Yes, “Final Reel One” notes.  Almost there.  After clearing the last film clip — The Government live performing Hemingway Hated Disco Music;  thanks John Anderson! — and getting confirmation on a song from Gideon’s Rainbow (I know!) we’ve got one or two more small things to settle (and we’re assured everything is fine) and then you can stick the proverbial fork in our collected asses and turn us over, because we are done!  Pack it up in a hard drive, send it over to Mixmaster Daniel Pellerin, and then hold our breath for a few weeks.  Of course, then Phase Two of the job will start as soon as its finished:  getting into festivals, figuring out the hows and whens of the eventual DVD release, and stuff like that.  But the hard part is almost over.

L to R:  Randy Tyrrell as Jean-Pierre, Colin Brunton as Wesley in The Mysterious Moon Men of Canada.

Meanwhile, co-director/producer Colin Brunton had one of his early films, The Mysterious Moon Men of Canada, shown on-line as part of Image Festival’s 25th Anniversary.  The mockumentary (or is it?!) about a filmmaker tracking down a couple of people who claim they flew to the moon in 1959, but because they were Canadian were too modest to tell anyone, had it’s worldly premiere at the Festival 25 years ago, and so it was asked back.  A cool soundtrack by Shadowy Men on a Shadowy Planet, with another tune by The Gun Club’s Jeffrey Lee Pierce, the film is available on-line for your viewing pleasure at http://www.imagesfestival.com/ifpod?e_id=100&page_id=38&program_id=37.  Wheeee!

For lack of anything interesting to post — yea, we’re almost done, waiting on final approvals on one clip (c’mon John!), a final plea to one significant scenester and singer (c’mon JP!) and a couple of tunes with assurances everything is cool, man! — here’s a lovely piece written by our pal Gary Pig Gold, writer/editor of The Pig Paper (google it) about one of our very favourite people in the History Of The Universe.  Sure, we’re a little late, because the anniversary of the sad and premature death of Joey Ramone was a couple of weeks ago, but still.   The concert was the second time The Ramones played Toronto and The New Yorker (big thanks Garys Cormier and Topp), and yea — it was awesome, and it was 1977.  Opening act The Dead Boys were a bit late hitting the stage because they weren’t finished getting their blow jobs in the make-shift dressing room in the basement.  They ended up trashing it, which a few years ago begat insistent and heartfelt apologies from Dead Boy Cheetah Chrome (keep posting those anti-Republican Facebook posts Cheetah!) as we interviewed him at a Toronto cemetary.  Of course, both bands were great, and The Ramones… well, what can you say about The Ramones.  Okay, enough of that — take it away Gary…

Late one night in very late 1976, a singer acquaintance of mine burst into the (condemned) house I was then sharing with the local bar band, shouting “You will never believe what I just saw in Toronto tonight! These four guys with Brian Jones haircuts wearing drainpipe Levis, singing all these really fast, short songs. Lots of ‘em, too! And the best part? NO GUITAR SOLOS!”

Now, this being the absolute height of Frampton Comes Alive, it’s hard to completely fathom today the socio-musical import of that final kernel of information. But of course I was hooked, and the next time the Ramones landed in Canada, I made sure I was there.

The Dead Boys were opening: Sure, Stiv was alotta fun crawling over and across the drumkit during “Hey Little Girl,” but the headliners truly were, in every aspect of the words, The Real Thing. So I duly invited myself backstage to conduct their first interview on Canadian soil, and despite nearly getting bounced for taking a snap of Danny Fields writhing beneath a fridge in search of a runaway pencil, I was made to feel totally at home by the band’s deep-rooted, deep-seeded LOVE of all things Rock and especially Roll:

Johnny’s coming-of-age watching Elvis’ Ed Sullivan Show debut as a child, Dee Dee bemoaning the fact that it was hard getting the band going “coz rehearsal halls wouldn’t let us in, ya know,” and Joey. Dear, sweet Joey. He asked all about my record collection, claimed Peter Noone and Ronnie Spector as his two primary vocal idols, then wondered where a good place was to go see some local bands play later that night.

How utterly, disarmingly refreshing, to say the least!

So we drove the R. brothers straight over to Toronto’s Crash and Burn club to see Teenage Head throttle some old Eddie Cochran and Swinging Blue Jeans tunes, ran into Phil Lynott somehow lurking by the bar, then we all went out for some classic Canadian pizza slices (…mainly crust ‘n’ cheese, Tommy was complaining). Through it all, and then during subsequent fleetful meetings, Joey remained every inch the diehard, gentle man FAN of Our Music. And despite the fact that he and his bandmates literally Changed The World, I simply prefer to remember the man instead as nothing but the tallest, and needless to say coolest Herman’s Hermits fan I ever did meet.

Joey left us on April 15, 2001.

Gabba Gabba, wherever you are.

You can read all about Gary’s night with The Ramones in his very own Pig Paper:

Pig Paper #5

Here at Pogo H.Q. we’ve never had the opportunity to put an LP of Nickelback on the gramophone, so we’re not sure why they’ve become the butt of jokes and ire, etc., but with the general snobby disgust at them, we thought it fitting to play a little April Fool’s joke, and announce that he would be narrating our film.   Most of our closer pals got the joke, and then it was just a little embarrassing to inform others that sadly, no, Mr. Kroeger would not be involved with our project.  In any case, big news soon:  we’re about to start sound editing on the first half of our film, and getting set to apply to the Toronto International Film Festival for a big-ass red-carpet stars galore world premiere in September. (Geez, wait, i guess that was all the big news.  Yea.  We’ve got nothing.)

Steven Leckie‘s main squeeze, Viva Viletone, thought having Kroeger narrate would be a canny move worthy of McLaren at this best.

We just got word late last night that Nickleback’s Chad Kroeger will be narrating our punk rock marathonic (that’s gotta be a real word, right?) feature The Last Pogo Jumps Again:  A Biased And Incomplete History Of Toronto, Hamilton and London Ontario Punk Rock And New Wave Music Circa September 24 1976 To December 1 1978.    Chad will hit the recording booth in about a month, once we get our final sound edit done.

Producer/director Brunton has a bucket of fake blood ready on the feature film The Colony.

Long time, no post.  But its not like we’re not doing anything;  we’re just waiting.  Patiently.  For some music rights issues to clear up and then we’re back on it like stink.   Start sound edit in weeks;  sound mix in weekers.  Boner!

Still from Producer/Director Paputts’ short film Rainbow Connection.

Meanwhile, back in Reality:  While producer/director Colin Brunton makes a few bucks and toils away in north Ontario on the $16m feature The Colony (with Laurence Fishbourne, Kevin Zegers and Bill Paxton, yo!) the other producer/director on The Last Pogo Jumps Again, Kire Paputts, is making no bucks working on the edit for his newest short film, the no-budget Rainbow Connection, shot on glorious VHS.   (The Colony is about cannibalistic feral humans trying to kill and eat survivors of a post-apocalyptic ice-age;  Rainbow Connection is about a teenager with Down’s Syndrome trying to get his shit together.)

Wow.  That’s all we’ve got.

Now that we’re this close to locking picture, we’re getting pumped and prepped for our sound design and final mix.  And you won’t get anyone at the controls who’s any better than Daniel Pellerin.   His resume is an embarrassment of riches, and includes features like American Psycho, Hedwig & The Angry Inch and everything that Atom Egoyan has done.  He’ll will be working with Christopher Guglick, who’s resume includes films by Egoyan, Deepa Mehta, and Bruce McDonald, and who got schooled at Fanshawe College by, amongst others, Jack Richardson, the producer famous for a million things, not the least being Alice Cooper’s Love it to Death.  So we’re in excellent hands.   All the cool stuff starts in February.

So, yea, our film should sound great.

Toronto’s weekly rag The Grid has proclaimed, on their front page, that Toronto is “the best music city on the planet.”  You have to take that with a big grain of salt, considering that it’s a local newsweekly that’s said it, and of course as Torontonians, our natural insecurity lays waste to grandiose statements like that, yet there might be some truth to it.  Whatever the case, it was kind of cool to see the concert The Last Pogo listed as one of twenty-five or so significant moments in Toronto’s music history. The Last Pogo, as if you didn’t know, was infamous Toronto promoters The Garys‘ infamous last stand at the iconic Horseshoe Tavern.  Filmmaker Colin Brunton, with a big helping hand from Patrick Lee filmed it, made it into a short film, and is now (along with Kire Paputts) finishing up The Last Pogo Jumps Again:  A Biased & Incomplete History Of Toronto, Hamilton and London Ontario Punk Rock And New Wave Music Circa September 24 1976 To December1 1978.   During the making of the project — now approaching it’s sixth year of production — the lightbulb went off over the filmmakers’ head and they realized “Hey — I think the Toronto, Hamilton, and London Ontario scene was actually way more interesting than either New York or London England — because back in 1976 you just didn’t really expect cool things to happen in Toronto.”   And we’re not going to argue the notion that all of those bands back then (by our count there were around 40 bands who sprung up in that 25 month period) kicked down the cultural doors that would later allow others to breeze through.

Hey, we tried.  After several attempts to appeal to Joey Ramone‘s brother Mickey (who seems like a nice guy, but claims there’s nothing he can do) it looks like we won’t be having a Ramones tune in the epic awesomeness we like to call The Last Pogo Jumps Again.  Which is really too bad:  we’d managed to find Super-8 footage of The Ramones at the New Yorker, the first minute they set foot on stage, and a bootleg recording that we were able to synch it up too.  It could’ve been brilliant.

The Pogo staff strategize clearing music rights.

We started working on permission over a year ago and things started off promising:  we got permission to use the photos of them we had, and were told that a good word would be put in  when it came time to get the music rights.  Thanks fellas!

When we still had faith in humanity.

A couple of months ago we received word that Warner-Chappell  were good to go with the proposed deal (not industry standard rates of course, so that was very cool of a ginormous corporation) and we were thrilled. But then when we had to negotiate with another company who owned a small share, the fuckery began.

The teletype machine at Pogo H.Q. coughed up a nasty message from BMG Music that said bluntly that the artist had turned down the request.  Which was baffling.  And still is.  Long story short, the silent partners who take care of Joey Ramone’s business just flat turned us down.  The people behind Tommy, Johnny and Dee Dee were cool with it, but not the ones repping Joey.  We wrote letters, we tried getting help from other people, we wrote notes to Joey’s brother, we even resorted to blatant (but hopefully charming) ass-kissing by delivering them a couple of dozen chocolate covered strawberries.  But no luck, no answer, not even a peep.

Pogo filmmaker Colin Brunton on the set of Roadkill with Joey in 1988.

Rather than whine and bitch about all this (because who knows, maybe the Joey people thought the money was embarrassingly low, or didn’t like the film or had some other actual legit reason) we’d rather tell you just how cool Joey Ramone was, if you didn’t already know.

The all-purpose Roadkill winnie:  Joey Ramone dressed in here!

In 1988, when Last Pogo Jumps Again co-filmmaker Colin Brunton produced his and Bruce McDonald’s first feature, Roadkill, he wrote a letter persuasive enough that Joey Ramone took a chance on a couple of unproven yet enthusiastic filmmakers, and agreed to hop on a first-class flight (first time ever) and shoot a scene.   It was great fun of course, and at the end of the day he asked if they’d like a Ramones tune for the movie.  “Yes, sir!” they said.  Joey was good to his word, and convinced the suits at Warner-Chappel to give them a rate they could afford and so they got Howlin’ at the Moon (Sha la la la) in their modest little movie.

Once the film was finished, it premiered at the Toronto International Film Festival (then called The Festival of Festivals) where the filmmakers gained some notoriety when, after receiving $25K for Best Canadian Film, director McDonald said he’d spend it all on “…a 57 Chevy and a big chunk of hash.”  (Note:  he bought the car and a half a quarter of gold seal black Afghani hash.)

Crowds bypass the Uptown in 1946 to buy hosiery.

Then it began a legitimate run at the old Uptown movie theatre in downtown Toronto.  Trying to get the word out to the world at large, the filmmakers had made a deal for a soundtrack album, and true to form, Joey agreed the Ramones track could be included.  All the bands were paid a buck, with all revenue from sales split between them.   A soundtrack album would get the word out on the film, but how do you get the word out on the album when you have no money?  Easy.  Lie and cheat!

When the world was in black and white.

So that’s what they did.  They got in touch with a pal who worked at the famous record store Sam the Record Man, and once a month, the night before inventory was done, he would take 3/4 of the Roadkill soundtrack CDs and cassettes, and hide them away in a cupboard.  The next day an assistant manager would do the inventory and then wonder why so many Roadkill soundtracks were being sold.  “Wow.  That Roadkill album is doing great!”

Yea, sorry about that Mick.

One thing Sam did to promote his store was to hand out a monthly magazine filled with puff pieces and ads.  And on the back cover, a Top Ten list of the best selling albums that month.  So it was pretty awesome to pick that up in 1989:  number one, Michael Jackson‘s Bad, number two, the Roadkill soundtrack, number three Rolling Stones‘ Steel Wheels… wait, what?!

Now available on Ebay and probably no place else.

The filmmakers kept up the cheeky ruse, though by now the secret stockpile of stashed soundtracks was getting a little ridiculous.  But it was working;  people were buying it.   After being on the market for a year, it was now time to divvy up the revenue.  (The deal was that Denon Records would sell the album, all the revenue would be sent to the filmmakers on a quarterly basis, and once a year the filmmakers would then distribute the royalties to the various bands.)

Fellas, sumpin’ ain’t right here.

So they sat down, starting cutting cheques, and started to realize in a slow-burning panic that they just didn’t have enough money.  They checked all of the bank deposits and did the math over again three times, but it literally was not adding up.  So they went and opened up the original contracts, and discovered a very embarrassing error:  the total percentage the bands owned wasn’t 100%, it was more like 104%.  Gulp.

Springtime for Hitler.

The near panic they’d had only minutes ago was now full fledged Holy-Fuck-What’ve-We-Done panic.   Some quick math discovered that for every CD that was sold, Brunton and McDonald were out fifty cents;  for every cassette, a quarter. It was a real life The Producers thing.

The first thing they did was call their pal at Sam the Record Man and tell him for God’s sake to stop hiding the cds and cassettes.  The next step was sitting down and figuring out just wtf to do.   They thought (rightly or wrongly) that probably the only band on the soundtrack that might be able to afford to take a hit was the Ramones, so they called Joey and explained their predicament, and he in turn spoke with the record company.  Joey didn’t fuck around:  within a week there was a new contract that reduced the Ramones take to less than the share of the Technicolour Raincoats or Suffer Machine (who?  Exactly.)

Jello Biafra in Highway 61

A couple of years later Brunton and McDonald returned the favour when they produced Highway 61 and had enough money to pay industry rates for the Ramones’ Do You Remember Rock ‘n Roll Radio (and name the lead character Ramona.)  And years after that McDonald would shoot Joey for a small part in his feature Hard Core Logo (which Brunton wasn’t involved in, but was a shared recipient of a “Dedicated to…” credit.)