Argh Fuck Kill: The Story of the DayGlo Abortions (29 page)

Although fans had yet to hear the finished product, the band was reasonably happy with the results. Even without Cretin writing the lyrics, the DayGlo Abortions were as irreverent and crude as ever. In “Homophobic Sexist Coke-heads” Gymbo sings:

Fans would hardly complain that the band had watered down the content. Songs such as “Little Man in the Canoe” and “Casting Couch” were every bit as sexually explicit as the titles suggest. There are plenty of other nasty tidbits for naysayers to chew on, and Sergeant Fitzgibbons would not be tempted to illegally copy the album and give it to his daughter for Christmas. The spoiled brat had left home by this point anyway, the little ingrate.

There are other subtle differences as well. Without Cretin’s metal influence,
Little Man in the Canoe
had a heavier punk sound than previous DayGlo releases, simply because Cretin and Mike Anus were not on hand to provide the metal influence. Other than that, the record sounded like an album by the DayGlo Abortions, and even Gymbo’s vocals were not completely out of place. Ironically, he claims to dislike his voice and doesn’t even own copies of the four DayGlo Abortions albums to which he contributed. “I’ve never been stoked on the way I sound, and I certainly wouldn’t want to sit around listening to myself,” says the ex-DayGlo, who admits that this is a strange attitude for a singer to have. “I’ve always liked Murray’s Popeye-like, raspy voice, and I knew that I could never duplicate it,” says Gymbo. The man is his own worst critic.

All in all,
Little Man in the Canoe
was a remarkable achievement for such a new band, especially given how little time and cash they had at their disposal. Axl Rose probably spent more than $1000 on quilted toilet paper while making his last album, and it still sounded like crap. Granted, there were those who panned the new release, but overall the group was happy to demonstrate that they could write their own music and did not have to rely on Cretin for songs. Promoters were eager to book the band and the kids still paid to get in, despite the fact that Cretin was no longer onboard. The show would go on.

Spud and Bonehead were relieved that the band was back on track. Down in the basement they worked hard, tightening their chops and whipping the new bandmembers into shape. Once in a while, the DayGlo Abortions would emerge to play a show, but otherwise they stuck close to home that winter, waiting for spring when they could tour to support the new album. When
Little Man in the Canoe
finally hit the stores in early ’95, the DayGlos readied themselves for another long and gruelling tour. This time the band could not afford to rent a motorhome and had to settle for a van. At least Cretin would not be along to complain about the lack of space. Still, hard times were on the way.

Spud drove the van onto the ferry. The new guys were obviously excited to be on tour, even if they tried to pretend they weren’t. For Spud and Bonehead, this trip was as familiar as a walk to the beer store. Now, thinking about the upcoming tour, Gymbo wondered if fans would be more receptive to him this time around, or if they would show their displeasure by avoiding the shows altogether. By now, everyone knew the band had a new vocalist and that Cretin was no longer with them. According to Spud, the DayGlos had always been a good draw, but would the girls still be waiting? Soon he would find out.

As usual, Bonehead stocked up on creamers, cutlery, plates, Tabasco sauce, peanut butter, and everything else he could boost from the ferry on the way over. Gymbo would provide a diversion, allowing the drummer to fill his bag. “We got tons of great stuff, and I told everybody that Bonehead was my dad,” remembers Gymbo.

The ferry docked and the band rolled out. The DayGlos arrived at the venue for an afternoon show, and Gymbo still wondered if the place would fill up. Lo and behold, the fans did indeed file in when the doors opened, although they weren’t quite what the singer expected. In fact, not one of the kids were more than twelve-years old, and they all sat politely cross-legged on the floor of the gymnasium. “That was really weird,” recalls Gymbo. At least the little darlings probably weren’t going to ask why Cretin wasn’t singing. The band hit the stage, and the musicians felt strange performing for a seated audience. For Spud, the weirdness was compounded by the fact that he had forgotten his sneakers at home and was playing in his bare feet like some patchouli-scented hippie. Spud was fortunate that Rancid Randy had agreed to bring his shoes with him from Victoria later that day. God forbid the bass player should have to buy a new pair.

Directly after the gig, the DayGlos collected Spud’s shoes from Rancid Randy and made tracks for Seattle. Fortunately, the border crossing went smoothly and the boys reached the venue without delay. They even had enough time to eat before hitting the stage. Gymbo, who didn’t know better, put away too much chow and couldn’t move like he usually did. Spud and Bonehead never pigged out before a show, since it was hard to keep food down while playing hard and fast. Gymbo soon barfed, and then he was all right again.

Back in Canada, the boys headed for Edmonton and Calgary. The shows were good, but there was still some confusion over the new singer. Who was this stocky young guy, and why did he insist on hitting on every girl in sight? He’d get laid more if he didn’t try so hard. Spud, who had a girl waiting for him at home in Victoria, claims that he was almost celibate at this point. “I’d slip once in a while, but mostly I kept it in my pants,” maintains the once-promiscuous singer. Many of the girls Spud had bedded in the past had children of their own now, not all of them his. Hopefully, no one would ask for a paternity test.

Though the DayGlos still weren’t playing Canmore, they hit Banff on this tour and the turnout was great. The small towns reminded Bonehead and Spud of the way Calgary, Edmonton, and Winnipeg had once been. Fans in those cities still paid to get in, but sometimes they were too cool for their own good. Hell, the fans in Banff were swinging from the fucking rafters.

The gig in Calgary went off all right, but finding accommodations proved to be a challenge. The young promoter had to collect money from the club owner, so he gave the band a 24-pack of beer and told his girlfriend to take the boys to his house. The DayGlos set off into the darkness, looking forward to a cold beer or two before bagging down for the evening. The girlfriend was drunk, and they drove from one suburban cul-de-sac to the next, looking anxiously for the correct address. Finally, the girl directed the boys to a non-descript duplex that looked exactly the same as the dwellings on either side. When the key wouldn’t fit in the lock, Gymbo hoisted Hung up to the second floor and the wiry guitar player wiggled through a screen window. Moments later, a light flicked on and, not long afterwards, a commotion could be heard from inside the house. Gymbo peered through the door window just as Hung came tumbling down the stairs to land in a heap in the foyer. The guitarist quickly fled the house and ran for the van with his fellow bandmembers howling with laughter behind him. When Hung finally caught his breath, he told his bandmates that he’d seen a little girl sleeping in bed when he flicked on the lights. Suddenly, the father appeared, wanting to know if Hung intended to kill his daughter. Hung tried to assure the frightened man that he meant no harm, but the patriarch found it within himself to throw the intruder down the stairs. The band returned to the club, still laughing at the misadventure.

In Saskatoon, Spud remembers that Gymbo got in his way when he tried to pull two girls after the show. Apparently, the bassist was about to have a “slip.” “Gymbo decided that he was going to get between us every chance he got, so the girls eventually gave up and went away. Then he picked up an ugly chick with huge, rock hard nipples and dragged her out to the van.” Spud has not forgotten this grave injustice and will not be satisfied until Gymbo apologizes on bended knee. He has been waiting almost fifteen years now.

Pushing on, the band hit Regina, and the gig was remarkably unremarkable. The kids were enthusiastic, but the venue was not full to capacity and the PA system left much to be desired. The real action, as was often the case, started after the show. No one remembers exactly what set things off, but Spud and Gymbo got into a wrestling match, and soon the two were crashing around on the floor, each trying to get a submission hold on the other. At first, Spud had the advantage, but Gymbo quickly turned the tables and overpowered the lanky bassist. The playful match was over, with Gymbo being the decisive victor. “I got tired, and then Gymbo sat on me so I couldn’t move,” explains Spud. “I’m not a big wrestler, I’m a stand-up fighter.”

Winnipeg was rowdy even by Winnipeg standards. Although the city of ice and skeeters has a fairly tight knit scene, a handful of violent newcomers were present to raise hell at Ozzy’s that night. Aside from the fistfights, which broke out frequently, the stage was covered with broken glass, rendering many fans bloody and bleeding. The red, red krovvy always made a punk rock show seem a little more punk rock, and this one was over the top. “This band brings out the most unspeakably wretched crowds I have ever seen,” says Winnipeg promoter Sam Smith. Finally, after much madness, the sweaty bandmembers fled backstage to seek cold beer. They stayed up late, said goodbye to the girls, and left town the next day while regular citizens slaved away at lousy jobs. Life was good.

Onwards. At this point, the DayGlos were able to stop in places such as Thunder Bay and Sudbury. While these industrial mining towns were not pretty to look at, the DayGlos were grateful not only to pick up some gas money, but also to make fans in the wastelands. It didn’t hurt that the girls were exceptionally friendly, which was probably a side effect of being isolated for so long. Until recently, the only bands passing through town were Loverboy or Rush. Who could blame them for warming up to a DayGlo?

Despite his claims of celibacy, Spud was still pulling more girls than Gymbo did, which annoyed the aggressive frontman. After all, he was the singer, so why should the crusty old bass player get more girls than he did? Gymbo could not or would not accept that his fellow DayGlo simply had more experience when it came to finding companionship. Gawdamn Spud didn’t even have to try.

The band kept moving. Finally, after a gruelling drive, the DayGlo Abortions arrived in Toronto for several gigs. These days, the band was welcomed gladly at some establishments and banned for life from others. Sometimes things got out of control, and there wasn’t much they could do about it. Sure, a few TV sets flew out a few windows, but what of it? Every band needs to unwind a bit.

As usual, the shows in Toronto with BFG and Armed and Hammered were sweaty and chaotic. At first, Gymbo was wary of “Crazy” Steve Goof. The wild-mannered singer didn’t get his nickname for being calm and peaceful, but Steve and Gymbo became fast friends. “Steve was still one of the punks, whereas Bonehead and them were growing their hair and stuff,” reflects Gymbo. “Later, when I got a mohawk, people kept mistaking us for brothers. Steve will never change. He’s fifty-three now, but acts like he’s still twenty-five.”

In fact, Gymbo was right. Spud and Bonehead didn’t bother to dress punk rock anymore. They had nothing to prove to anyone at this point and their punk credentials were unassailable. The old school punks could wear business suits and nobody could say a damn thing. Spud and Bonehead had earned the right to dress however they pleased, which meant that they looked like the sort of people who sell drugs in pool halls. Ironically, that was a very punk thing to do.

The antics backstage were as wild as ever, and
none
of the drunken participants showed any signs of growing up. Eventually, it was time to leave Toronto, so with aching heads, the DayGlos crawled into the stinking van and made tracks for Mississauga, Guelph, Kitchener, and Hamilton. In Mississauga, a member of the band Mung told Spud that the club across the street also booked punk bands, so the veteran DayGlo ran over and quickly negotiated a deal. All that remained was for God Records to send the contract, so Spud phoned the office to make sure it would be taken care of. The group moved on, planning to hit the newest club on the way back. There was no such thing as too many shows, and every new contact helped.

Everyone in the working-class cities of Guelph, Kitchener, and Hamilton was intoxicated, so the DayGlos were as comfortable as ever. The shows were well-attended, and some fans didn’t seem to notice that they had a new singer. Spud and Bonehead struggled to keep up with the young bucks, hiding their aches and pains. There was nothing to be gained by letting the new members know they were hurting. That was not going to happen.

The shows in southern Ontario were booked as closely together as possible, leaving the band with little down time. They worked hard and partied even harder, always thirsty and always on the move. Arriving back in Mississauga, Spud was annoyed to learn that John from God Records had failed to send the contract, thus forfeiting the extra show Spud had arranged. “Apparently, it was too much trouble for John to mail the contract,” the bass player says, unamused. This lack of management would boil over when they returned to Victoria, prompting big changes. For now, the boys were forced to take a day off, which didn’t do them any real harm. They drank beer and watched sports on TV in a tiny hotel room, trying to brace themselves for the long journey back across Canada to Victoria.

Although the journey across the dusty prairies was every bit as difficult as Spud remembered, at least the band had money to spend. They ate well and stayed in reasonably decent hotels. Bologna sandwiches on white bread were available but not mandatory.