Argh Fuck Kill: The Story of the DayGlo Abortions (25 page)

As the release date drew nearer, the DayGlo Abortions tried to enter into the spirit of things. Excited fans were looking forward to the album, and there was no point in spoiling it for them. Maybe the kids wouldn’t notice that the guitars weren’t quite as loud as they could have been. The album was good, wasn’t it? The band was at the height of its popularity now and could sell anything it put inside a record sleeve. So what if the production wasn’t on par with
Never Mind the Bollocks?
Miracles did not always come easily, and the fans would just have to accept that.

Fringe Product, who liked to do things quickly and cheaply, moved fast to release
Two Dogs Fucking,
and by the spring of 1991, the album was on shelves in record stores across Canada. Actually, because vinyl had fallen out of favour, the new album was released on cassette and CD only. Many consumers were unhappy about the change in format—not just DayGlo Abortions fans, but music lovers of every genre as well. Cassettes simply aren’t the same as a solid piece of vinyl, and often fell apart within a week or two. Not just that, but the sound quality wasn’t as good, and with
Two Dogs Fucking,
that was a problem. Fans popping the cassette into ghetto blasters for the first time were not exactly blown away by the audio quality. Be that as it may, the cassette/CD received the usual love ‘em or hate ‘em reviews, and not much was said about the shoddy production. Most accepted
Two Dogs
as another work of genius and, as the band had hoped, didn’t seem overly concerned that the guitars weren’t up front or that the vocals sounded a bit thin. Anyone who didn’t like the new album was a fucking traitor.

Summer was fast approaching as the DayGlo Abortions prepared to tour in support of the new album. Myrtle was gone now, so Spud looked around for another vehicle—something big enough to move the band, the equipment, and at least one roadie. The boys needed wheels and they needed them fast. This was peak touring season and it was time to go.

Then, as the bandmembers hunted for socks and toothbrushes, an interesting development arose. Cretin, who still worked for Defence Research Establishment Pacific, was given the opportunity to take an early retirement. Since the offer included a substantial buyout package, the guitarist did not spend a great deal of time mulling it over. He took the money gladly, relieved to be free at long last. “I was getting pretty sick of computers anyway by that time,” recounts Cretin. “I’d been stuck behind a desk for too many years, and my back was all screwed up. That was the happiest day of my life.” Unemployed and free, Cretin loved the idea of getting out on the road with the boys. Justin was now staying with his mother September MacIntosh so Cretin wouldn’t have to worry about finding someone to look after him. For once, the singer would be able to do the entire tour instead of merely flying out for a show or two.

The other DayGlo Abortions viewed the news with a mixture of enthusiasm and apprehension. While it would be great to have Cretin at the helm again, he wasn’t familiar with the rigours of touring. Bonehead, Nev, Mike, and Spud were used to each others’ bullshit, but an unknown factor might upset the whole boozecart. Spud and Bonehead still remembered the trip to California in the 1600 VW Microbus with Cretin, and it was an experience they did not care to repeat. The DayGlo leader needed space, and plenty of it.

To make things even scarier, the band would also have another unknown factor along for the ride. Spud doesn’t remember who introduced the band to Bill Crepell, but says that he mistrusted the man from the start. Bill, who could talk the shell off a fiddler crab, had somehow convinced the boys to let him manage the band. Well, perhaps it was the promise of new gear that won them over. Realizing that he needed bargaining power, Bill offered to replace the band’s aging equipment and, sure enough, the boys soon had new amps, drums, and guitars with which to bombard the fans. Spud admits that he was tired of running the show anyway, and was secretly relieved to pass the reins. Still, and despite all the new gear, both Spud and Bonehead had misgivings. Bill did not fill them with confidence.

Bill Crepell was an interesting specimen. Even shorter and slighter than Jesus Bonehead, Bill wore his thinning dirty blonde hair in a mullet, and his chest actually appeared to be concave. Along with his scrawny physical appearance, the little man had a nervous tic that caused him to whinny like a horse at the end of almost every sentence. Poor ol’ Bill looked more like Professor Frink from
The Simpsons
than he did the manager of Canada’s most incendiary punk band. Spud may have been happy to let someone else do the paperwork, but Bill didn’t seem capable of making club owners pay up every night. Spud on the other hand, looked as if he’d start swinging if he didn’t get the money. Though the other bandmembers weren’t exactly blown away by Bill’s magnetic personality and confident approach, they were happy with the new gear. Later, they would realize their mistake, but by then it was too late.

Given the circumstances, it only made sense to rent a vehicle—something big enough for the entire entourage. Spud went out to get a van, and the boys were a bit shocked when he returned with a full-sized motorhome
and
a trailer for the gear. For this trip, the gang would be travelling in style.

The DayGlo Abortions climbed into the motorhome and set off for the ferry, feeling somewhat anxious about the long tour ahead. Despite having such a fancy vehicle in which to travel, Nev and Mike got into a little argument that almost led to fisticuffs. As they motored down the highway in the luxurious RV, Spud warned the guitarists that he was going to pull over and kick their asses if they didn’t stop fighting. Was it too late to turn back?

The band stopped in Vancouver for a show at The Starfish Room, followed by a somewhat drunken set at a rowdy East End boozecan known as the What Gallery. Typically, the show was marred by a wild free-for-all between boozecan staff and hooligans from Surrey, in which the doorman’s Forgotten Rebels shirt was ripped from his back. Mike Anus, being the generous soul that he is, was kind enough to donate a DayGlo Abortions shirt to the bare-chested bouncer. Thank you, Mike.

Moving out, tired and hungover, the band played Calgary before arriving in Edmonton for a show at a dumpy bar on the edge of town. Bill Crepell was already starting to get on their nerves with his weird horse laugh and neverending fabrications, so the boys picked up a bunch of beer and got really drunk. Now if Bill would just shut the fuck up, things wouldn’t be so bad.

In Winnipeg, the DayGlo Abortions stopped in for their usual engagement at Wellington’s. The infamous punk bar wasn’t the same now that hardcore had all but disappeared. Still, the turnout for the DayGlos show was decent, and the band was able to pick up a good chunk of coin. Winnipeg was a cash stop in the middle of the country where Vancouver bands could pick up money for the trip east, and groups from Toronto travelling west could do the same. Those bands could hit the place both coming and going, like criminals on the run. Good ol’ Winnipeg.

Onwards across the prairies went the DayGlo Abortions. There was a whole lot of nothing between engagements, but that would soon change. Within the next year or two, all sorts of little towns that had never hosted the band before would be open for business. This expansion of what had once been a long and lonely highway would make it possible for the band to survive the 90s, even as record sales slowed.
Two Dogs Fucking
would be the last record the DayGlos made for Fringe Product, but they would learn that there wasn’t much a small record label could do for them that they couldn’t do for themselves.

For now, the DayGlo Abortions soldiered bravely down the road to Toronto. Arriving at the “Little Apple,” they did a show with Hockey Teeth and Son of Bronto on April 13th at Lee’s Palace. In London, the DayGlos played with ex-Razor metalheads Sam Fuckin’ Hain. For Spud, the gigs have blurred together into a single, beery mass, and he can no longer distinguish one from the other. “There were so many shows and so much beer that I just can’t remember all that shit anymore,” says the bassist, scratching his head. Even the girls are nothing but a foggy haze now, lost to the horny sands of time. Spud does recall that one of the gigs in Toronto was thick with crack smoke. “It was a big club with two levels, and everybody was upstairs smoking rock,” the bass player recounts, non-judgmentally. “The place was nothing but a huge crack house.”

Bill Crepell was not working out. The new manager often failed to do his job properly, leaving Spud to argue contract details and renegotiate with club owners. As an outsider, Bill was unable to see things from a DayGlo perspective. The tension increased when Cretin, who had vouched for Bill, felt obligated to defend him. Bickering and infighting grew, and most of it could be traced back to Bill. “I almost kicked the crap out of him a couple of times,” Spud mutters. Bill simply didn’t belong.

Southern Ontario was still the only part of Canada where gigs could be had without driving for hundreds of miles. Kids in Hamilton, Ottawa, London, and even St. Catherines could be counted on for an evening of DayGlo madness, dropping what little cash they had in the process. Even though
Two Dogs Fucking
was not their strongest release, the DayGlo Abortions were at the peak of their earning powers and the money was good, at least for a Victoria punk band. Not that they were ready to purchase their own jet, but at least they could afford to eat in restaurants and sleep in hotels most of the time. Sometimes, they even washed their clothes.

In London, Spud met a girl who would change his world forever. Michelle Grant was a petite and attractive brunette with a self-assured manner that set her apart from the usual groupies and hangarounds. There was something different about this little Ontario girl, and the DayGlos’ bassist found himself captivated by her charm. Spud and Michelle were inseparable during their short time together and made arrangements to see each other at the next possible opportunity. This would be no one-night stand.

Nev the Impaler was not yet ready to settle down. A fan in Ottawa named Jeremy Flynn remembers conducting an interview with the rhythm guitarist: “Nev was preoccupied with a cute young blonde number. He thought nothing of the fact that he was having his knob polished while we spoke and, since I was asked to direct my questions to the bobbing and swaying brown-eyed, bearded Cyclops in front of me, I proceeded to interview the girl’s fine ass, which wiggled “yes” and undulated “no” quite enthusiastically to my queries. The interview didn’t last long, but was the most memorable I ever conducted.”

Eventually, the gang finished up in Ontario and began making their way back across the prairies. Winnipeg again provided a few gas dollars, which the band gratefully accepted. The large motorhome could really suck fuel. Instead of playing Wellington’s, which was still floundering with the death of hardcore, they hit Ozzy’s, which was, and still is, located in the basement of the Plaza Hotel. The DayGlos, as mentioned earlier, had outlived hardcore by not directly affiliating themselves with that scene. Hardcore wasn’t something they had intentionally avoided; they simply weren’t paying attention.

Solo activities in the washroom were not uncommon. Since no one wanted to clean it, Spud had decreed that no one could shit in the chemical toilet, but the space made for a dandy jerkoff room. “We taped pictures of naked girls all over the walls,” Spud remembers. Since the musicians occasionally went for long spells on the road without female companionship, they had no choice but to take matters into hand. Such is life.

Rolling onwards, the group hit Saskatoon and Regina, since even these small cities had plenty of DayGlos fans. Again, Bill fudged several contracts, angering the band in general and Spud in particular. Edmonton and Calgary were also good for a few shekels, and again the DayGlos received them thankfully. Soon they were back in Vancouver for a show at The Cruel Elephant, and not long after that, they were home in Victoria. The boys each had a pocketful of money, which didn’t take long to spend. Though they still had the American leg of the tour in front of them the weary bandmembers wondered if this was as good as it was ever going to get. Had they peaked already?

For Nev the Impaler, this truly
was
the end of the road. A female he knew accused one of Bonehead’s friends of sexual assault and, when the drummer defended his pal, Nev quit. “It was her word against Bonehead’s friend, so there was no solid proof that the rape really happened, but I believed her,” says Nev, reflecting on the incident that ended his tenure with the band. Allegations notwithstanding, Nev regretted that he had been forced to make such a hard decision. The amazing adventure—sweet road blowjobs included— was finished and done.

The DayGlo Abortions still had two capable guitar players, so in late summer they set out for several gigs in the USA. They planned to do another, longer tour later, but this little trip was just to get warmed up. Even without Nev, the band was set to make some noise.

But then, as the boys made their way to the border, the shaky arrangement with Bill Crepell finally imploded. In a fit of rage, Cretin fired Bill as manager, but agreed to keep him on as merch guy and soundman. At the start of the tour, Bill had fronted the money for the merch, which made it impossible to push him completely out of the picture. The DayGlos never saved enough money to produce their own merchandise, because the more they earned, the better they lived on the road. “We’d get home with maybe $500 in our pockets/’ laments Spud. At this point, the musicians were also getting per diems, which they promptly squandered on beer and cigarettes. All this aside, Bill agreed to stay on as soundman instead of returning to Victoria. “At least he was half decent at that,” Spud admits.