The Last Pogo Jumps Again

They got booed and heckled at their first Toronto gig, opening for Talking Heads in September 1977.    But first-wavers The Scenics are taking another kick at the can after thirty years as they hit the stage of the El Mocambo Tuesday, October 13 to kick off a five date tour in synch with the release of their new CD, Sunshine World.    Seven measly bucks gets you in the door, and you get a copy of the CD as well, and you know that they’re going to play their hearts out, and of course lots of beer and old friends.

Sunshine World was culled from 300 hours of tapes The Scenics made during their run from 76 – 82, and features studio-recorded tunes from ’77 and ’78.    Friends of The Last Pogo Jumps Again still scratch our heads at the lack of recognition The Scenics got back in the day (sentiments shared by, amongst others, Scenic pals Talking Heads drum/bass combo Tina Weymouth and Chris Franz.  A few years after the Scenics infamously opened for The Talking Heads at The Garys’ New Yorker Theatere, Tina and Chris said to Ken and Andy after hearing about their woes:  “What? I thought you guys would’ve made it by now.”

Ironically, most people point to the opening gig for Talking Heads at the New Yorker as the first and final straw in their relationship with the other scenesters and musicians.

September 16, 1977;  courtesy Molten Core.

Everyone wanted that gig, and promoters The Garys — who would later manage The Scenics — thought it would be a great surprise to have this great band come out of nowhere (y’know, as opposed to ones that might’ve been around for two months, lol) and be the opening act.  A special treat for the loyal fans of this new thing called New Wave and Punk.   But…not so much.  There were rude catcalls from the audience — “Boring!” — and The Scenics lost potential friends and fans as soon as the handbill promoting the show was stapled around town.

The show itself was great, but there was real resentment, and The Scenics became outsiders in a group of outsiders.  It wasn’t like they were pelted with eggs, mind you, but apart from fast friends like The Demics and some others, The Scenics somehow didn’t fit follow the cryptically infused rulebook on emerging new-wave/punk rock bands.  But sticks ‘n’ stones and fuck ‘em if they can’t take a joke.  The Scenics just wanted to make music.  They didn’t dress the part, go to the right parties, or even do the right drugs.  It was all about creating music. They would rehearse and jam for hours upon hours week after week and play in every bar in Toronto, only to break it up in the early eighties, defeated by geography (Ken Badger lived in the country, and had a family and everything) and partially due to a pronounced lack of recognition, apart from their loyal yet tiny fan base. (Hi Gary!  Hi Blair!)

Courtesy Molten Core

Flash forward a few decades, and songwriting/frontman partner Ken Badger (he of the auto-asphyxiated singing style) sends songwriting/frontman partner Andy Ramesh Meyers a shoebox of tapes.  (The Scenics recorded everything.)  Andy starts to listen to them.  Obsessively.  Ken and Andy  put together an audacious collection of live Velvet Underground covers called How Does it Feel to Be Loved, and it gets critical kudos from colleges and newspapers, and a vote for the Best CD of 2008 for The Village Voices Pazz & Jop Poll from respected critic and ex-Creem Magazine staffer Jeffrey Morgan (author of the just-released official bio of Iggy Pop) who just drools over it, and it charts at colleges in Canada and the U.S.

Getting a taste of the kind of respect ‘n’ recognition that so ably avoided them during their initial run, The Scenics are inspired.   Andy and Ken call up former members Mark Perkell and Mike Young and start to make plans.  First up is the release of the Velvet’s cover CD, then a few gigs in Toronto (including The Last Pogo’s 30th Anniversary Bash.)   Apart from the new tour and the CD, The Scenics are also going to start podcasting Punk Haiku, Andy’s memoirs from the late seventies punk days, and will be putting together a new CD of new material soon.

Ken Badger in 2008;  photo by Edie Stiener

Andy Meyers in 2008;  photo Kevin Lamb

The staff at The Last Pogo Jumps Again had a chance to have a sneak read of the first one, and it’s great;  you’re right there.  One of our favourite stories is of their quest for the perfect drummer.   After going through a couple that didn’t work out, they get a new guy, and start to rehearse.  In the middle of a song, the drummer has an epileptic seizure, Ken later remarking “Gee.  I thought he finally got it.”  Check out their site in our list on the right hand side.

If you miss them in Toronto (don’t!) they’ll be in Ottawa, Montreal, London, and Hamilton in the next week.

For a much more thorough write-up of The Scenics, check out Steve McLean’s excellent blog.  Cut and paste this http://stevemclean.blogspot.com/2009/10/scenics-i-have-to-review-gaslight.html

Photo courtesy Cheryl Daniels

And the Lord of Rock ‘n Roll said unto them: Yea, though it would be another few years before one or six people claimed to coin the term “punk rock”, a lot of people who were at The Last Pogo or into the original punk scene in Toronto got a lot of their counter-culture edjamucation at The Original 99 Cent Roxy theatre courtesy of Gary Topp. After doing some programming for the original underground cinema in Toronto, Cinecity, and running his art-house film distribution company Topsoil, now-legendary promoter Gary Topp opened up the Roxy in 1972 with screenings of Hendrix at Berkeley; when he left in the mid-seventies he opened the New Yorker, where Toronto got its first taste of the Ramones, John Cale, Talking Heads, Dead Boys, Viletones and more; and then the Horseshoe in 1978, the last big party there being The Last Pogo.

Famed for an eclectic selection of films ranging from Antonioni, Fellinni, Truffaut, and Bunuel; B-films by Russ Meyers and Roger Corman; up-and-comers like Scorcese and Coppola; and obscure films by Kenneth Anger or Andy Warhol, the Roxy was infamous for it’s lax policy on pot-smoking and psychedelics, and there was often a thick cloud of weed hovering throughout the theatre. They didn’t tolerate dealers, they didn’t tolerate drinking, but it was a safe haven for anyone who wanted to settle down to a couple of good movies, grab some popcorn, and pass the joint.

The show would start from the moment you bought a ticket: often the people in line would be entertained by Lance Charles, doing his horrible and/or hilarious imitation of Groucho Marx, depending on your sense of irony and/or amount of illicit drugs in your system. There could be five hundred people lined up for a midnight show of Pink Flamingoes when someone from the theatre would run out and yell, “Sorry — you’re lined up the wrong way, you’ve gotta line up over there!”, and watch as 500 stoners scrambled laughing to regain their proper place in line.

When you handed over your ticket to get ripped (and thus allowing yourself into the theatre to get ripped), the person at the door might hand you a “laughing pill”, the better to enjoy the all-night comedy festival with (in reality a “milk-sugar” pill; placebos work); they might insist that you go down to the men’s washroom to check your coat (when such a thing didn’t exist), and then when you come back confused, threaten to throw you out if you didn’t find it and check your coat immediately; they might offer you a refund if you could identify then-unknown British rock star Bryan Ferry. Or handing over your ticket they might say “Please go right to your left, there’s no seats left on your right”, which for anyone who might have a head full of L.S.D., a Zen-like puzzle to rival that old “If you come to a fork in a road, and there’s two people there, and one of them always lies, and one of them always tells the truth, blah blah blah…” It was all in great fun, it was always entertaining, it was the best.

If you were taking a breather from being in the stifling 500 seat art-deco theatre, you could get lost in the posters, handbills, stickers, and photos that plastered the lobby (see photo above; check out the first quote on the poster), or be giggling and stoned sitting slumped on a couch or getting stuff at the snack bar from Jeannie the Popcorn Lady.   Once you got into the theatre proper, the show would really start: Gary would have the reel-to-reel tape recorder blasting out a mix-tape of music always in keeping with whatever theme the night held; or the tunes would be played over a half-hour or so of “Coming Attractions” while people filed in. As stoned as they mighta been, the ushers were excellent, politely getting people to move over to squeeze in others or luring patrons out of their seats if they heard the tinkle of a booze bottle hitting the floor. And often talking down someone having a bad acid trip.   And occasionally wrestling with them.

If you were a projectionist into your job (hey, Bob Cardwell! Hey, Les Popliak!) it was a demanding but fun gig and Gary would give very specific instructions: “Okay, so when you hear Do the Strand just start to fade, slowly dim the lights in time to the music, and as soon as the song ends, kill the lights, and then open the curtain and start the movie…”   A buzzer on the wall near the back of right-hand aisle sent signals to the projection booth for volume; the volume was always cranked to the max when the first chainsaw revved up in the Texas Chainsaw Massacre. If you were a projectionist not so into your job, it was a nightmare. The good projectionists had snacks sent to them via a tray on a rope that would descend from the projection booth, right over the left aisle; and the ones that were game would enjoy the various joints that were being passed around the office.

Last Pogo director Colin Brunton worked as an usher there and got the film bug and met his future wife; masked musician Nash the Slash premiered there (performing a jaw-dropping live accompaniment to the Bunuel/Dali classic Un Chien Andalou and an appreciative and wasted packed house) and ended up living in the flat above, a modern-day Phantom of the Opera; regulars included the Viletones’ Steven Leckie (“Seeing Les Enfants du Paradise there changed my life…”, Raving Mojo and digital artist Blair Richard Martin; The Existers’ Barry Farrell; the Scenics’ Mike Young; Greg Godowitz; D.J. David Marsden; original Poles manager Bruce Appelby…and on and on and on.

There are way too many memories of the Roxy to jot down in a blog (and let’s hope Topp writes the book someday) but that’s the very place where many a creative seed was planted, nurtured, then rolled up and smoked.

(As with many of the old haunts in town, the shell of the Roxy still stands and will soon find a new life as a convenience store.)