Argh Fuck Kill: The Story of the DayGlo Abortions (10 page)

Since Victoria lacked technicians with know-how in punk and/or new wave, the group was forced to look elsewhere for a suitable producer. Then Bonehead learned that the Pointed Sticks had broken up and singer Nick Jones wanted to try his hand in the studio. Nick had experience producing Pointed Sticks material, and felt that he should be able to handle a basic punk album without much trouble. As a Pointed Sticks fan, Bonehead was thrilled to have not just Nick but also Colin Griffiths, who played guitar for the experimental Vancouver band UJ3RK5, involved in the project. With these local heavy-hitters onboard, this was almost like the big time.

Nick and Colin took the ferry to Victoria in September of 1980. However, they were a day late and, when they finally arrived at the studio, the DayGlo Abortions along with engineer Tony Moskal, had already recorded most of the bed tracks. Upon hearing the songs without vocals, Nick and Colin were a little worried because they couldn’t tell them apart. In order to make the two-minute blasts of aggression more identifiable, Nick suggested that they add various instruments, such as extra percussion, organ, keyboards, or weird-sounding guitars. “The effects were one of the things that made the album sound so cool,” Nick reflects. “Punk bands weren’t doing that sort of thing yet.” No one except maybe The Dickies that is. Nick also contributed falsetto background vocals in places, adding to the overall uniqueness of the album.

Cretin waited until the last minute before insisting that Spud supply vocals for “The Idiot.” Spud, who didn’t particularly want to sing, made a mockery of the recording by warbling the lyrics in a nonsensical fashion. He finished the track and looked over at the soundbooth to gauge his bandmates reactions. To Spud’s surprise the booth was empty and his fellow DayGlos were gone. Just when he was sure that everyone had deserted him, a hand shot up and seized the soundboard for support. Cretin and the rest of the band, who were literally rolling on the floor with laughter, had been invisible from the recording booth. “They got up with tears streaming down their faces,” recalls Spud. “They thought it was the funniest thing in the world.” Spud insisted that they let him record a serious version, but Cretin used the original take anyway. “It was pretty silly,” says Spud, though he begrudgingly admits that the joke was amusing. Indeed the track is a classic piece of DayGlo humour.

The band rolled up their sleeves, and Nick was relieved to learn that the Day-Glos were reasonably proficient musicians. “They all knew their parts, and Murray was a very good guitar player,” says the producer, who was also impressed by the band’s work ethic. The young musicians had never been in a recording studio before, but they took the job seriously. Not just that, but the youths were respectful towards the producers. “I don’t know why they looked up to me and Colin, but they did,” Nick says modestly. “They were very receptive towards our ideas.” Colin and Nick got along well with the Victoria punks. “They were really funny, and I thought they had a great sense of humour, you know? They didn’t take themselves too seriously, which I really enjoyed as well.” The bandmembers, it must be said, took the recording seriously, but little else.

Although the DayGlo Abortions smoked pot all day long, the group made steady progress, wrapping up the recording in less than a week. In later years, the DayGlos had a tendency to horse around in the studio, but they were very polite and attentive to detail in the beginning. “It all went quite smoothly,” Nick recalls, sounding a bit surprised in hindsight. “Bonehead had ridiculous amounts of really strong weed, and they were always high.” The mixing took an additional three or four days, but then the album was completely finished. Though the material was strong enough to stand alone, the effects added an element of cartoonish humour that contrasted nicely with the controversial subject matter. “They were deliberately trying to offend people, and they did it well,” adds Nick.

The bandmembers would have been delighted with the finished product were it not for one little problem: they received the albums before the covers were ready. Neil Embo of House of Commons was on hand to remedy the situation. “I went over with Andrew and Grog, and we pasted Xerox posters over old LP covers until the real covers and posters were printed.” Yes, the album came with a nifty poster, which is very rare now.

Not only were the covers late but, when they finally did get them, the band learned that their name was spelled incorrectly. Instead of “DayGlo Abortions,” the cover read “DayGlo
w
Abortions.” Since Cretin had been in charge of supplying information to the printer, the finger of blame pointed squarely at him. Cretin insisted that the word was spelt correctly, just like it was on the brand of spray-paint that inspired the name. It wasn’t until Bonehead finally located the last can of paint and showed it to the singer that he admitted his error. The misspelling caused mass confusion, and posters sporting the wrong name can be found worldwide to this day. Along with a bassist named “Stupid,” the album was an excellent source of misinformation. In fact, friends figured that they had orchestrated the mix-up deliberately. “Some people even thought there was two different bands,” chuckles Cretin, sounding somewhat less than apologetic.

Manufacturing issues aside, Nick Jones reflects on his time in Victoria with the DayGlo Abortions. “They were nice young men, at least at that point,” says the producer, who is still proud of his work on
Out of the Womb,
and rightfully so. Although Nick thought that the album’s humour was apparent, others didn’t feel quite the same way. When the record hit stores in Vancouver, Nick remembers that some of the punks came down on him for participating in the project. “Some of them thought it was racist, homophobic, and misogynistic.” The politically-correct punks were partly right, of course, but they were also completely missing the point. It was Cretin’s job to aggravate the “norms.”

By 1981, people were starting to forget that in the beginning, punk rock was not politically-correct at all, and that many early albums were just as rude as the new DayGlos release. Well, maybe
almost
as rude. To the bandmembers, the fallout was remarkable. Suddenly, people were talking about the brash young whippersnappers from Victoria, and the things they were saying were unkind. Cretin, being young and somewhat naïve, was deeply hurt by some of the reviews. He had assumed that informed music journalists would be able to recognize his satiric genius and not take the album at face value. “My ego took quite a bruising for a while there,” the singer says ruefully. Some of those journalists were just plain mean.

While leaving class on the Camosun College campus one afternoon, Cretin learned that the citizens were also extremely angry. The singer was minding his own business when he was suddenly surrounded by an irate group of hippies and feminists. Shouting and screaming, the mob laid into Cretin, demanding to know why he had created such an offensive album. The stunned musician was taken aback and didn’t know what to say. “I couldn’t believe how pissed off they were!” says Cretin, still amazed by the uproar. Too stunned to fight back, the befuddled electronics student pushed his way through the mob and made a run for it. Was this what it was like to be a rock star? Somehow, he’d envisioned something a little more glamourous.

Spud, however, claims that he wasn’t particularly surprised at the backlash. “Even the most offensive punk rock at the time, which was probably the Sex Pistols, was nowhere near as rude as
Out of the Womb.
It would have been dumb to think everyone would love the album. It wasn’t exactly Donny Osmond,” reflects the bass player. Apparently, several record stores kept the album under the counter and sold it in paper bags. Despite all this, Bonehead convinced the record label Toxic Shock to distribute the LP in the United States. An affiliate known as Fringe Product would handle business on the Canadian side of the border. Thus marked the beginning of a long and often-volatile relationship between the DayGlo Abortions and Fringe Product, one that would lead to a great deal of hostility and recriminations. More on that later.

Speaking of money, the DayGlo Abortions never directly repaid Robin Sharpe for funding the LP, but The Cretin later contributed more than $5000 to Robin’s defence fund when Robin went to court on obscenity charges. “He’s a generous guy, and would do anything to help me and Brian,” says Cretin. The band officially pressed 1000 copies of
Out of the Womb,
but the actual number was closer to 1200, which is still a very small run. The album quickly sold out and was unavailable until 2007, when it was re-released by Unrest Records who pressed a total of 4000 copies. “Unrest did a really great job, and the product was excellent. They also agreed to pay us royalties right off the top, which is something you don’t see very often,” says Cretin.

The DayGlo Abortions at the Fernwood Community Centre. (left to right) “The Cretin” Murray Acton and Jesus Bonehead. (note “bronze record” on wall behind band.) [Courtesy of Murray Acton]

Incidentally, Nick Jones reunited with the Pointed Sticks in 2006 to play a number of shows, including one in Tokyo. In November of 2009 the group released
Three Lefts Make a Right,
their first album in more than twenty-nine years. The band’s popularity remains undiminished.

Though Cretin still didn’t see a future in the band, he was surprised nonetheless by the furor created by
Out of the Womb.
“The owner of one record store made a huge window display with the album, just to piss off the local anti-porn feminists,” recalls Cretin. The angry women reacted by smashing the front window and trashing his store. “In fact, a couple of record stores got sacked.” Acton remembers that the group called themselves FLAG, which he jokingly interprets as “fucked up lesbians against guys.” Obviously, the punk rockers in Victoria weren’t the only hellraisers around, or even the most militant group of troublemakers. Any group of women mad enough to destroy record stores over something as innocent as cover art was something to stay clear of. The DayGlo Abortions, naturally, found the attention pleasing.

To capitalize on the wave of publicity, the band decided to attend a pro-life demonstration. As living abortions, they had a vested interest in the subject. “We got shitfaced drunk and made up our own signs. We had plastic baby dolls covered with blood, the whole bit,” laughs Acton, remembering. “We were shouting that we loved abortions. Both sides, both pro-life and pro-choice, joined forces and chased us away. They hated us!” Cretin was slowly coming to the conclusion that he couldn’t save the world, but he could still make a point— even if no one was exactly sure what it was.

The DayGlo Abortions held a record release party at the Metropol. This was an exciting time for the fledging band that had arrived on the scene with such a splash. Few punk bands were able to release an album so quickly, let alone one so controversial and unique. Girls who hadn’t paid much attention to the DayGlos before were suddenly interested. Who were these punks from the wrong side of the tracks? Maybe they weren’t such losers after all.

Not long afterwards, Robin Sharpe presented The Cretin with a “bronze” record, which he made by spray-painting an old album and gluing it to a cross. Cretin accepted the award with mock solemnity and occasionally hung it on the wall behind the band when they played.

The DayGlo Abortions continued to play when they could and managed to stay out of jail. Other local bands were happy to support them now that they had achieved some measure of success. The DayGlos took turns headlining with popular groups such as Nomeansno. “One show we’d back them up, and at the next show, they’d back us up,” recalls Spud of this democratic arrangement. The band was finally happening.

The DayGlo Abortions drank plenty of beer. They continued to practice at the Metropol on weekends, occasionally holding gigs there as well. Halloween of 1981 found the DayGlos hosting another wild bash that did nothing to endear them to the local constabulary. Just to add a spooky touch to the proceedings, the group rented a smoke machine. Costumed guests began to arrive, and each seemed more intoxicated than the last. Soon the guests were packed into the basement like sardines clad in black leather and chains. Eventually, the band donned their instruments and cranked the amplifiers up as loud as they would go. The time was right for some noisy punk rock.

For this occasion, the DayGlos had switched instruments and were playing as He Man & the Masters of the Universe, with Spud singing and a musician named Scott Henderson on bass. “We did ‘Hocus Pocus’ by Focus, with Spud yodelling,” Acton remembers, laughing. “It was so bad, hilarious!” Unfortunately, the smoke machine failed to work, causing Spud to kick it angrily. Despite further abuse, the device refused to emit so much as a wisp of fog. Luckily, a young promoter named Tim Crow came to the rescue by unzipping his jeans to piss directly on the dry ice. Smoke immediately began to billow from the machine, but the smell was atrocious. “What a fucking reek!” exclaims Spud, wincing at the memory of the acrid pong. The gig went on as chaotically as ever, with many guests plugging their noses until they became accustomed to the stench. Piss and dry ice do not mix well together.