a Bad Accident, or FYULABA, as it would be known. Engineered by Pete Wonsiak and mixed at the Greenhouse by Dave “Rave” Ogilvie, FYULABA would be the third and last album SNFU made for Epitaph. The title was inspired by schizophrenic American recording artist Wesley Willis (RIP).

  Although the sessions ran smoothly for the most part, the band occasionally went days without seeing Chi Pig, who still seemed to be recovering from his nervous breakdown. The frontman claimed to be fine, but his behaviour told another story. “He was really pounding the cough syrup,” recalls Dave Rees. Once the troubled singer showed up at the studio, but left immediately upon learning that the band didn’t have his rent money. “We were ready for him to lay his vocal tracks, but he just walked out the door,” Brent remembers. The singer’s bandmates were afraid he’d lost his tenuous grip on reality again. “I respected Chi, I still do, but you had to treat him with kid gloves in a way,” says Muc.

  Not only was the singer worrying them, but Dave Fortune was also beginning to feel the pressure from Epitaph to be more fiscally responsible. “Epitaph was very supportive at first, but they started getting antsy when cracks began to appear,” says Fortune. The label was watching their fortunes dwindle with the changing times, and they were no longer throwing money at every band on the roster. Unfortunately, the band couldn’t go any faster, and the studio time was beginning to add up. “But Jeff [Abarta] and Melissa [Cohen], who worked with us directly, were awesome,” says Brent.

  Despite various setbacks, the recording slowly progressed. Bre
tt Gurewitz was also having personal problems at the time, and several years would pass before he was able to break free from the nightmare of drug addiction. “Although I think the worst thing that happened was that I took my eye off the ball, I was not myself at that time. If I was unfair or unkind to them in any way, I would like to hear about it and make amends for that,” says Brett. Those who have never been down that road are not qualified to judge.

  1996 was a very weird year, and it was about to get even weirder for Dave Fortune. When he showed SNFU a financial statement from Epitaph indicating that recoupable debt against sales exceeded $200,000 USD, the boys lost their minds. While it wasn’t Dave’s fault that SNFU owed the label so much money, it underscored how poorly their records were selling. “Epitaph knew the band worked hard and looked at them as an investment. Unfortunately, the sales just didn’t happen,” says Fortune. Although Epitaph wasn’t after the band for the money, they needed a scapegoat. Dave was a friend, but the boys decided to give him his walking papers. If such a ploy worked in professional sports, maybe it would also apply to punk rock.

  After a terse phone conference with Chi Pig in early July, the Belkes arranged to meet Chi at Dave’s house. Chi wanted to sack Dave more than the Belkes did, but they all agreed that changes needed to be made. “The Belkes told me they wanted to fire Dave, but they just stood there when he answered the door, and I had to do all the talking,” the singer recalls. “Dave asked the Belkes if they still wanted him to manage the Wheat Chiefs, and they shook their heads. But Dave did all right for himself later—it was like he became successful just to teach us a lesson.” Marc remembers how difficult it was to make that decision. “We felt bad about firing Dave, but we were desperate and didn’t know what else to do,” says the guitarist. Brett Gurewitz also liked Dave and was sad to see him go.