Argh Fuck Kill: The Story of the DayGlo Abortions (35 page)

Then it was time to play. The gang stumbled through their set, butchering every song, and splashing beer and blood everywhere. Mike fell off the drum stool regularly, and the guitars were hopelessly out of tune. Incredibly, and even though the “band” couldn’t finish any of the songs, the rabid fans seemed to enjoy the spectacle anyway. “The kids were insane—they were rushing the stage and knocking all our gear over. I fell into the drum kit and lost my guitar. It was nuts,” Cretin recalls, hazily. Even though the band had clearly not delivered, the promoter paid the full amount and the musicians crawled drunkenly to their rooms. They had no way of knowing that the promoter, known only as “Chris,” would become actively involved with the band later, and that they would have to make this show up to him.

Time sped by, and
Death Race 2000
was released in the spring of 1999 to mostly good reviews. Of course, the usual naysayers complained that the DayGlos didn’t sound like the DayGlos anymore, but the boys had thicker skins now, and the fans appeared to dig it. Who gave a fuck what a couple of wanker music journalists thought?

In May of 1999, the DayGlo Abortions embarked on their “20th Anniversary Tour” but that was completely accurate since the band didn’t actually start doing gigs until 1980. Still, it seems uncharitable to quibble over a few short months. Perhaps the group should have named it the “Been Around a Long Fucking Time Tour.”

Gymbo flew down and the band went through BC and Alberta, hitting all the small towns and selling plenty of merch along the way. The new songs, especially “Oh Wendy O,” “Death Race 2000,” and “Big Ass Truck” went over fairly well, and Gymbo was pleased that not as many people seemed to hate him. His tenacity was finally paying off.

The DayGlo Abortions made all the usual stops and, at Foufounes Electriques in Montreal, Gymbo provided the punks with more entertainment than he had intended. The singer, who often broke a beer bottle over his head during “Oh Wendy O,” miscalculated and cut himself badly. It wasn’t until Gymbo noticed that his shirt was bright red that he realized he was injured. Something was definitely wrong. Meanwhile, Cretin felt something splash his leg and looked over to see jets of blood spurting from the severed vein on Gymbo’s head. “He had a garden hose shooting out of the side of his skull,” recalls Cretin, who was taken aback by the rapid blood loss. Even Cretin’s myriad injuries weren’t usually as severe. In fact, some of the stunned audience members thought the injury was fake because there was so much blood. Nigel and another roadie quickly duct-taped a shirt to Gymbo’s head in an attempt to quell the heavy flow. The singer needed a hospital.

Doctors sewed up the gash and Gymbo returned to the venue. “Afterwards, I was afraid of passing out from losing so much blood, so I went out and bought a can of spinach. Someone told me that it would bring up my iron level, but I never did find out if that was true,” Gymbo recounts. At the very least, he would be able to protect Olive Oyl from Bluto.

Gymbo stayed in Ontario, and the other bandmembers flew to Victoria. By this time, Cretin and his family had bought a home and moved in. If the singer’s parents hadn’t lent him the down payment when they did, he would never have been able to afford the house. Prices have since gone through the, er, roof.

Spud and Cretin continued to fight, and the bassist finally made up his mind to quit after a show at the Brickyard on New Year’s Eve of 1999/2000. “I didn’t tell anybody that I was leaving, so I just went out and gave it everything I had,” the ex-DayGlo remembers. Spud’s gusto was contagious and the rest of the band joined in on the action, toppling a speaker column and smashing several tables. Snotface and Angie also got in a big fight. The New Year had arrived.

Spud did one last show with the DayGlos in late March. The band went to a party after the gig, and then to the house of a friend named Deborah. “Spud did two huge rails of coke and explained to me that he was leaving the band,” says Cretin. “He gave me this long speech telling me I was too domineering, and that it was him or me.” Spud disagrees, saying that he intended to quit whether or not Cretin stayed. Deborah, meanwhile, was not very happy. “I didn’t want the DayGlos to break up at my place!” she exclaims. “How shitty would that be?” But there was nothing anyone could say or do. Spud was done.

This left the DayGlos with a little problem. While it would be tough enough to find someone to fill Spud’s experienced shoes, he was also much more than just an able performer. Bonehead ran the record label, but it was Spud who collected the cash after a show, and the ornery bassist was not an easy man to sidestep. Would Bonehead be able to shake down stingy club owners with the same efficiency? Though he disliked the concept of money and simply wanted to play his guitar, Cretin was aware that the band needed funds if they were to survive, and Spud was fairly good at bringing in the loot. Lastly but not leastly, the bassist also drove the tour vehicles and fixed them when they broke down. The jack-of-all-trades would not be easy to replace.

It was over and Spud walked away. Bonehead did indeed pick up the slack business-wise, even if he was only slightly more intimidating than Gilligan and didn’t know a screwdriver from a forklift. The speed with which Bonehead negotiated gig contracts and other financial paperwork was nothing less than remarkable, even if his numbers didn’t always jive with the estimates of his bandmates. Whenever Cretin tried to talk to Bonehead about money, the drummer would fly into a rage and insist that Cretin take the reins. The singer, who wanted no part of contracts or agreements, always backed down. It was easier just to let Bonehead do as he pleased.

Hung, married to heroin, seemed determined to follow the example of other strung-out musicians. “We should’ve seen it coming,” says Gymbo. “I mean, he idolized dudes like Johnny Thunders and Keith Richards.” Hung always needed money for junk and his guitar was often in the pawnshop. The boys, as permissive as they were when it came to drug use, had to draw the line somewhere and, although Cretin says that Hung played well even when he was high, they did not wish to be associated with heroin. “I realize now that this was hypocritical, but that’s the way it was,” Cretin says, regret evident in his voice. Still, it was no easy job to fire the guitarist. Hung was part of the family and they couldn’t just toss him out on his ear. That wouldn’t be right.

To further complicate matters, the DayGlos also lost their practice spot over a waterbed warehouse on Discovery Street and had nowhere to rehearse. Fortunately, Bonehead learned that a local musician named Willy Jak had a plum rehearsal/recording space on Quadra and McKenzie, and the rent was dirt-cheap. “It was the sweetest spot, so I was holding it pretty tight,” remembers Willy. The guitarist was in local punk band The Pricks and was teammates with Gymbo and Hung, so the two parties were not strangers. “Bonehead helped us a lot when The Pricks CD came out,” recalls Willy. Partly because of this, Bonehead was able to convince Willy to allow the DayGlos to use his spot. “I was a little bit worried that something might happen to my place, but I thought maybe the DayGlos would let us go on tour with them or something,” recalls Willy. His hesitance was understandable. Who knew what sort of drama the DayGlos might bring? Anything could happen.

Aside from these difficulties, the DayGlos had a new album and they did not intend to lose the momentum. In February of 2000, the coldest part of the year, the band flew out to blitz Ontario and Quebec, hoping they wouldn’t freeze to death. Except Hung, who was getting high regularly and had been relegated to bass duties, everything was the same. Hung wasn’t happy about the switch, but there was little he could do.

Back home in Victoria, the DayGlos made the rounds at local clubs. Most of the shows were fine, but Hung was embarrassing them with his blatant drug use. Still, the band soldiered on. It was that or break up, and now that Cretin had returned, he would not allow that to happen.

Bonehead started to book a European tour with the contacts he had made through God Records. The DayGlo Abortions had been selling an increasing number of albums overseas, and it only made sense to tour abroad. Although the senior DayGlos knew that the first trip would be a bit iffy, they decided to move forward nevertheless. The first Canadian tours had also been rough, but they’d survived those. Besides, how else would they get to see the world? No one was offering them a free ride; they would have to work for it.

Slowly the tour came together. By playing a few shows in Vancouver and Victoria, the group was able to purchase return tickets to Europe. “That way, no matter what went wrong, we’d at least be able to get home,” says Cretin. By now, the boys knew better than to assume that the tour would run smoothly. If this trip went anything like the first Canadian tour, they would be lucky to arrive home in one piece. There were no guarantees.

As the departure date drew nearer, Hung Jak continued his headlong plunge into the abyss. The other bandmembers, realizing that the bass player had become a liability, took steps to replace him. This was no heartless corporate decision, and was simply a matter of doing what was best for the DayGlos. Feeling that there was nothing else he could do, Bonehead invited Willy Jak to join, and the startled musician quickly began to learn the back catalogue. “They had a huge set list, so that was no easy job,” reflects Willy Jak. Sadly, the band didn’t leave enough time to rehearse, so with Hung still on bass guitar, the DayGlos prepared to leave for Europe. The tour, of course, would not go as planned.

In April of 2000, the band took a taxicab to the airport. Even Bonehead, who had been touring for twenty years, was excited. The band wasn’t going to Golden, BC—they were going to fucking Europe! Aboard the aircraft, the thrill soon wore off and reality set in. This would be a long trip indeed. Gymbo and Steve Goof boarded at Pearson Airport in Toronto for the even longer flight across the Atlantic. Cretin looked out the window at the clouds slowly passing by. Couldn’t this thing go any faster? He just wanted to get there already.

After flying for what seemed like years the airplane landed in Germany where the band met Nigel Halloran, who would ride along as merch guy and roadie. Unfortunately, the driver spoke little English, and from there things only got worse. The first two shows were okay, but two UK dates on April 14th and 15th were cancelled. Other annoyances plagued the Canadians. At one tiny little bar, Bonehead wasn’t allowed to set up his drums because they would be too loud. At other clubs the managers spoke no English—or at least they pretended they didn’t. Contracts were all but non-existent, and those the band did have were disputed. Worse, the venues, many of which were squats, weren’t packed the way Canadian clubs were. The money was poor, the beer was warm, and the girls were cold. Still, the DayGlos were glad to finally play on another continent, and they knew they had to start somewhere.

Fortunately, the band’s tour manager was a hard-assed Turk named Adman who did everything he could for the band. Though he usually worked with big name hip-hop acts, the man was a DayGlos fan who jumped at the chance to work with the band. Sadly, many of the venues were so dodgy that there was little or nothing he could do. Still, the tireless manager worked hard and without Adman things would have been worse.

After several weeks on the trail, the band was at the break-even point. “That’s always the part of any tour where something expensive happens. You know, the vehicle will break down, or somebody has to be bailed out of jail,” reflects Cretin. Sure enough, the van broke down, requiring extensive repairs. Not just that, but after fourteen shows almost back-to-back, the boys were beginning to feel a little beat up. “I’ve gotten to the point where I couldn’t even tie my shoes,” Cretin remembers. Though things didn’t get that bad this time around, even the indefatigable Gymbo was displaying signs of total exhaustion. Despite the tough schedule, the DayGlos were able to rest long enough to ensure they didn’t completely fall apart. Life on the road was gruelling indeed, and no tour ever went off without a few glitches.

Hung played well, but embarrassed the band by trying to score heroin at one of the squats, the use of which was frowned upon by the anarcho-squatter punks. However wild their reputation, the DayGlos did not wish to be known as junkies. “Bonehead freaked out,” Gymbo recalls. “He wanted to fire Hung right then and there, but he eventually calmed down a bit.”

At last the boys had a day off. After using an internet at a café in Zurich, Gymbo, Cretin, and Steve Goof walked out the door and into World War Three. They had completely forgotten about the warning given to them the night before, advising them to stay off the streets on Chaos Day, which fell on the 1st of May every year. Now here they were, stuck in the middle of it. “There were people running in all directions and squads of cops all dressed in NATO blue,” recalls Cretin. “The cops had beanbag shotguns and truncheons and Tasers and every non-lethal weapon you could imagine.” To put the riot into perspective, Cretin estimates that there were roughly 50,000 citizens battling perhaps 10,000 policemen. The riots the DayGlos were familiar with generally occurred in crowded venues, and on a much smaller basis.

Suddenly, a group of mohawked and balaclava-clad punks ran past on the other side of the road. A roving team of perhaps fifteen shock troops instantly attacked the punks, punishing them savagely with riot sticks and other wicked weapons. “They dragged the poor fuckers kicking and screaming into a paddy wagon,” recounts Cretin, reliving the memory. Everywhere they looked, cops were beating punk rockers, and that was when the musicians realized that they were an endangered species. “Steve, Gymbo, and I all had mohawks, so we decided to get the fuck out of there,” laughs Cretin. The trio ran under a bridge to rid themselves of all drugs before strolling away as nonchalantly as possible. Around them, the madness continued unabated. An automobile hit a large man on a motorcycle who hitched a ride from another vehicle and chased after the car that had struck him. Firebombs exploded in the street. Just then, the stunned DayGlos heard the barked command
“Halten!”
and turned to see a phalanx of shock troops marching towards them. At first, the policemen thought that the Canadians were “terror tourists” from the USA, and only with much difficulty were the boys able to convince them otherwise. The DayGlos show that night in Frankfurt seemed much less chaotic in comparison.