Argh Fuck Kill: The Story of the DayGlo Abortions (17 page)

The next night at a show in Hamilton, Mike was in bad shape. He later saw a videotape of the gig which proves that he barely moved the entire time he was onstage. “I can’t move my arms, I’ve got welts all over my body,” recalls the guitarist, wincing at the memory. Mike gobbled more Librium and somehow managed to do the show. “On the video, you can see that I was playing the songs, but I have absolutely no idea how I got through the set,” says Mike, shaking his head. That he managed at all is a testament to youthful strength and sheer pigheadedness, coupled with a will to play no matter how difficult the circumstances. In this respect, the various bandmembers were alike and seldom did they miss a gig. If the DayGlos didn’t play then they didn’t get paid, and they needed every dime they could get.

When the DayGlos weren’t semi-incapacitated by injuries or toxic substances, they were both visually arresting and aurally devastating. Spud was a natural showman, and his stage attack veered between sloppy recklessness and steely focus. He could be narrowly avoiding a collision with Nev the Impaler in one second, and leaning forward to bark into his microphone the next. On either side of Spud, the double guitar assault of Mike Anus and Nev the Impaler was a fiery blast of concentrated fury. While Nev seemed to be airborne more times than not, Mike tore off blistering lead guitar solos with unshakable assurance, notes like razor blades flying from his Marshall cabinets. Behind the guitarists, with sweat gushing from every pore, was the unstoppable Jesus Bonehead, his thunderous kick drum as certain as death or taxes. This was a group to make anyone stand up and pay attention, whether they liked the genre or not. The energy and musicianship were impossible to ignore.

All told, the DayGlos were in Ontario for nearly three months. “I think the guys in October Crisis were pretty sick of us by the end,” Spud acknowledges. The reader can imagine that the fridge was always empty and the cupboards were always bare. Under such conditions, friendship often begins to fade.

Exhausted, and with fall fast approaching, Spud and Jesus Bonehead finally decided to forget about living in Toronto and head home. Everyone wanted to rest up for at least a week before starting the American leg of the tour, and it would take at least that long just to catch up on sleep and detox just a little. Because every month on the road was like a year at home, the DayGlos were starting to feel a bit rough around the edges.

Still, the time spent in Ontario had not been a waste, even though the boys hadn’t earned much money. By now, they could repair broken guitar strings in the dark while completely inebriated, or siphon gas from parked semi-trailers at two in the morning without swallowing. Onstage, the band was as tight as could be, and the members could perform in any condition (and often did).

Even Noid had learned plenty in the last several months. Mike Anus used him as his personal guitar tech, and the little guy spent an inordinate amount of time and care making sure that everything was perfect for the wild-mannered yet fussy lead guitarist. Noid also looked out for the rest of the band, and had almost perfected the art of sliding across the stage to catch a falling cymbal stand before it hit the floor. On the other hand, the roadie also had a tendency to get completely slaughtered after the gear was stowed away, annoying Spud, who had to make sure he didn’t get punched out. “Noid,” incidentally, stood for “No ID,” which the little roadie apparently never carried.

Anyway, for a first tour, the DayGlo Abortions were doing fine. They had held together under fire and had earned their wings (red or otherwise). The boys were ready for the USA—or so they thought.

Unsurprisingly, the departure from Toronto would not be without drama. Mike was having so much fun hanging out with the Bunchofuckinggoofs that he didn’t want to leave. The guitarist admits that he had a touch of “rock star syndrome,” which is not so unusual for a twenty-year old punk rocker with legions of screaming fans. “I hate to ‘fess up, but I was a bit of a prick,” Mike recalls ruefully. The years have done wonders for his sense of modesty, and the part-time DayGlo no longer believes that he can walk on water. Back then, Mike could not decide what he wanted to do. Should he stay with the DayGlos, or should he join the Bunchofuckinggoofs? He couldn’t think.

By now, Rancid Randy had flown out to help drive because Spud didn’t fully trust Nev behind the wheel. As the bus rolled through the outer suburbs of Toronto, Mike suddenly made up his mind and tried to climb out the window. When Spud and Bonehead pulled him back inside, he sat drunkenly in his seat as they sped ever further from Kensington Market. Then, when Spud stopped for gas, Mike got off the bus to make a phone call. What the DayGlos didn’t know was that he called Steve at Fort Goof for directions back to the city. The guitarist, drunk and high on pills, stalled for time and refused to get back on the bus. Spud finally delivered a pointed ultimatum: get in or walk back to town. Mike still wouldn’t give them a straight answer, so after waiting even longer, Spud finally drove away. The guitarist picked up his instrument and rucksack, and staggered to the highway. He eventually hitchhiked back to Toronto and joined the BFG. Now those guys knew how to party.

Unwilling to continue without a lead guitarist, Bonehead phoned Wayne Gretzky who agreed to meet the band in Winnipeg. There were a few tense moments waiting at the bus station for Chris, but the guitar player arrived on schedule and the gang breathed a collective sigh of relief. All they had to do now was play the show at Wellington’s and collect the money. Somehow, the boys got through the gig, and the drunken punks in attendance didn’t notice or care that the lineup was slightly different. Spud remembers little about the show, and can only recall hanging out with Georgette and Angie again. As usual, the beer flowed like water, except faster because they were in Winnipeg. Nothing flows faster than beer in Winnipeg.

The DayGlos pushed on to Calgary and Edmonton, where they played to a rowdy crowd of punks and oil rig workers. The only thing that really sticks out for Rancid Randy happened at a party at Chi Pig’s house after the show. Since the basement was equipped with a dartboard, the air was soon full of flying missiles. For a lark, Noid risked injury by crossing in front of the dartboard, daring everyone to throw darts at him. Finally, Noid stopped directly in front of the dartboard and put his hands over his face to protect his eyes. “Go ahead, throw!” he challenged drunkenly. Bonehead, who had no intention of hitting Noid, tried to throw a dart over his head. The music, which had been very loud, stopped just as the dart struck Noid’s forehead with an audible
pop
! Everyone present burst into laughter and fell on the floor clutching their stomachs. Rancid Randy captured the incident with his camcorder and kept the tape for years. “That was one of the best moments of the whole trip,” he laughs.

The DayGlos left town the next day, hurting and hungover. By now they had been away a very long time and were homesick and lonesome. To make things difficult, Jezebel began to overheat after leaving Kamloops and they had to stop and let the vehicle cool periodically. The old girl simply couldn’t handle the steep grades. “It was not the best bus,” Randy reflects. Spud seems to have better memories of Myrtle but stops short of actually praising her. That she got them home at all is a miracle.

At last, the band limped over the mountains to Vancouver, and from there it was a short ferry ride to Victoria. Since they had not paid rent in Vancouver before they left, they were now homeless. Luckily, friends and families were kind enough to give them couch space in exchange for endless road stories of mayhem and madness. After three weeks of this, the band restocked the bus and made a half-hearted attempt to clean it up. Sadly, nothing but a car crusher could possibly remove the musty smell of spilled beer, dried vomit, and sour sweat. Indeed, the bus would eventually meet that grisly fate. The good City of Victoria did not regard Myrtle as a piece of punk history, but rather as scrap metal waiting to be towed away and pulverized.

But for now, Myrtle was running as well as could be expected. The gang climbed aboard and made tracks for the US border. There was a fair amount of concern as to how the band would sound with just one guitarist. After all, many of the songs had prominent lead guitar parts that Nev the Impaler could not hope to replicate. There was nothing the band could do but push on and hope for the best. Unfortunately, the gig at The Central Tavern on October 4th in Seattle was somewhat less than spectacular. “It wasn’t a very good show,” chuckles Nev. “There weren’t many people there, and those who did pay to get in weren’t very happy.” The band needed a lead guitar.

From there, the DayGlos skipped Oregon entirely and continued slowly to California. By now, the desperation onboard was palpable. The hole left by the absence of Mike Anus was bigger than they’d expected, and the band felt that they couldn’t continue unless they found another guitar player. To make matters worse, the next show was a high-profile event with Motörhead, Cro-Mags, and Raw Power. Perhaps Wayne Gretzky could be convinced to fly out and do the tour. Whatever the case, they needed to do something, and they needed to do it fast.

The boys stopped at a gas station in California, where Bonehead made a number of frantic phone calls. His first call was to Wayne Gretzky, but the guitar player was either busy with a new job or didn’t want to leave his girl. Wayne can’t really remember why he didn’t want to join the tour, other than a vague feeling that the band was living too close to the bone (or in this case, white bread and bologna). Anyway, since Mr. Gretzky was unavailable, Bonehead then called ex-road manager Ferris Jak, who had some interesting news. Apparently, Mike Anus was back in Vancouver again, and Ferris thought that maybe, just maybe, he might be able to bring the lead guitarist out to LA. As it turned out, Ferris had a friend named Colleen Biggs who would buy the plane tickets if she could come along and hang out. Bonehead was delighted and, with just a few more telephone calls, the arrangements were set. Much depended, as it often did, on a bit of subterfuge. It seemed that Mike didn’t want to tour the US, and would rather return to Toronto and party with the BFG again. But Ferris had other ideas.

The next day, Ferris and Colleen picked up Mike and his guitar, and they all took a taxi to the airport. Mike, already half-drunk, was under the impression that they were flying to Toronto. Though he had only been gone for about a month, the boisterous guitarist was looking forward to seeing his friends again. Having arrived a little early, the trio stopped at the airport lounge to guzzle a few highballs. By now, Mike was feeling no pain, and was not at all suspicious that anything was amiss. The three companions went through security and boarded the airplane without difficulties. Soon they lifted off, leaving rainy Vancouver behind. When the booze cart rolled by, they ordered more drinks. The friends toasted each other and Ferris smiled. Mike, sitting in an aisle seat, could not see the Pacific coastline below. So far, so good.

Eventually, the plane began to descend. The aircraft banked as it circled Los Angeles, and Mike was finally able to see out the window. A puzzled look came over his face as he peered at the sprawling cityscape below. “Damn, I never knew that Toronto had so many swimming pools!” said Mike, gazing down at Beverley Hills. At that point, Ferris and Colleen could not contain themselves and laughed uproariously at the confused guitarist. “That’s not Toronto, you dummy— that’s
LA
!” howled Ferris, slapping his knee. His plan had worked perfectly.

The flight landed at LAX, where the DayGlos were waiting to pick up the intoxicated trio. Mike was mad at first, but the pleasant warm air and bright sunshine soon cheered him up. Since he was in the USA now, the guitar player figured that he might as well stick around to do the tour. Beer was cheap here and, with Mike around to suck up the suds, the domestic breweries prospered. Thanks to the DayGlo Abortions, Anheuser Busch was happy to post a massive fourth quarter profit that year.

Sadly, the boys didn’t get a chance to play with Motörhead at Fenders in Long Beach on October 18th, 1986. Nev seems to think that Lemmy didn’t want four bands on the bill, and the DayGlos got bumped because they were not very well-known yet. Mike says he heard that Lemmy kicked them off the bill because he didn’t like the name of the band. The rumour is unsubstantiated, and it seems unlikely that the truth will ever be known. Even Lemmy himself probably can’t recall the specific details. Regardless, there would be plenty of other high-profile shows, even on this, the DayGlo Abortions’ first full-length American tour.

The DayGlos may not have been given the chance to play, but Ferris made so much noise that the promoter agreed to pay the band and invited the members backstage, where they were able to eat and drink to excess. “I scared the shit out of that cocksucking promoter,” claims the feisty road manager. Not just that, but Raw Power had to pay $50 for lights and $50 for the soundman, whereas the DayGlo Abortions were able to keep the full amount. Given these small considerations, the sting of rejection didn’t hurt quite as much—not with all the beer and food included.

Sitting backstage, the DayGlos were looking forward to seeing their friends from Raw Power, who were already playing by the time they arrived. The two bands were booked together for a string of dates across the USA, and the DayGlos were pleased with the arrangement. When Raw Power finished the set and came backstage, the boys were dismayed to learn that all the members were completely different from the first Raw Power. Apparently, “Raw Power” was simply a group of interchangeable, touring musicians who performed the same material. “Raw Power was like the Italian military—they just recruited members, taught them the songs, and sent them out on tour,” remembers Spud. While it was true that the DayGlos also had some hired help, they at least had two of the three original members.