by Chris Walter
Slaveco, meanwhile, continued to gig around town. They also made a trip to Vancouver Island for shows in Nanaimo and Victoria. By now, Matt was in charge of the practice spot on West 7th, and it was his job to collect rent and pay the landlord. Aside from Dave Ogilvie’s room, drummer Dan Moyse was renting a space, and a local weed dealer named “Mitch” also had a room. The big windows overlooking downtown had long been covered with acoustic panelling to reduce noise, and the rent was still climbing, but both Chi Pig and his new band- mates had worked in spaces that were much worse. Although Slaveco continued to function as a band, it seemed very likely that SNFU would reform to support the new album. Like an outlaw motorcycle club assimilated by a larger club, the younger members of Slaveco waited to be patched over by SNFU.
There were still a few details to work out before that could happen, and it would be inaccurate to say that Marc Belke was overjoyed by Chi Pig’s lyrics. In fact, he was fairly stunned by the words, which he thought were completely nonsensical at first. “People who had never heard SNFU before and weren’t familiar with Chi’s style wouldn’t know what to make of those songs, but after the initial shock wore off, I loved them, really. The songs were so lyrically…. unique,” says Marc, struggling for words. “They’re so honest, and the lyrics were more human.”
While the album may not have been for everyone, it was deeper than anything SNFU had ever done. Younger, less experienced songwriters simply couldn’t have produced such an intense and, at times, emotionally devastating piece of work. Sure, the album contained large doses of pop culture, but many of the songs were deeply personal, and still others reflected an informed social awareness. Those who didn’t know that Chi Pig was also a practitioner of the visual arts might not understand the humour behind “I Think Fine Art’s Fine,” but they could not help but relate to some of the other songs. In the past, the singer had made small concessions to avoid offending sensitive ears, but those days were over. The gloves were off, and the painful yet cathartic truth was there for all to hear. SNFU had nothing left to lose and Chi was letting it all hang out.
For Chi Pig, the recording process had been emotionally challenging, and the songs took a lot out of him. “Making In the Meantime and In Between Time was a very exasperating experience, but I’m glad I got it out of my system,” says the singer. “That record changed my fucking life.” Chi’s pain not withstanding, it is likely that the album changed other people’s lives as well. Marc Belke later learned that an SNFU fan was actually buried to the song “Head Smashed in Buffalo Jump.” “He was a big SNFU fan, and was from that part of Alberta,” the guitarist says respectfully. Truly, such a thing was an honour.
The back-and-forth nature of the recording process had taken an inordinately long time, and Marc and Jennifer didn’t return to Vancouver until November of 2003. With a new album in the can, Muc was ready to bury the hatchet with Chi Pig and make one last stab at music before riding gracefully into the sunset in a rented van. Back in town, he rented another room at the rehearsal space on West 7th and prepared to fire up the band again. Matt Warhurst had volunteered to handle bass duties in the new SNFU, but that still left them without a drummer. Given the difficulty they’d had trying to find drummers after Dave Rees left, the problem was serious enough to cause concern.
Chi Pig wasn’t worried at all, and immediately insisted that they get Shane Smith. Not only was Shane a skilled percussionist, but he’d already been in bands with both of them. Marc knew Shane could drum, but was hesitant nevertheless. SNFU was not Ocean 3, or even Based on a True Story; SNFU was a punk band, and they didn’t need anything too fancy. Could Shane keep it simple?
Shane Smith had no doubts that he could do the job. After all, he came from a punk background, playing NOFX and Pennywise covers with his first band The Insubordinates. Born in the small town of Armstrong, British Columbia on January 22nd, 1979, Shane had no brothers, and just his older sister Angel for company. The family moved to Vernon when Shane was six, and the boy spent his time looking for fun and adventure. His parents split up when he was nine, so Shane lived with his mom during the week, and made the trip across town to stay with his father on weekends. His dad, who loved old-time rock bands such as The Rolling Stones, taught Shane how to play drums on the same kit he had used as a youth. “I couldn’t even reach the pedals, so I just tapped around on the skins at first,” admits Shane Smith. He eventually learned the basics, and his dad rewarded his progress by giving him the kit, which he soon delivered to his ex-wife’s house. One might suspect that Mr. Smith took some small pleasure in subjecting the poor woman to such a noisy gift.
Just a boy when grunge shook the world, Shane became a disciple of Nirvana frontman Kurt Cobain, who bestowed upon him a fondness for loud alternative rock and ratty green-and-yellow sweaters. Life, however, took a tragic turn for the young drummer in 1993 when his mother took ill and passed away. Kurt Cobain committed suicide just a year later on April 5th, sending Shane into a dangerous tailspin. The youth managed to pull himself from the depths of despair by playing the drums at every opportunity. Music was the only thing that could not be taken away from him, and the distraught teen leaned on it heavily until he could walk on his own again.
Eventually, Shane and two friends formed The Insubordinates and landed a show at the Java House Jam opening for Matt Warhurst’s band, Dick Jane Spot. Unhappily, Shane forgot to bring his drum carpet, and spent the night chasing his kick drum across the stage. “I also drank two bottles of Jolt cola and ate half a bag of chocolate-covered espresso beans before the show, so I was playing too fast,” he recalls. His hilarious antics drew the attention of Matt Warhurst, who also noticed that the younger teen had talent. The Insubordinates soon changed their name to Firecracker, but Matt would remember the young drummer.
Like Matt Warhurst, Shane left home as soon as possible, moving to Vancouver at age seventeen. Looking to improve his game further, the teenager took eight months of lessons at the Pacific Drum Centre in Kitsilano. He was still looking for a band when, by fluke, he ran into Matt Warhurst at Carpac. The rest, as they say, is history.
From the Ashes a Work of Art
Slaveco made one last trip to Alberta, where they opened for the UK Subs at New City in Edmonton. Jay Black remembers the show. “Meeting those guys, sharing stories backstage, pounding back brews, and pissing in the alley with Charlie, who I believe was sixty at the time, was incredible for me. I remember they had to play the Cobalt in Vancouver the next night, so they gave us their hotel rooms and bombed the hell out of there.” Slaveco woke up in late morning and made the long drive home. The band was no more.
SNFU was now the sole focus of the former Slaveco members, and they began to rehearse with a vengeance. “At that point, we were already booking shows for SNFU,” recalls Matt Warhurst. Chi Pig and Muc were not brimming with love for one another, but they weren’t fighting openly and seemed to have accepted that they worked best as a team. The newest members were about to release an album and go on tour, perhaps even to Europe. For young musicians craving adventure and excitement, things didn’t get any better.
Not that life was perfect. Chi wasn’t always the steadiest hand on deck, and his mood swings were becoming more obvious. He could be bubbling over with enthusiasm in the afternoon, but sullen and taciturn by nightfall. The singer was doing a wide array of drugs—some legal, and some not. Nevertheless, Matt and Shane could play anything, and the band quickly knocked together a solid set list. This was a huge relief for Marc, who couldn’t bear the idea of struggling with another drummer. Rather, the new guys kept Chi and Marc on their toes.
In the Meantime and In Between Time, which took its name from closing comments made by a Stampede Wrestling announcer, was released by Marc Belke’s Rake Records in early September of 2004, and the band anxiously awaited the reaction. Poor reviews wouldn’t affect Matt and Shane much, but Chi and Marc were a little nervous. After all the hard work they had put into the album, the thought that people might not u
nderstand it was unsettling.
They shouldn’t have worried, as the new release was beyond what anyone could have expected. It was, in fact, a masterpiece.
The album opens with a furious salvo of guitars and drums that segues neatly to the most deeply personal lyrics Chi Pig had ever committed to paper. Taking a cue from other great rock songs of a similarly profound nature, “Cockatoo Quill” gives Trent Reznor’s “Hurt” a damn good run for its money.
It’s so easy just to fuck it all
and go for the Mersyndol.
Or something stronger to get me back
on the wagon I just fell off of.
Another swig
One last gulp
One more tablet to pop
Anything to get me to start
working on what I’ve been putting off.
The cautionary “Cockatoo Quill” is highly infectious, and those who wished to ignore the dark message could easily lose themselves in the pounding beat and supercharged guitar. The thundering rhythm section drives the message home, and the results are as exhilarating as they are frightening.
Mersyndol, one of Chi’s favourite cold-and-flu medications, contains liberal quantities of codeine and other psychoactive drugs. One large study found that Mersyndol was more effective as a sedative than the barbiturate phenobarbital was. Interestingly, the singer’s references to booze foreshadow his return to active alcoholism two years later. At the time Chi wrote the song, he was not drinking and hadn’t been for more than ten years. The lyricist is referring to cough syrup when he says “another swig,” and later rhymes “lager” with “logger” probably for no better reason than he liked the play on words. Also, the word “pinned” in the last line of the song does not refer to the dilated pupils of the heroin addict, but to a term used in professional wrestling. Chi Pig had elevated his use of double meanings to a whole new level.
As noted earlier, “I Think Fine Art’s Fine” would not have deep meaning to the average listener, but anyone who had ever purchased one of the singer’s drawings or paintings was well aware that art was of paramount importance to the songwriter, and he needed it almost as much as he needed music. Although the subject has barely been scratched here, Ken Chinn is a prolific artist and the artwork he did for various SNFU projects was merely the tip of a fascinating iceberg. His scrapbooks always contain many pen or pencil drawings, and if he isn’t writing, then he is drawing. While some express dismay that Chi Pig has sold almost everything he ever created, some would argue that his ability to market his work simply means that he has been successful. Professional artists sell what they produce.
The jangly guitar that starts “Cheap Transistor Radio,” is joined presently by a deceptively gentle tumble of bass and drums. Then, with an abrupt “Yeah!” the opening verse collides head-on with an avalanche of powerful but carefully controlled riffs. A squeaky tight rhythm section holds the purposely-disjointed lead guitar in place, gluing the song together and providing a solid foundation for the easy-to-hear lyrics. “Cheap Transistor Radio” is a nostalgic look back at a time when Clear Channel did not exist, and the song is as lyrically lighthearted as “Cockatoo Quill” is ominous. While not every song on the radio in the ‘60s was a skillfully crafted masterpiece, this modern classic ranks with the best of them.
Three songs in, the album is cooking with gasoline, and the flame is about to burn even brighter. Much has already been said here about the incredible “Head Smashed in Buffalo Jump,” but such a song is difficult to describe with mere words. While the lyrics are pure pop trivia referencing flying saucers and Elvis Presley, the song somehow conjures up images of noble Plains warriors perched horseback atop a sandy bluff. There are no heart wrenching personal confessions here, or sharp observations on the human condition, but the pounding floor tom sounds like a declaration of war from an Indian drum. This isn’t a song to analyze or study too deeply, but a raging slice of punk rock to carry deep in the heart.
“One Legged Bridge Jumper Breaks Good Leg In Plunge” marks a return to the harsh world of drugs and addiction. This time, however, Chi Pig is the bystander rather than the protagonist, studying fellow passengers on the bus (“welfare cart”) with the unflinching eye of an artist. As the chugging mid-tempo riffs swirl and crash, the drama on the bus unfolds.
She’s got track marks on her arms.
They tell all about her past
Will she be here next year? I ask.
By taking the role of a casual observer, the songwriter can see how drug abuse affects those around him, but he deftly changes the subject in order to avoid taking stock of his own life. He plucks a random newspaper headline from the dirty floor of the bus on which he wrote the song.
I said how about that one-legged bridge jumper who broke his good leg in the plunge?
Yeah, he’d make a good character study, or is he busy studying me?
Now I’m the one craning to see if he’s scribbling about me.
Marc Belke refers to “A Hole in Your Soul,” as a folk song, but unless Joan Baez and Pete Seeger use Marshall stacks and Pearl drums, then this folk song is unlike any other. Rather, “A Hole in Your Soul” is the portrait of a desperate man on a ledge, afraid to stand too close for fear that he might throw himself into the abyss. While the song does not come across as a cry for help, it reveals a great deal of pain (which the artist cannot help but rhyme with “pane”), and is not the sort of thing any stable person could write. Unlike the song of the same name by Swedish pop sensations ABBA, this number will never find its way into trendy European discotheques.
“Der Heavy Head Dance” is a routine but cheery effort to counterbalance the more serious songs. Every good album needs a song or two that helps listeners escape the harsh reality of life. One of the best things about In the Meantime and In Between Time is that Chi’s lyrics, in all their glorious quirkiness, are so easy to hear. Pete Wonsiak, Dave “Rave” Ogilvie, and Marc Belke all are at the very top of their game, and the production is near flawless.
“The Birdman of Malmo” could be about Chi Pig if he were in prison. The singer must surely have identified with the artistic Birdman of Malmo, and he is well aware that not all bars are made of tempered steel. Chi Pig is the Pig Man of East Vancouver. With crayons or pencils, the singer can escape from any cell, mental or otherwise. Chi Pig returns to his gloomy basement suite with “Sick Lee & Coward Leigh,” which reveals the distance between the singer and his fellow man. Whether he is being honest or playful when he says people are merely stepping-stones for him to “get what he wants,” there is enough truth to those lyrics to provide a sober glimpse into the singer’s often-troubled mind.
The next two tracks, “If I Die Will You Die,” and “A Wreck In Progress” are not quite as strong as the others, and while they do not qualify as filler, those compositions do not fully meet the overall high quality of the album. The songs, which concern a suicide pact between Sid and Nancy, and a man who survives a suicide attempt, don’t add much to what is already a very solid release. Then again, perhaps it is simply difficult to top the songs that precede them.
The last track, “Elaine Elaine,” closes the album well, and brings fans back into the wonderfully twisted world of SNFU. A tender ode to a strange prairie girl, whose first name is the same as her surname, “Elaine Elaine” leaves the listener with just one last regret.
Elaine Elaine, only listened to new wave
Never heard of Quiet Riot
I wish I could say the same.
Marc breathed a little easier when the new release met with positive reviews. While not every critic could understand or appreciate such a ground-breaking album, most fans or first-time listeners were wholeheartedly delighted. Almost everyone agreed that In the Meantime and In Between Time was a significant piece of work, especially from a band that many had written off long ago. Even the most jaded of SNFU fans could see the strange and terrible beauty of songs such as “Cockatoo Quill” or “One Legged Bridge Jumper Breaks Good Leg In
Plunge.” Those who couldn’t grasp the stark brilliance of the album were welcome to throw themselves from that aforementioned bridge.
In June of 2004, SNFU set the all-time attendance record at the Cobalt Hotel—a record that will never be topped. That steamy spring night, 565 paying guests and an unknown number of freeloaders packed themselves into the crumbling, vermin-infested edifice for a performance that was over the top in terms of crowd participation and energy. Fans that dove from the stage crowd surfed all the way out the door because there was no room to put them down on the floor. Puke, piss, and shit four-inches deep covered the washroom, and the overflowing toilets spewed filth into the pub as patrons trapped near the washrooms fought to escape but couldn’t. There was no line-up for drinks because the entire room was packed solid, and those close enough simply thrust money at the harried bartenders, who worked feverishly in a futile effort to meet the demand. The band was on fire, and fans sang every word to every song, except maybe a few of the new ones. Humidity dripped from the walls and ceiling. Roaches and rats cowered in the crevices. The cops wisely stayed away.
Bolstered by the good response, SNFU began to tour the places that Marc and Chi had been so many times before. Vancouver Island was familiar to Shane and Matt by now, but they were unaccustomed to the big crowds in Edmonton and Calgary. It was amazing to see so many people whooping enthusiastically after each song. The booze backstage was great too, as were the friendly girls. Being in SNFU wasn’t so bad, even if the singer and the guitarist didn’t always see eye to eye. “Not that we were rolling in it or anything, but it was around this time that I decided to quit my job to concentrate on the band,” says Matt Warhurst.