In the Next Breath

As Og faded, (and beware of the thorough, yet dubious history of Canadian indie-rock know as “Have Not Been the Same”) so did their CBC-styled vision of a pan-Canadian retro-punk nation. Og had bands from the breadth of the country, even if the heartland (Quebec and Ontario) dominated. Blatant regionalism was looming, with the East Coast bands bringing boring back via Sub-Poop (I actually typed that, then childishly refused to correct it).

Happily, in the wake of the Doughboys and (more pertinently, Lookout Records) little pop-punk scenes flourished all over in the early 90’s (see this post for Bum and the Doughboys goodness – even if that sounds a little dirty).

Ontario had its share of also-rans. The Stand GT, Crash 13 and Bender (who came into being before Matt Groening made an internet search of their name a quagmire) all appeared on comps, put out singles and toured the Great White Wasteland. Bender (Shawn Berger - Guitar/Vocals - Kevin James - Bass/Backing Vocals - Andrew McNenly - Drums) put out their 1994 album Funny Kar on Ringing Ear Records which specialized in bantam-weight pop like Sinkhole. This album's best hooks lie buried just beneath the chugging guitars so listen in till you can sing along to little anthems like "Don't Say No"- like a good Canadian.


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Let ICFC Die

It Came From Canada Five killed the series. It wasn’t the quality of the entry: each of which rocks (my personal preference for numero four aside). Instead, like almost every one of their bands, the label found they had emptied the cultural morgue. Even Deja Voodoo showed contempt for nostalgia in its final track, “Let Elvis Die.” The many highlights of this final volume include RipcordZ (described by Gerald as “‘77 punk with ‘66 chord progressions”) who are one of the few ICFC bands to have never quit (Paul Gott cannot be killed), the hyped up-country of Hard Rock Miners (whose Michael Turner wrote the brilliant poem-novel Hardcore Logo). As well, Gordon Lightfoot finally shows up in the form of the Supreme Bagg Team’s rocked-out cover of “If You Could Read My Mind”, 64 Funycars ape The Dik Van Dykes (we here at MRML can appreciate an homage to an homage) and pop-punk rears its bespectacled head in the form of the Stand GT (more later). Taken as a whole, it’s a suitable epitaph.

In 1989 Og died, shot in the head by the indifference of their era. If only they could have seen the indie-grave-robbing orgy that was coming - in which case they might’ve pulled the trigger themselves!


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ICFC Again

The fourth time around may be the ICFC’s zenith. A logical progression of excavation, yet this volume somehow feels (or it did back then anyway) more modern and less studied.

Deja Voodoo and the Gruesomes return as always, Shadowy Men on a Shadowy Planet prove themselves the only surf-revival bands that mattered, Colour Me Psycho pummel, the little-known Hells’ Half Acre made cow-punk mean something and Sons of the Desert added girl-group ooohing to the Og gumbo.

As for Fluid Waffle legend has it that someone once said “Fluid Waffle?? That’s the worst band name imaginable – you might as well call yourselves…Furnace Face.” The band promptly changed their name and even secured some modest Canadian success in the aftermath.

An indication that things were changing was the Cowboy Junkies. Unknown at the time of release (excepting their low-radar debut) Blue Moon’s molasses-tempo and narcotic melody stuck out in a gloriously incongruous way. Yet it still fit with the steely backwardness that defined Og. The band blew up in the media right after this release, a foreshadowing of the absorption of the post-punk aesthetic into the Adult Alternative format. With a hit band on (or connected) to their label, Og’s undoing was at hand...


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Chapter Thirty-Two: Grave--Diggin'

The It Came From Canada compilations contained multitudes. They were anything but seamless; in fact Og created a Frankenstein Monster out of the rotting copses of crude sounds of the past and its stitched togetherness was grotesquely obvious. When they were done the Og crew looked upon their work and declared it ‘cool’.

Last time around, we said that “Og pilloried the vacuousness of the nineteen-eighties by pushing bands who were a hundred different shades of anachronistic: Western-Swing, gospel-punk, garage rock, country blues, psychedelic, 77 punk, lounge-jazz, faux girl-group and cow-punk…” Perhaps we over-simplified.

Many years ago, in a crappy suburban record store (yes, Virginia…) I discovered a whole rack of the Og Catalogue. I chanced Volume One. Something was happening here, and I refused to be Mr. Jones. I still posses the first volume in the shrink-wrap (slit open) with the $6.99 written in white grease pencil. Soon I dug up the rest of the Og oeuvre.

Volume One’s multitudinous variety includes Jerry Jerry’s gospel-punk, Ray Condo’s rockabilly, Dusty Chaps western-ness, Chris Houston’s lounge-jazz and Deja Voodoo’s distorted 50’s pastiche, And that’s side one! Side two is both more cohesive and completely fucked. The Enigmas and UIC are both garage-punk in the mightiest sense of that compound. The Gruesomes’ ‘66 shtick worked live in grimy bars but on vinyl their exactness grated. Then, as compilations often did in the 70’s and 80’s, things get experi-mental. Terminal Sunglasses get hicuppy and trippy on their two tracks while Calamity Janes go all Bongos-and-free verse on you before My Dog Popper (who link this LP to the earlier It Came from the Pit) choose one of their more irritating work-outs to end this LP off on in a Ronald Reagan Acid Flashback kinda way. Enjoy the way it all comes together in a hideously wonderful way.

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IFC II almost equals its predecessor in a way sequels rarely do. (I refuse to name check the G-dfather series so let’s just compare it to Aliens.) The second LP is another musty distillation of ghost-town genres (garage-rock, hardcore, surf, country-gospel, blues, western swing, spoken-improv and, mais d’accord, a cappella beat-boxin’) with the zany creepiness of Vincent Price in the Hilarious House of Frightenstein. While it lacks a stone-classic like Jerry Jerry’s “Bad Idea”, it features one of the best Gruesomes’ songs (“What’s Your Problem?”) and the more comic side of the oft-furious Guilt Parade (see here for their shockingly-unheard album).

While not all songs (this time the one-song-per-band dictum is adhered to) reach lift-off, they all fit together. This synchronicity is one of the joys of a well-compiled piece – even the irritating bits help vary the flow and eventually find a place in the narrative.

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Third time’s the harm – here's where the ghoulish It Came From Canada series, after gorging on the corpses of genres-past, shambles towards its ghastly climax.

Familiar names abound; Deja Voodoo, Condition, Jerry Jerry, Guilt Parade, the Grusomes, Ray Condo, Chris Houston and the Ten Commandments all return from previous volumes. The Dik Van Dykes debut here, with the lead-off track, as they will do for the last two entries in the series. Perhaps the lower-string-less Diks along with the bludgeoning Colour Me Psycho and the nouveau-sludgeabilly House of Knives illustrate that the series, instead of uniting pre-existing primitivists, was now inspiring a new horde.


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Or try this one.

Chapter Thirty: Frustration and Heartache is What You Got

If every music journalist is a failed musician then perhaps every blogger is a failed music journalist. Count me in for that generalization.

I failed to write a brilliant article on the Winnipeg scene of the late 80’s. I interviewed a few future legends and a few old warhorses and while the bands all did their part I never finished the damn article for the Manitoban.

One of my interviews was with Honest John and his Merry Men, a mild moniker for a band that encapsulated the history of Winnipeg punk rock; including singer Mitch Funk of Personality Crisis and the three former members of the Stretch Marks. Honest John (who have just recently re-formed for a local show) used to perform the Stretch Marks’ classic “Dog’s World with half the audience (yes, including yours tunelessly) singing the ‘arf, arf’ backing vocals. That night, Mitch said that he’d been offered good money to re-assemble PC for an East Coast tour but that his heart wasn’t in that old material.

Well his heart was pumping in the early 80’s when PC with Mitch’s hulking, yet animated, frame out front dominated the scene. Never a hardcore band per se, the band featured stinging, metallic guitar, steady beats and Mitch’s deep bass vocals. A band without a single clear antecedent (the NY Dolls influence is not pronounced) they simply stomped in the same way that DOA, who also had a taste for beer, rock and thrift store clothing, did. On this collection (which has all their studio tracks plus a live track) the hits come thick and fast with the anthemic, “Twilight’s Last Gleaming” and the pummelling “Mrs. Palmer” being early contenders for standout track. The album is relentless - so stay focussed till it's all finished, unlike yours truantly.

Enjoy this neglected masterpiece and be prepared to buy the re-issue when (and keep faith here - even if it’s never been on CD) it arrives.



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