The original Then & Now: Roxy Blu article was published September 21, 2011 by The GridTO.com. That story launched Then & Now: Toronto Nightlife History, originally envisioned as a series of brief articles devoted to defunct but influential Toronto music venues. As Then & Now’s popularity and reach expanded, it became increasingly important to include more voices in each story. As a result, the earliest stories for The Grid were entirely rewritten for Then & Now in book format. This expanded history of Roxy Blu was written in March 2015, and was exclusively available in the Then & Now book until this time.

Roxy Blu was home to the soulful side of Toronto’s dance-music underground, and with its four rooms, welcoming atmosphere, and loyal community of followers, Roxy fostered and supported a culture where parties and promoters could create without compromise.

By: DENISE BENSON

Club: Roxy Blu, 12 Brant

Years in operation: 1998 – 2005

History: Although it would come to be known as a community-minded hotbed for soulful house and other underground sounds, Roxy Blu was decidedly different than any other club projects owner Amar Singh had ever touched.

In the early to mid-’90s, he and Bill Kourbetis worked together as B&A, promoting events at ritzy, popular nightclubs like Stilife, Skorpio, Orchid, and Exit II Eden. They parted as co- promoters when Singh opened a club called Bauhaus at 31 Mercer. Known for its see-and- be-seen Martini Mondays, well-dressed crowds, and sleek design, Bauhaus was successful, but Singh walked away six months after opening.

“I just wasn’t there mentally,” he says; “I knew I wanted to be in the industry, but I had to make some changes. I sold my shares for pennies on the dollar.”

Singh took another approach for his next venue.

“I didn’t want to do what I did with Bauhaus, which was spend so much on renovations. The clubs that I used to go to, that I really, really loved, were not the club I created in Bauhaus. The club I created was the kind I used to promote—the Orchids and so on, all pretty and nice. To this day, the clubs I loved going to the most were Tazmanian Ballroom—anything Johnny K really; he was my mentor—and of course Twilight Zone, as well as Le Tube. Those are the places, along with some spots in New York, that really inspired me in my next venture, which became Roxy Blu.”

Singh stumbled upon the 10,000-square-foot building at 12 Brant while out on his bicycle. He’d been looking in the area of King west of Spadina, as it was off the beaten path and rents were cheaper. At the time, the building’s lower level housed Bodega Manila, a Filipino restaurant run by the owner’s wife, while the upstairs acted as storage for the rattan furniture the couple imported.

Singh spoke casually with the owner while touring the space. He didn’t see potential for a nightclub at first.

“Then I tripped on the carpet, and noticed that under it was a beautiful hardwood floor.”

Upon learning the entire main level had hardwood, Singh asked more questions. He also discovered the building was licensed throughout, a huge boon in a city where new liquor permits can be difficult to come by. Multiple conversations and many months later, Singh had the go-ahead to rent the building and then, eventually, the silent partner and small business loan that enabled him to do so.

He relied on the help of friends to get Roxy Blu off the ground. Jennifer Pratt designed its logo and rooms.

“When I invited Jennifer to design the club, I told her, ‘We’re looking at $10,000 to get the space going.’ She said, ‘Amar, you can’t paint this place for $10,000. It’s going to cost more than that!’ I said, ‘You don’t understand; it’s $10,000 for paint and furniture.’”

Budget dictated that Roxy was adorned with discount paint, thrift store furniture, and strategically placed bits of fabric, but its comfy décor and related warm vibe would become a draw. The club opened in September, 1998.

Roxy entrance. Photo courtesy of Denis Scher-McDowall.

Why it was important: “A friend once said to me that the reason Roxy Blu became such a success was that it was built with love,” shares Singh. “That’s true. Even on opening day, a tonne of my friends painted and helped clean because I had no money.”

Singh also hired a number of friends, including Denis Scher-McDowall, who worked as a Roxy bartender before becoming manager. She recalls that the club’s dark, unassuming entrance and less-than-obvious location lent a warehouse feel.

“Roxy Blu was a huge, two-storey building that had a sort of warehouse look to the outside, but once you stepped inside, it was an eclectic mix of your grandma’s living room with the coolest vibe you could imagine,” Scher-McDowall describes.

“When you first came in, there was the lounge on the right, which had three plush semi- private rooms, lots of fabric, lamps, a DJ booth, small bar, and a drummer. It was more of an area to chill out and listen to some great music. The main room had two bars, a DJ booth, lots of space in the middle for dancing, and seating around the perimeter.”

“We opened it up one room at a time,” explains Singh. “Then people who came early didn’t feel consumed by the big space. Even if there were only a few people in that room, it was nice and warm.”

The main room had low ceilings, a long main bar, and plenty of ambiance.

“The ceiling height might have been 12 feet, with attached pin spots and oscillating lights that were really dynamic in the way they washed the walls and dancefloor,” recalls Winston Thompson, Roxy’s Saturday night resident DJ for the club’s entire history. “It had a phenomenal wood floor and a beefy JBL sound system. The system, coupled with ceiling height, décor, floor, and the warm feel of vinyl records, made for incredible acoustics.

“If you wanted to dance and sweat, you were in the main room; if you wanted to chill and conversate, you could slip into the lounge, aka the Parlour.”

Crowd at a 52inc. jam. Photo courtesy of Kate Cassidy.

To those who had frequented the many speaks and warehouse parties devoted to house music in late ’80s through early ’90s Toronto, Roxy Blu’s natural character was obvious. Singh didn’t initially see it this way.

“The problem was that up until that point, all I really knew was the European crowd—big on drinking, but they loved to go to pretty places,” says Singh. “I was comfortable in those places, and also comfortable in underground spots, and was convinced that everyone was like me in this way. I thought my Euro crowd would like Roxy, but I didn’t really have ties to the underground crowd.

“Opening night was packed, but those people never came back. Three or four months in, I was pulling my hair out thinking it was going to be a disaster. Then a guy named Justin [Martin, of alienInFlux] came to me and said he wanted to book in an act called Kruder & Dorfmeister. I didn’t know them at all. I wasn’t into the music. I’m a rock and roll guy.”

Martin brought Kruder & Dorfmeister on a Friday early in 1999. It was a packed, incredible event—the kind of night where those of us in the room knew we were at something special.

“That event opened up the floodgates,” states Singh. “Everyone then came to me saying, ‘Let’s do a Friday.’ If it wasn’t for Justin, I don’t think that would have happened.”

Soon after, promoters including Hot Stepper and the Movement DJ collective started producing monthlies. Roxy Blu became the place to go, for different crowds, on both weekend nights.

“The rotation of parties on Fridays was the real deal, with Movement, Garage 416, 52inc., milk, Solid Garage, and more,” says DJ Paul E. Lopes, who played at most of these events, as well as Hot Stepper’s Bump N’ Hustle, over the years. “You didn’t have to know what the party was about or who was hosting or spinning—it was guaranteed to be good.

“Roxy Blu really was the ideal space for us. All the regular promoters were on the soulful end of club music, so it attracted a more casual, music-loving, dancing crowd. The sound system was great, both for ‘club’ records and the old disco, soul, and jazz that got spun a lot there too. The hardwood floor attracted the best dancers, and they helped give the room a great vibe.”

A Hot Stepper party goes off downstairs. Photo courtesy of Hot Stepper Productions.

Also appealing was the fact that Roxy had four rooms, including two on the lower level, called Foundation until renamed Surface. Within the club’s first year, each room had its own DJ booth and sound system, which could also be linked as one. Some nights there were separate parties on each floor, while on other occasions promoters booked DJs in each room.

This story is as much about the core events held at Roxy Blu as it is about the club itself.

Movement was one of the first parties to fill all four rooms on a monthly basis. The five men of Movement—Aki Abe, Jason Palma, John Kong, Nav Sangha (aka deejay Nav), and Simon Warwick (aka A Man Called Warwick)—had an enormous impact on Toronto’s underground music scene after they came together in 1998.

“We were tired of being marginalized to lounges or chill-out rooms,” explains Sangha of the impetus to join forces. “We all knew that people were playing the soul, funk, Latin, Brazilian, and jazz records we were into to much larger crowds in dance clubs around the world, and wanted to make that happen in Toronto. We’d all tried to achieve this on our own, but it took the five of us to gain that critical mass.”

“As DJs, we had quite dissimilar backgrounds,” adds Abe. “My first love was house music; I grew up playing the warehouse scene from ’89 to ’94. I was also Eugene’s first employee at Play De Record in 1991, when I was 19, and that’s where I met John and Jason, as they were regulars. I can’t think of anyone as obsessive about music as they were. Nav and Simon were pretty infamous in the collector’s scene; Nav was the skateboarding free jazz guy, and Simon just had records no one had ever heard of.”

Prior to Movement, Palma also worked at Play de Record and hosted radio show Higher Ground, Kong played in lounges and bars around the city, and Warwick and Nav did a funk, jazz, and Latin club night together called Tempo. Sangha also worked at two record shops, Driftwood Music and Rotate This. All five were devoted diggers.

Two of Movement’s five co-founders: Aki Abe (L) and John Kong (R). Photo courtesy of Abe.

“We all were DJs, but first and foremost we were passionate vinyl collectors, competing to find albums we’d never heard before,” emphasizes Abe. “It was a healthy competition, which evidently translated into a good party.”

They made this discovery after combining their networks and different skill sets to launch Movement in the back room of The Rivoli in late 1998.

“By the third monthly party, we had a line-up as long as Ikea on Sunday afternoons,” states Abe. “We moved it to Roxy Blu as a Friday monthly, which gave us a capacity of 1,400, and we maximized every sweaty inch of that space, not according to fire code.

“Roxy was everything you didn’t want in a nightclub, so it was perfect for us. Old wood floors were covered by Simon’s talcum powder, which originally was to help his knees when he got down on the dancefloor. Simon is a great dancer. Sixteen booming bass bins, which people would sometimes dance on, were scattered in the middle of the floor. We also had the best doorman in the city, Dan Toner, who resolved any issues with a huge smile.”

Walking into Movement was like entering another dimension. You never knew what you might hear, who you could end up dancing with, or what you might see. It wasn’t utopia, but it came damn close at times.

“Movement was about dance music, but not in the conventional four-on-the-floor nightclub sense,” describes Sangha. “It included the evolution of all forms of dance music, from folkloric African, Latin, Brazilian, Middle Eastern, and Indian music to jazz, blues, reggae, soul, rock, funk, disco, drum and bass, hip-hop, techno, and house. Basically, anything rhythmic could potentially work, yet there was always an underlying vibe that made a track a Movement record. It was really organic.

“We all took a lot of chances with the programming. The crowd made the anthems; they were really hungry for new music.”

The crowd’s appetite was fed not only by the Movement collective, but also by the DJs they booked. Roxy Blu’s capacity allowed them the budget to bring in collectors from other countries, including DJs and producers such as Gilles Peterson, Jazzanova, Kyoto Jazz Massive, Rainer Trüby, Snowboy, Russ Dewbury, Manu Boubli, and Nicola Conte.

“One Movement, the airline lost Gilles Peterson’s records and he ended up playing John’s without missing a beat,” shares Abe. “Gilles was happy enough to come back several times.

“Another memorable night was when Keb Darge came; we didn’t understand why he wanted a bucket in the DJ booth. Later, we saw him relieving himself while playing his thousand dollar singles since most of them are only three minutes long.

“Most of these guys were master selectors; they never cared about mixing techniques, but the night always flowed seamlessly,” Abe adds. “It was a treat to have other collectors spin their best. Believe me, we were the first ones trainspotting by the turntable.”

D4C crew at Movement. Photo by Robert M. Ben.

Roxy’s rooms also allowed Movement to book local and global DJs who played house, tech, and other electronic sounds that the core crew rarely touched. Abe mentions Nick Holder, DJ Stuart, Theo Parrish, Frankie Valentine, Faze Action, and Idjut Boys. Anything went, to some degree.

“We each had our own distinctive sound when it came to classic and old school records, but we would often fight over who would play the hot, new breaking tracks at a party,” says Sangha. “Except for Warwick; he always did his own thing. Given the opportunity, he would come behind the decks at peak time and drop something insane, like the string section introduction to a ’70s Indian soundtrack or a wildly obscure West African highlife record. He seriously did not give a fuck. I’m pretty certain he still doesn’t, which is what makes him so amazing and unique as a DJ.

“We really pushed each other to excel and break boundaries. I think that’s what helped to create a lot of the magic of Movement. We were all complete and utter record maniacs, and the music played truly reflected that.”

To illustrate, I ask Abe which songs he especially associates with each of his Movement DJ partners.

“John Kong: Lemuria’s ‘Hunk of Heaven’; Jason Palma: Roberto Roena’s ‘Que Se Sepa’; Nav: Buari’s ‘Advice From Father’; Simon Warwick: Charly Antolini’s ‘Atomic Drums’; and for myself: Alice Babs’ ‘Been To Canaan.’

“There was no YouTube, eBay, or cameras on phones at the time, so it was very difficult to track down most of these records,” reminds Abe, who has made it his living to find and sell vintage vinyl since opening Cosmos Records in early ’98.

“I don’t want to overreach, but the times at Roxy Blu were unequivocally spectacular, and quite unique in Toronto. We were able to showcase an array of music, generally played only in underground venues, to a mass audience. It’s a dream come true for most DJs, and we did it all on vinyl!”

Movement was a monthly fixture in Roxy’s calendar for most of the venue’s lifespan. Another Friday was devoted to Garage 416, produced by brothers Pedro and Carlos Mondesir of Hot Stepper Productions.

Pedro had started Garage 416 in September of 1998 with the goal of uniting a splintered soulful house scene. The party quickly outgrew its original 300-capacity home of Granite Lounge on Richmond West, as well as other venues including Bauhaus. The first Garage 416 at Roxy took place in June 1999 and featured the Toronto debut of New York deep-house DJ/producer Joe Claussell of Body & Soul.

“It took months to convince Joe’s team to have him play the party,” recalls Pedro. “That gig allowed us to further grow Garage 416 and to establish ourselves at Roxy for other events.”

This included Tony Humphries’ return to Toronto in September 2000 for the Garage 416 two-year anniversary.

“Like Claussell, it took a lot of convincing for Tony to accept my invitation, but for different reasons,” says Pedro. “The rumour was that Tony had ‘written-off’ Toronto. When I asked why, he said he felt that the city did not appreciate his style of DJing. After numerous calls and providing him with a list of DJs who had headlined Garage 416, I convinced him. The event attracted 1,500 people and was the largest Garage 416 at Roxy Blu.”

Between 1999 and 2003, Garage 416 also hosted more than 45 Toronto DJs—including Peter & Tyrone, Nick Holder, Ray Prasad, Mitch Winthrop, Kevin Williams, and Jason Palma—alongside resident crew Blueprint (Jason Klaps, Alan Lo, and Mike K). Pedro also DJed, as Moreno, from 2001.

DJ Spen (L) and Jerome Sydenham (R) at Garage 416. Photo courtesy of Hot Stepper Productions.

Garage 416’s impressive array of international house headliners included the first Toronto appearances by Norman Jay, Danny Krivit, Timmy Regisford, DJ Spen, Mateo & Matos, Jerome Sydenham, E-Man, Lady Alma, Kaskade, Ame, Dennis Ferrer, and others.

“Dennis had never played outside of New York before, and I was hesitant to book him initially,” admits Pedro. “I only booked DJs with true DJ skills to headline and never cared to book someone simply because they were a popular producer.

“I was a huge fan of Dennis’ music but had never heard him DJ. However, Jerome Sydenham, who had played Garage 416 several times, highly recommended him. The risk paid off; Dennis rocked the night [in September 2001], and I booked him to play again in May.”

Carlos points to François K’s first appearance at Garage 416, in June 2001, as another stand out.

“The power went out in the middle of his set. We had to call Amar’s father to come and fix it, that’s how DIY Roxy was. He did, and the night continued. People didn’t leave!”

Roxy Blu was a bastion of garage and house at a time when Toronto’s rave scene had exploded, and most clubs devoted to dance music either featured big room, harder-edged sounds or commercial hits. There was some audience crossover with clubs like Industry and The Living Room, but Roxy promoters consistently took us to the deep end.

Amar Singh (L), Junior Palmer and friends at Roxy. Photo courtesy of Denis Scher-McDowall.

Junior Palmer had launched his PhatBlackPussyKat parties as a Saturday after-hours at 488 Yonge in 1998. With core resident DJs Joe Rizla, Kaje, and Trini, the party ran for four months before moving to Foundation, below Roxy Blu.

“PhatBlackPussyKat was created to introduce more people to the deep, soulful sound of house music, which was what I grew up listening to at the Twilight Zone,” says Palmer.

“The thing that attracted me to Roxy at first was that it felt like you were in someone’s living room. I believe the vibe was so amazing there because everyone felt like they were at a house party with family and friends. No one cared about what someone was wearing. There was no posing or attitude.”

Palmer presented parties on both floors of Roxy over time. He booked a lot of local and North American talents, with one of his standouts being a night in January 2004 when he brought Byron Stingily and Frankie Feliciano in alongside Peter & Tyrone, Nick Holder, Angel & Cullen, and John Kumahara.

Byron Stingily presented by PhatBlackPussyKat. Photo by GarageHouseMusic.com, courtesy of Junior Palmer.

Frankie Feliciano (L), Junior Palmer, Barbara Tucker at PBPK. Photo by GarageHouseMusic.com, courtesy of Junior Palmer.

“The energy in the room was electric. There was a line-up down the laneway at 10 p.m., before the doors were even open.”

The Groove Institute DJs—Yogi, Mark, and Anand—played often, including at PhatBlack- PussyKat. As United Soul, the trio also produced and promoted the Solid Garage monthly on Fridays, spinning gospel-infused classics like Kenny Bobien’s “I Shall Not Be Moved,” Donna Allen’s “He Is The Joy,” and Jasper St. Company’s “Till I found U.”

No matter who was in on a Friday, Roxy-goers were guaranteed an eclectic mix of music and people. Promoters worked together to develop the schedule, and often there was collaboration.

The women behind College Street café and bar 52 inc., Kate Cassidy and Amy Katz, presented many unique events at Roxy, including a sold-out co-presentation of spoken word artist Ursula Rucker and massive fundraising parties dubbed Shake:Body, which featured close to 30 Toronto DJs and performers. 52 inc. also went all-out for their epic DJ Battles.

Ursula Rucker (L), Karen Augustine, Jemeni, and Shafiq presented by 52inc. Photo courtesy of Kate Cassidy.

“Doing those Battles was the stand out for me,” says Paul E. Lopes, who acted as referee. “The 52 inc. ladies rented crazy movie props for the night, including a huge trophy and life-sized side of beef. We wore boxing gloves and ref shirts, and everyone got a whistle and towel at the door. The energy was off the chart!”

Lopes also DJed at a number of events produced by milk. The crew, anchored by promoter Izzy Shqueir and resident DJs Felix and Gani, developed dozens of parties at Roxy between 1999 and 2003. Inventive guests like Howie B. and Bobbito were imported to play alongside locals including Movement’s Jason Palma, reggae selector Chris Harper, house producer Abacus, and Mod Club duo Bobbi Guy and Mark Holmes. Musicians such as sitar player Yoshi and soul-jazz star Ivana Santilli were part of milk.’s creative mix, as were visual artists including Eddie Figueroa and Andres Correa.

At Roxy, milk. also began to collaborate with promoters RNB, then the duo of Richard Brooks and Natalie Brown. RNB produced elaborate events that stood out, both because their promotion was exceptionally well designed, and they blurred the boundaries between deep house and atmospheric tech. Brooks DJed alongside fellow locals like Ali Black, Kenny Glasgow, Joe Rizla, Trini, and Abacus, and presented DJ/producers not frequently found on Toronto lineups at the time, including Kerri Chandler, Ron Trent, Glenn Underground, Rasoul, Mark Grant, and Alton Miller.

“Roxy was disconnected from the club scene, and catered to a deep and soulful vibe that was it at the time,” enthuses DJ/producer Brooks. “Fridays brought out a unique crowd, with many recognizable and friendly faces. The Friday parties had a lot of overlap.”

“The Friday night crews all attended each other’s events,” says Carlos Mondesir. “That’s how interesting it was; even though you’d done your gigs there, you still went back to the same space because other people were doing compelling things. The competition to impress with novel themes or great talent was very strong. We also knew that the market we were creating there brought in acts that were not viable in most cities in North America.”

Roxy Blu provided a home base, and an ideally sized space, for Toronto’s underground music communities to thrive.

“Interestingly,” comments Carlos, “I don’t think any of the major parties there actually started in Roxy Blu, so the ideas and people were already bubbling, but they were certainly amplified beyond everyone’s expectations in that space.

“Because of the frequency of different events, the certainty of a good turnout, and with at least three DJ stations, the promoters had the opportunity to book more local DJs. The various parties created a big momentum; a couple hundred people would show up not having any idea of who was playing, but they knew what kind of vibe to expect and that they would likely hear artists you couldn’t find in any other club in town. Or in most other towns, actually.”

Clockwise from bottom: Gilles Peterson, Rob Gallagher, Paul E Lopes presented by Hot Stepper Productions. Photo courtesy of Hot Stepper.

That large pool of Roxy regulars allowed promoters and DJs to take chances. It was like a positive feedback loop that resulted in a broad, loose knit community that was passionate about music and dancing. The starting point was the club itself.

“As soon as you walked in, you could feel that it was different from other clubs, more earthy, more genuinely about a type of music that drew you in and made you lose yourself,” recalls Scher-McDowall. “It was like a huge love-in, and everyone was welcomed and accepted.”

“The mix of people that came to Roxy was special,” agrees Junior Palmer; “It was a breed that all wanted the same thing—to hear great music, be around great people, and be free of judgement related to race, sex, style, or background. Everyone knew each other; it was like a family.”

“The crowd was mixed in every way, cool but unpretentious,” adds Mondesir. “We take for granted many things in Toronto, and one of them is diversity. Many clubs and parties don’t reflect it; ours definitely do, and Roxy definitely did. I always maintain that the crowd is as big a draw as anything else, and the flow of people, because of Roxy’s layout, added adventure.”

Adventure also came in the form of the people themselves.

Shaun Lowcock got involved in Roxy Blu before it opened, after meeting Singh in a course. A former currency trader, Lowcock had both business and bar experience. He helped connect Singh with investors, and worked as a Roxy manager from 1998 to 2003. Lowcock could not only fix almost anything on the fly, he was also smoothly social. He even met his wife on a Friday night.

“Working Fridays was a joy ’cause I got to meet and groove to my favorite DJs,” says Lowcock. “People were there for the music, and they were a great crowd considering there were up to two thousand some nights!”

Lowcock rattles off a long and incredibly varied list of faces familiar to him from Roxy nights. He mentions regulars who were in music, film, fashion, food, and design, including Nelly Furtado, John Hurt, Cheryl Gushue, Leslie Ng, Byron Dill, Corinne Lee, Johanna Black, and Jason Priestly, who sometimes arrived with Roots Canada co-founder Michael Budman.

“One time Michael showed up with Robbie Robertson. We found a quiet corner and shared a joint—perks of the job! NHL players Eric Lindros and Mats Sundin came a few times. The Hell’s Angels also showed up a few times and were some of the nicest people. [Porn star and producer] Jill Kelly was there one night. I had a great time chatting with her.”

Singh now realizes that the massive mix of humanity at Roxy was as it should be.

“Any business has its own personality, and if you get in the way of that personality, you’ll fail. The personality of the club dictated who the clientele was going to be. In the end, we got a nice hybrid; Fridays were the hardcore ‘Let’s dance’ people, while Saturdays ended up being a crowd that was somewhere in the middle of the Euro and the underground.”

Hot Stepper’s Carlos Mondesir with Stacey McKenzie. Photo courtesy of Hot Stepper Productions.

Who else played/worked there: “Saturday nights were totally different than Fridays, as the crowd was not the downtown underground scene, but people definitely knew their music or wanted stuff that was not being played on radio,” describes resident DJ Winston Thompson, who had also played at clubs ranging from Bauhaus to the early incarnation of Guvernment.

Thompson includes songs like Armand Van Helden’s “You Don’t Even Know Me,” Celeda’s “Be Yourself,” Jon Cutler’s “It’s Yours,” and “Fly Life” by Basement Jaxx as among his anthems of the time.

Saturday resident DJ Winston Thompson at Roxy. Photo courtesy of him.

“If people were at Roxy on a Saturday, they did not want cookie cutter Euro music. We were able to play great after-hours sounding tracks, but in prime time, with a splash of bigger songs. Tracks like Junior Vasquez’ “X,” which always made the hair on the back of my neck stand up when played on that sound system, were mixed with some of the bigger songs, like Daft Punk’s ‘One More Time.’

“Roxy took the pretention out of clubbing,” Thompson highlights. “At a lot of other clubs on Saturdays, the mainstream night, doormen would look you up and down to see whether you fit the image of their clientele. We offered a venue that was not pretentious in décor or attitude. We did not believe that you had to fit a certain mold; if you believed in having a great time with people no matter what colour or profession, and liked good music and good vibes, there was something for you on a Roxy Saturday.”

That ‘something’ also included the music of fellow Saturday night residents Gadjet, Mike Tull, and Tony Lanz, who played the Parlour and other rooms. Live drummers and percussionists – like iDrum’s Davidson, Vince Vega, and tireless promoter Chico Pacheco – added to the rhythms and vibe.

DJ Mike Tull in action at Roxy. Photo courtesy of Kate Cassidy.

Mike Tull DJed countless parties on Fridays as well, including Bump N’ Hustle alongside fellow resident Lopes. The release party for Paul E.’s beautiful Whatnaut: House mix CD on Virgin Music was at a Bump N’ Hustle in 2002, with legendary soul singer Gwen McCrae as guest. BNH brought some star power, hosting the likes of United Future Organization, Wunmi and Rich Medina, and Gilles Peterson with Rob Gallagher, aka Earl Zinger.

Hot Stepper also brought the beats to Roxy, from the funky abstracts of Ninja Tune’s DJ Food to partnering with REMG Entertainment on a hip-hop series called Doin’ It. Together, they brought in talents like The Roots’ Questlove, Jay Dee (aka J Dilla), Ali Shaheed Muhammad of A Tribe Called Quest, and Maseo from De La Soul.

Junior Palmer later collaborated with REMG on a few events, including a night in February 2005 with Kenny Dope of Masters At Work on one floor and Questlove on the other.

PBPK and REMG collaborative productions. Poster courtesy of Junior Palmer.

“One was among the greatest house music producers ever, and the other in one of the greatest hip-hop bands ever,” Palmer emphasizes. “Two different crowds and two different sounds came together for the love of music. It was a great night, and a beautiful thing to see.”

The list of promoters and DJs who came together inside Roxy’s four rooms is longer than I could detail. Toronto’s healthy underground overflowed at the time. Community radio DJs, record shop staffers, independent label owners, and ’net radio talents alike packed Roxy’s DJ booths and dancefloors. Names like Alvaro G, Kevin Jazzy J, Jason Barham, Gene King, Ray Prasad, Dirty Dale, Marc de Breyne, Peace Harvest, Soulshack, Peter Bosco of GarageHouseMusic.com, Hubert K. of Beats.to, and my own appeared on numerous Roxy flyers. Blackmarket Records produced a number of events, including an impressive double bill in 2004 with DJ Gregory and Larry Heard.

“If you were looking for trance and techno, you were at the wrong place,” summarizes prolific producer Nick Holder, who played Roxy a lot considering his tour schedule had him in Europe more often than home.

“Roxy had a very soulful vibe, unlike a lot of other clubs at the time. The atmosphere was not like your typical nightclub; the crowds were mostly regulars who knew what the nights were all about, and the sound was pleasing to the ears. It was also a club that never had any dress code, and no asshole bouncers worked the door.”

Lineup for Shake:Body 2, presented by 52inc. Flyer courtesy of Kate Cassidy.

Yosh Hsuen led Roxy’s security team. Hsuen was consistently calm, cool and charming while Roxy’s door team was atypically friendly, whether greeting patrons, handling problematic situations, or handing out bottles of water at night’s end.

“The security team really understood what I was trying to create and the importance of making sure everyone had a good time,” Singh credits. “If my staff, especially my doormen, were your stereotypical goons, there’s no way we would have gotten the crowd we did. I let the pros take care of the music, and I took care of the service.”

“From the start, Amar had a vision of a nightclub that was service and hospitality driven,” confirms Scher-McDowall. “He wanted each drink served in seven seconds or less. He wanted the management and staff to form a line at the end of each night to say goodnight. There were so many wonderful staff members, and they all had their own special talents that contributed to the success of Roxy Blu.”

“I have to say that Roxy had the best management, door, and bartending staff that I have ever worked with,” commends Thompson. “There was very little turnover in staff, and I truly believe that was our backbone.”

“The staff was amazing!” Lowcock praises. “Franco was my best bartender, hands down. People would come just to be with him; we built the horseshoe shaped bar for Franco. Kelly Sommerville was perhaps the most energetic, vivacious bartender we had. She always had people dancing at her bar.”

Lowcock also gives props to bartenders including Caterina Salvatori, Karen Zeifman, Jimmy Vlachos, Kate Zenna (“A solid bartender and great actress too!”), and a barback named Colin (“He’s probably a computer genius coder now!”).

“Amar was sometimes tough to deal with,” allows Lowcock; “He’s a perfectionist, but he pushed people to be great, and it worked.

“In its heyday, Roxy was the place to be. We constantly had line-ups, though we were located in a part of Toronto, west of Spadina, that people had said would never catch on. Roxy Blu was a pioneer in the industry.” (Lowcock left in early 2003 to work at the Drake Hotel during its pre-launch and first year. He now lives with his family in Portland, Oregon, where he works as a transportation logistics specialist.)

The area Roxy was located in did, in fact, catch on. Within a few years of its opening, restaurants and bars dotted the neighbourhood. Today it’s teeming with entertainment options, but the environment is notably different than one of Roxy Blu’s trademark traits.

“Roxy fused music and people of different worlds together, and they had a great time,” says Thompson. “In clubland, that is not easy to do at all.

“In my opinion, that kind of magic—where all the right people come together for the right reasons and the stars line up—comes along once in a lifetime. I was truly blessed to be a part of it.” (Thompson later partnered with Junior Palmer to open Toika Lounge, though neither is involved now. Thompson still DJs on occasion, and proudly notes that he has “Two beautiful daughters, both with an ear for music that I strongly encourage.”)

Roxy staff Yosh Hsuen (L), Shaun Lowcock, Denis Scher-McDowell. Photo courtesy of Scher-McDowell.

What happened to it: Singh sold Roxy Blu in 2003, partly influenced by feelings post-9/11.

“I thought the world was going to hell in a hand basket,” he says. “Numbers on Saturdays had also dropped, and I was at a point in my life where I wanted to get married and have a child. I was involved in nightclubs for so long that I’d had enough.”

A trio of lawyers purchased Roxy, with promoters including Hot Stepper departing soon after.

“I don’t know the reason Roxy ultimately closed but believe it was because the passion was gone, and other clubs and restaurants in the area became more successful,” says Scher- McDowall, who left at the end of 2003 and went on to manage both Panorama Lounge and Sassafraz. She continues to work in hospitality.

Movement’s Aki Abe was among five partners who opened a nightclub named Una Mas up the street from Roxy Blu in 1999. With a capacity of four hundred, Una Mas focused largely on local DJs who played funk, disco, hip-hop, house, and related grooves. It provided another solid option for Toronto’s underground, as did College Street venue Revival, which opened in 2002.

The Movement crew left Roxy Blu for Supermarket in Kensington Market in early 2005. John Kong remains there for Do Right! Saturdays, named after the Do Right! Music label he founded in 2002. Movement split in 2007, but all members remain active in music. Aki Abe continues to run Cosmos Records; Simon Warwick is a painter who produces Turning Point parties devoted to rare tropical recordings; Jason Palma DJs, continues to host Higher Ground, and is a co-owner of Play de Record; and Nav Sangha is an entrepreneur who opened popular Parkdale nightclub Wrongbar in 2007, was co-owner of The Great Hall, now owns the Turnstyle Solutions company, and more.

Solid Garage, Boogie Inc., and Junior Palmer are among the names active at Roxy Blu until it closed in July 2005.

“Like every venue, Roxy had an expiry date,” says Palmer, who still produces PhatBlackPussyKat events and co-promotes the Do You Love House? series with United Soul. “People get tired of going to the same place every weekend. The area also started to change, and people from Richmond Street started coming to King Street to party. The bottle service craze started to creep into clubs, and things became more about what you wore and drank, and less about the music and sense of community.”

12 Brant briefly became 8 Restolounge and 8 Below. Today, it houses Jacobs & Co. Steakhouse, opened initially by Amar Singh and restaurateur Peter Tsebelis, Singh’s original partner in Bauhaus. Singh remains a minor shareholder in Jacobs & Co., and is now a network marketer, husband, and father to a young daughter.

“Some people started to wish for a comparable alternative space near the end of Roxy, but I always knew that they would look back with longing for a space like that in the future,” comments Carlos Mondesir, who continues to produce Bump N’ Hustle monthly at The Rivoli, as well as parties including Break For LOVE!, the occasional Garage 416 (with Pedro), and Hot Stepper Sundays on Cube’s patio in summer months.

“Nothing has taken Roxy Blu’s place. I think it’s a mistake to ever assume that a club will necessarily work in a different time and place, with different people and expectations. Roxy was right for its time.”

Thank you to participants Aki Abe, Amar Singh, Carlos Mondesir, Denis Scher-McDowall, Junior Palmer, Nav Sangha, Nick Holder, Paul E. Lopes, Pedro Mondesir, Richard Brooks, Shaun Lowcock and Winston Thompson, as well as to Izzy Shqueir, John Kong, Kate Cassidy, Robert Ben, and United Soul.

The post Then & Now: Roxy Blu appeared first on Then and Now: Toronto Nightlife History.

Article originally published July 16, 2013 by The Grid online (thegridto.com).

Denise Benson revisits the legendary restaurant and club that served as an island oasis amid a rapidly transforming Queen West strip.

BY: DENISE BENSON

Club: BamBoo, 312 Queen St. W.

Years in operation: 1983-2002

History: Like the best of clubs, Toronto’s BamBoo was produced out of friendships, late-night revelry, and the desire to create a unique experience for a core community. The path that co-owners Richard O’Brien and Patti Habib took to get there was filled with fateful turns.

Both were in media and loved the nightlife: O’Brien had been a freelance journalist and live-music booker in California before returning to Toronto where he worked for TVOntario and later CBC, while Habib was a story producer for CBC Radio’s As It Happens. In the late 1970s, O’Brien, also known to friends as Ricci Moderne, partnered with infamous bon vivant Marcus O’Hara to produce annual St. Patrick’s Day parties, dubbed the Martian Awareness Ball (2013 marked its 35th anniversary), with Habib joining them a few years in.

Not long after, the trio—along with a group of friends that also included Dan Aykroyd, publicist Joanne Smale, John Ball, and Roots co-founder Michael Budman—put together an extensive business proposal to re-open The Embassy Tavern, a 1960s Yorkville bar and live-music venue. The plans did not come to fruition. Instead, in 1980, O’Brien and Habib launched the MBC boozecan in what had been her third-floor loft at the corner of Liberty and Jefferson.

“I had to move out,” laughs Habib during a lengthy phone chat. “Richard brought in all his records, and it became an after-hours club opened Mondays—a theatre night—and Thursdays only.”

For two years, the duo drew crowds to this largely deserted part of town we now know as Liberty Village. They booked bands that ranged from reggae to Rough Trade, from a newly formed Parachute Club to soul man Junior Walker. Jamaican patties were the only food served. Income earned at the door was hidden in record covers, and put aside with larger goals in mind.

Habib and O’Brien were also regulars at influential upstairs Queen West boozecan-cum-nightly-artist-hangout The Paper Door. As luck would have it, on an evening spent sitting on the venue’s back balcony, O’Brien looked down and spotted Wicker World, a shop at 312 Queen St. W. set back from the street. The location had been a laundry for years before, looked industrial, and piqued O’Brien’s curiosity. Not long after, he spotted a “For Lease” sign at the address, put down a deposit, and was given three months’ free rent in order to build his business.

“That was a joke—it took three months just to get rid of all the junk in it,” says Habib. “There was broken pottery and wicker, wicker, wicker everywhere. That’s why we called the club the BamBoo.

“The place was a mess. There was one leaky toilet, and barely any lights. There was still a lot of heavy equipment in there from the laundromat. The plumbing was just awful, so the cement floors had to be drilled and dug up.”

At work on what would become the BamBoo. Photo courtesy of Patti Habib.

Many friends pitched in to clean and renovate the space. When the cold months came and the existing wood stove no longer did the trick, Habib lent O’Brien $10,000 for construction heaters.

“That’s how I got involved,” she says. “I could see that without somebody organizing the whole thing and being the boss, I was never going to get my money back. Investors weren’t exactly rushing in. In the end, the place was renovated for $85,000, and then we had to borrow $100,000 to actually buy stock, pay salaries, and open it. The banks wouldn’t lend to us, so we borrowed from a consortium. We had to pay 100 per cent interest; the investors never thought we’d pay it, and likely thought they’d get the space.”

312 Queen St. W., pre-BamBoo. Photo courtesy of Patti Habib.

O’Brien and Habib ran around the city to scope free furniture and other items from restaurants and clubs that went out of business. Big green iron gates were scored from the original Drake Hotel, while banquettes came out of a bowling alley. One-and-a-half years after signing the original lease, they were almost ready to open their nightclub and restaurant.

In July of 1983, with no liquor permit or running water in place, the BamBoo kept a commitment to host the release party for Parachute Club’s self-titled debut album, released through Current/RCA.

“On the day of the show, I went in there with Patti to clean the bathrooms, and get it all ready,” recalls Parachute Club co-founder and vocalist Lorraine Segato. ”All the friends of the BamBoo, who had been following Richard and Patti through the MBC and all the parties they held, were really quite excited, so it was a great night and party.”

With the aim of creating a “casual place to gather with good food and good live music,” according to Habib, the BamBoo opened officially on August 26, 1983. American funk act Prince Charles and the City Beat Band performed.

Poster for Parachute Club’s live debut, pre-BamBoo. Poster by Barbara Klunder, courtesy of Lorraine Segato.

Why it was important: “In the early ’80s, you still couldn’t drink on Sundays unless you were eating—restaurants would close at 9 p.m. or 11 p.m. on Saturdays, and gigs would end by 11 p.m.,” says Segato, also writer/director of 2001 documentary The Rebel Zone, an exploration of Queen West cultural history.

“So in many ways, the boozecans fostered an opportunity for different kinds of music and nightlife to emerge. What Richard and Patti did was take the vibe of the boozecan—a thriving, pulsating, really happening community feeling—and brought that to the BamBoo.”

At the time, Queen West itself was home to a flourishing arts community. The early ’80s recession had hit hard, so rents were relatively low, chain stores had not yet swooped in, and Queen west of University was filled with unique independent retailers, art galleries, new restaurants, and social spots.

“Queen Street was where the ‘new music’ was going to happen,” explains artist Barbara Klunder, an illustrator who drew the MBC’s invites, and went on to help define the BamBoo’s visual identity.

“Before that, it was folk on Yorkville, or blues and jazz clubs on old Yonge Street. The Rivoli also opened up on Queen Street around the same time [as the BamBoo], while Peter Pan had changed hands and become a cool place to eat. There was also the Parrot restaurant, with Greg Couillard as the first [local] celebrity chef. This was the zone of a whole new sensibility of cool international food [writer’s note: Le Select Bistro had opened nearby in the late ’70s], with music to match.

“The BamBoo had a mandate of world music and world food—basically the very opposite of European/white culture. The idea was a fun tropical nightclub, in both music and food.”

Poster and schedule by Barbara Klunder, courtesy of Inge Kuuts.

Influenced heavily by African art, Klunder had an aesthetic that matched O’Brien’s musical vision. She was at the core of the BamBoo’s marketing, from creating its logo to illustrating ads, menus, posters, t-shirts, giant murals, monthly newsletters (over 200 in total), and much more.

As customers walked in past the two painted palm trees that helped mark 312 Queen St. W., one of Klunder’s large murals adorned the brick wall just inside the BamBoo’s first set of gates. Her cheerful mosaics also greeted people. (The mural painted on the outside of the BamBoo’s easterly wall, which faced a parking lot, was originally by Runt. Other artists, including Fiona Smyth, would add to it over time.)

“A tropical garden path led you to a sparkly lit enclosed outdoor patio dining room, with bamboo and tropical plants growing amongst the patio tables,” Klunder describes. “The colours were mostly pink and turquoise to get that island feel right away.

“Then there was the double-door entrance over the floor mosaic of the moon, and you arrived inside a huge room divided into red restaurant booths on the left, and a long, long bar on the right, both leading to a stage. If you turned right as you entered, you would end up in the small pink dining room, which was always full. All through the club were corny 1950s lamps with naked ladies and jaguars, African masks, and mid-century tables loaded down with giant tropical floral arrangements. The walls were covered with either big versions of my artwork or changing art shows of local artists.”

Two pieces of BamBoo artwork by Barbara Klunder. Images courtesy of her.

“The aesthetics of the club were interesting,” offers multi-instrumentalist and producer Chris Brown, who started bussing tables at the BamBoo in the late ’80s as a high-school summer job, before playing organ and singing on its stage as part of Bourbon Tabernacle Choir.

“The Caribbean accouterments, mid-century furniture and lamps, and Ontario bamboo in the courtyard all conspired to create a Gilligan’s Island feel tucked into an oasis on Queen West.”

Inviting in every possible way, the BamBoo was relaxed, warm, and far from slick. Random parts hinted at an industrial past, including the outdoor fountain built atop the remnants of the building’s original boiler. A narrow metal stairwell led up to the Treetop, a Jamaican style bar ‘n’ BBQ that opened on the club’s rooftop in summer of 1984, expanding the BamBoo’s legal capacity to 500.

“During the summer heat, there was nowhere you wanted to be other than the Treetop Lounge,” says Klunder. “Think rum drinks and burgers at brightly painted barstools or coffee tables under the night sky and the CN Tower.”

“The thing about the BamBoo was that everything was great—the music, the food, the staff, the vibe, the vision,” says Segato. “It was known as much for its mix of food as for the music. You’d walk in and there was the feeling that you could be in Jamaica or Trinidad or some amazing beach bar in Thailand.”

The BamBoo’s menu, in fact, combined all of these cultural reference points, and helped put the nightclub on the map, as well as on best-of lists. Open six days a week from lunch until the wee hours, the BamBoo attracted a large and loyal crowd of food lovers, thanks to original chefs Vera Khan, who handled the West Indian fare, and Wandee Young, Thai-food innovator.

BamBoo menu cover. Image courtesy of Patti Habib.

“Our concept was food from anywhere where there was a gorgeous beach, and so the Thai/Caribbean menu evolved,” explains Inge Kuuts, who worked at the BamBoo for almost all of its history, as a waitress, floor manager, and more.

“There was never a crazier, more stoned kitchen than that one, working way too hard in the constant overwhelming heat, serving more food orders than was possible to keep up with, and yet able to put out the best island-style food available in the city! People would come miles for the Thai noodles, and I have yet to have one better than the dish created by Wandee Young.”

Patti Habib (left) and Inge Kuuts. Photo courtesy of Kuuts.

Many Torontonians, in fact, experienced their first Pad Thai thanks to Young, who offered it first during her time at the BamBoo, and then when she opened her own restaurant, Young Thailand.

“I swear, when we started, nobody knew we sold food because everybody was coming for the music,” laughs Habib. “Within a few years, we became a very unusual nightclub in that we sold more food than we did liquor. Often people came for the food, had a seat, and would stay all night.”

The BamBoo’s menu—much of which is shared in the beautiful, best-selling 1997 book, The BamBoo Cooks, with illustrations by Klunder—barely changed an iota over the club’s history.

While Habib’s focus was largely on the menu, kitchen and staffing and O’Brien was the driving force behind bookings, it was their mesh of ideas and personalities that made the ’Boo work.

“Richard was a bit of a grumpy guy—he wasn’t all happy all the time,” offers Segato about O’Brien, widely known to be both contentious and charmingly passionate. “Patti was the one who I think was, in so many ways, the beating heart of the project, whereas Richard saw what it could do and why it was so, so important. Together, they were a formidable team who each took care of different pieces.”

Richard O’Brien (left) with staff and friends on the BamBoo rooftop patio. Photo courtesy of Patti Habib.

Both were committed to making the BamBoo a meeting point of culture and communities, with live-music programming that was decidedly different than the rock lean of most downtown clubs. The BamBoo’s world-music policy brought together jazz, reggae, ska, funk, soul, African, and early hip-hop acts, among many others.

“While the BamBoo’s décor was laid back, with tropical lighting and Negril-type furniture, I believe that it was the general vibes from Richard and Patti that [most] celebrated this cultural mix, and made everyone feel like it was ‘home turf,’” proffers writer and Juno-winning dub poet Lillian Allen, who both frequented and performed at the club a great deal.

“The BamBoo created a community of performers and audience,” Allen adds. “It was, especially in the earlier days, a kind of love-in. The business model felt like it was culture first. They were about diversity and substance.

“I was involved with organizations such as A Space, Immican Youth project, and Truths and Rights, so I was part of a developing cross-cultural scene. I was also a member of De Dub Poets, with Clifton Joseph and Devon Haughton. The activities on Queen Street then were so vital and exciting. We were not only welcome, we were sought-after.”

Lorraine Segato performs at the BamBoo. Photo courtesy of her.

Segato also appreciates the club’s approach to this day.

“I call BamBoo the hub, really,” she tells me. “It was the centrifugal force of any of the world music that was starting to pop along Queen Street. Of course you had The Cameron, The Horseshoe, The Cabana Room and a few other places—Billy [Bryans, Parachute Club co-founder and prolific producer/musician] used to say that he rolled his drum kit up and down the street—but they all kind of serviced different community-oriented projects. One was more performance art, another was art-school bands, you had a more blues-oriented club, and so on. But the BamBoo itself… everything generated circles around there once it opened.

“It was a place for everything that was remotely ‘world’ music—reggae, funk, anything that serviced the immigrant communities that had come to Toronto and were basically holding most of their events outside of Queen Street. If they came downtown, they came to the ‘Boo. I wanted to be at the BamBoo because you could see it was at the forefront of a new era of music in the city.”

“The BamBoo was pivotal in providing a venue where the music of the African diaspora outside of its North American innovations found a downtown place of expression,” agrees David Barnard, former Program Director of influential community radio station CKLN and host of Dr. Feelgood’s Blues Emporium.

“Nobody else was doing that on the scale that the BamBoo did at that time. Because the BamBoo was larger than The Rivoli, Cameron House, and the Beverley Tavern, rather than compete with them, it augmented the street’s musical vibe. It added so much to the existing music scene.”

There were close ties between the BamBoo and CKLN, which launched on the FM dial the same year as the club opened. The station’s jazz programmers—and hosts of shows like Diasporic Music, Socalypso Sounds, Latin Party, and Reggae Showcase—played many of the artists that O’Brien booked. The ’Boo was also a key venue and participant for most years of CKLN’s signature Street Crawl event, which brought 15 bands to five clubs for one admission price. (Full disclosure: as CKLN’s Development and later Program Director, I helped produce the event.)

Perhaps most significantly, the BamBoo sponsored CKLN’s weekly Sounds of Africa show, launched in 1986 by hosts Thad “Thaddy” Ulzen and Sam Mensah, and that relationship continued for many years. Under the production company name Highlife World, Mensah and Ulzen also brought many African artists to perform in Toronto.

“There were hardly any clubs playing African music,” recalls Mensah. “Richard O’Brien was a great fan of Ghanaian highlife music, and soon got us working actively to bring African artists to play at the BamBoo.”

“Ours was a purely collaborative effort to get African music on to the cultural landscape of Toronto, and in Richard and Patti we found an interested and willing pair,” adds Ulzen. “Initially, we had a few Tuesday night acts, which we advertised in the African community to get things started before we were all ready to try bigger acts on weekends.”

1989 AfroFest poster. Artwork by and image courtesy of Barbara Klunder.

As the founding duo behind Afrofest—now in it’s 25th year and long organized under the Music Africa banner—Ulzen and Mensah brought dozens of incredible artists to the BamBoo stage, including an event with legendary South African trumpeter Hugh Masekela.

“That was a particularly magical night,” writes Ulzen by email. (He is now a psychiatrist who teaches full-time at the University of Alabama, part-time at the University of Cape Coast in Ghana, and has just published first novel, Java Hill: An African Journey.)

“The ticket line went halfway around the block, and Sam and I literally had to beg to get in. It was so packed; everybody and their brother had a reason for getting to the head of the line!”

“In 1989, we reached an agreement with Richard to make the BamBoo the sole venue for Afrofest,” adds Mensah (now an economist who teaches at the University of Ghana, and is founder of the Jazz Society of Ghana). “This was a significant year. Many important African artists played at the BamBoo under Afrofest, including Sonny Okusun from Nigeria, Kanda Bongo Man from Congo, and Native Spirit, Okyerema Asante, and Sankofa, all from Ghana.”

Like many, Habib counts the appearance of Masekela as among her favourite of BamBoo performances, and also mentions highlights including appearances by Fishbone, local pan-African band Siyaka, R&B act Soul Stew, vocal powerhouse Molly Johnson, and Toronto-based reggae artists including Leroy Sibbles, Messenjah, and Sattalites (whose 1987 album, Live Via Sattalites, was recorded at the BamBoo.)

Leroy Sibbles was a frequent performer at the BamBoo. Photo courtesy of Patti Habib.

Habib also reminds me that the BamBoo took public stands on social issues, with its owners speaking out against apartheid in South Africa and initiating a Queen Street club crawl in support of pro-choice advocate Dr. Henry Morgentaler.

“I made it a point to organize events at the BamBoo to bring out my communities, and consciously supported its fantastic programming,” states Lillian Allen, who launched her second album, Conditions Critical, there.

“It became a hip, dynamic place for all sorts of diverse artist-driven culture. De Dub Poets organized many, many events there, as did Ahdri Zhina Mandiela [with whom Allan brought in British dub poet Benjamin Zephaniah]. Truths and Rights did a lot of gigs there. A lot of experimentations happened, too.”

“Because of the BamBoo, a lot of people worked together who wouldn’t generally have had the chance to,” agrees Segato, citing a shared project between herself, Billy Bryans, Rough Trade bassist Terry Wilkins, and “Truths and Rights’ charismatic front man, Mojah.”

Post-Parachute Club, Segato performed both solo at the club, and with collaborators also including John Oates (of Hall & Oates) and Micah Barnes.

John Oates (left) with Lorraine Segato onstage at the BamBoo. Photo courtesy of Segato.

“The stage was kind of small, and it was hot and sweaty,” she recalls. “I mostly remember summer nights with people jammed in there, dancing away, totally anything goes. The best gigs I ever did, I have to say, were at the BamBoo because the club was big enough that it had a real vibe if you filled it, but it was still intimate. It was the hottest club.

“In many ways, like the El Mocambo would have been for rock ’n’ roll music in the ’60s and ’70s, the ‘Boo was that in its time; you always had the feeling that something amazing was happening there.”

Not only was Richard O’Brien a strong music programmer, he also had a keen sense of which independent promoters to embrace. Innovators like Elliott Lefko, Lance Ingleton, Jones & Jones, and Jonathan Ramos of REMG all booked in shows.

In 1987, Dark Light Music’s Serge Sloimovits staged a jazz festival, with appearances by acts including Cecil Taylor, World Sax Quartet, and Toronto’s Shuffle Demons. Barnard also recalls seeing The Art Ensemble of Chicago—“I couldn’t sleep that night as a result.”

Like Afrofest, the Toronto Downtown Jazz Festival has early roots at the BamBoo. “The first time I worked at the BamBoo was through the DuMaurier Jazz Festival, circa 1988,” says Chris Brown.

“I remember as a busboy watching Brian Murphy kick organ bass with Eugene Amaro and my life was changed by it. I was a major fan of Defunkt, and they had me hang out with them for their stay in Toronto and shows at the BamBoo. It was seminal for me; Joe Bowie became a serious musical mentor, and I ended up working at the club on and off for four years, first as a busboy and eventually waiting tables.”

Shuffle Demons’ charismatic and versatile sax man Richard Underhill recalls the band playing regularly after their jazz fest dates for Sloimovits.

“I was also lucky enough to play with the late Mozambican bass player Jamisse Jamo at his monthly Africa Night jam sessions, which was a joy and a great learning experience.” (Jamo’s band included African music veterans like Quammie Williams and Kobena Aquaa-Harrison.)

He, like nearly everyone I speak with, points out that the BamBoo reflected the change in Toronto’s population. The club was nearly as multicultural as the city itself, and was welcoming to all. According to many, there were zero fights in the club’s long history despite its lack of air conditioning and frequent sauna-like conditions.

“There was a great vibe at the BamBoo that radiated out from the staff, and included the audience,” says Underhill. “It was one of those wonderful places where you felt that the Canadian cultural experiment was really working, where people from all different cultural backgrounds came together and got down with each other.”

“The BamBoo was mix-up, mix-up,” agrees Barnard. “It was a nearly perfect realization of Pierre Elliott Trudeau’s concept of a multicultural Canadian society.”

“The BamBoo was and will always be one of a kind,” summarizes reggae artist and founder of The Canadian Reggae Music Awards, Winston Hewitt.

“All of us reggae artists, as well as supporters of the music, just loved to be at the BamBoo. There was so much good talk on the street about the club that, before you went there, you already knew what to expect. Everyone was welcome, no matter what colour or creed.”

BamBoo staff circa the mid 1980s. Photo courtesy of Inge Kuuts.

Who else played/worked there: Artists from near and far wanted gigs at the BamBoo.

“The sound was always great, the beer cold, food good, and you really felt respected as a musician,” explains Underhill. “It was just the right size, with a good vibe and a cool staff. Patti was such a joy to deal with, a real sweetheart.

“And,” he adds, “When you played, you got paid!”

The BamBoo’s size, sound and staging made it a next-level club for local artists on the rise, and a great intimate spot for internationals to connect with their Toronto following.

“Music was always front and centre,” emphasizes Chris Brown. “The Last Poets, Jimmy Witherspoon, The Lounge Lizards, King Sunny Adé, George Clinton, David Byrne, and Slim Gaillard all made stops on that stage. It also nurtured our incredible domestic reggae and ska scene, [booking bands like] 20th Century Rebels, Skatones, and Kali & Dub.”

Before Bourbon Tabernacle Choir started to tour regularly, Brown could often be found five or six nights a week at the BamBoo. When not with tray in hand, he guested on keys with a variety of reggae bands. It’s a little known fact that O’Brien helped him get there.

Chris Brown (far left) with the Bourbon Tabernacle Choir, circa 1988. Photo courtesy of Brown.

“When I was working as a busser one summer, Richard pulled me into the office and said, ‘What’s this I hear about you buying a Hammond Organ?’ I told him I intended to when I could afford it. ‘Any 17-year-old who is buying a Hammond is trustworthy,’ he said, and cut me a cheque for $800 on the spot, which I paid off out of my wages.

“Richard was kind of like Fred Flintstone: beneath the gruff was this incredible soul.”

The Bourbons as a whole benefited greatly from their connection with the club.

“The BamBoo was one of the first places we began drawing a crowd, and I believe at least four of us worked there as our day job, too,” says Brown. “It really opened Toronto for us, and got us working at clubs like the Horseshoe and The Diamond. The music we witnessed there nightly, and the artists we met had a massive effect on us. It’s extraordinary; I can’t really think of a parallel.”

From top: Bunny Wailer, Screamin’ Jay Hawkins, Dizzy Gillespie, and Erykah Badu with Patti Habib. Photos all courtesy of Habib.

“Seeing Buckwheat Zydeco for the first time there stands out,” says Barnard. “An accordion can be funky, ils sont partis! Also, it’s taken for granted now, but the chance to see locally based Leroy Sibbles, Willie Williams, Lillian Allen, Clifton Joseph, Jayson, and many more in those early days was very influential on current generations of performers.

“I saw Whitenoise, led by vocalist/sax player Bill Grove, on many occasions,” he adds. “NYC may have had James Chance and Defunkt, but we had Whitenoise. I thought Bill’s bands kicked more ass.”

Buckwheat Zydeco at the BamBoo. Photo courtesy of David Barnard.

Toronto’s local soul and acid jazz scene represented too, with appearances by bands like Jacksoul and Bass Is Base. By the late ’90s, Soul 4 Real Mondays, with host Wade O. Brown and DJs Christopher Michaels and Everfresh, were the BamBoo’s biggest weekly draw.

Also part of the BamBoo’s programming mix were countless community events, Film Festival parties, City-TV events, book launches, weddings, and more. Canadian celebs, artists and industry people—like Aykroyd, Sibbles, Bruce Cockburn, Buffy St. Marie, Moses Znaimer, Marcus O’Hara and sisters Mary Margaret and Catherine—were often in attendance.

“The BamBoo was the most fun job I ever had,” declares longtime waitress Inge Kuuts. “The staff had a really big spread in ages, everyone was a character in some way, and we got along great. We worked together and partied together. Patti and Ricci were accommodating to their staff, and would always help you out if they could.”

According to Lillian Allen, “The staff and serving personnel had this vibe of peace, love and respect, with a certain kind of sizzle.”

People like Andy Joyce, John Pigani, and PJ Taylor aided in the BamBoo’s initial construction, and went on to contribute in other roles. Boys Brigade band member Billy “Bucko” Brock was an early presence on door. Chef Stash Golas worked alongside Vera Khan in the kitchen for years. (Both now live in Costa Rica, where they each own restaurants.) Other chefs, like Marion Robinson and Joe Davies, were also key. Longtime general manager Jennifer Halpin worked alongside veteran bartenders and servers like Wayne Graham, Parker Ng, Brian Sam, Sandra Coburn, and Karen Young—all very familiar faces to BamBoo regulars.

Habib also credits artist Annie Jaeger, the BamBoo’s bookkeeper for its entire history (“she was so very important; the sanity keeper of the office,”), and speaks fondly of long-serving waiter, Michael Flaxman, now owner of Boo Radley’s on Dupont.

“Michael used to serve the area we called Cambodia, which was usually hot, packed, and hard to get through,” describes Habib. “He would gather up trays of beer and rum and cokes, and somehow walk his way through. He was the nicest, most polite waiter, and sold the most of anyone.”

“For the most part, the staff was like stowaways on a ship,” says Brown. “We came from everywhere, and lifelong bonds were formed. There was a sense of a separate universe about it, and things felt familial. The BamBoo prepped me for life as much as anything did.”

Brown now divides his time between Wolfe Island and NYC where he records and performs with many people he met at the club, including frequent collaborator Kate Fenner.

Kuuts, who now works on the retail side of the restaurant industry at Nella Cucina, speaks of another annual highlight in the BamBoo staff calendar.

“We used to have a float in Caribana, and take mushrooms to get through the day of dancing. Caribana night at the ’Boo was super packed, super fun, and super hot, hot, hot!”

“In the old days, when Caribana ran down University, if you had a good float with good music, you had a huge procession because people were allowed to join in, which is what it’s supposed to be all about,” adds Habib. “It wasn’t just a parade; it was a party on wheels.

“Because the BamBoo had money, we could afford a second generator, refreshments on board, the décor, a big band and sound system. We partnered with Shadowland—theatre artists who live on the Island—and they would always come up with a theme. Jack Layton and Olivia Chow would always come along. At the end, we would turn off and go down Queen Street, and everyone would come out of the shops to wave. Caribana used to be our biggest night of the year; it was just so wild.”

What happened to it: The BamBoo began to falter in 2000, after O’Brien was paralyzed by his first serious stroke. He was mobile in a wheelchair, but spent much of his time accessing rehabilitation, meaning Habib had to take on much of the work. Business remained steady, but Habib found the workload difficult.

When it was announced in July of 2002 that the BamBoo would soon be closing, customers were surprised, and many made assumptions.

“People always seem to think that we sold the business for big money, but we didn’t,” Habib divulges. “We didn’t have the chance to sell it.

“I did a deal with my landlord, because he knew that I was having troubles without Richard there and wanted out. He gave us a new 10-year lease, but with a handshake. [With his knowledge], I met with a listing agent, and we put [the business] up for sale in May. On July 1, the day our lease officially expired, I got a phone call telling me that the landlord had sent a registered letter, giving us 90 days to get out.”

A BamBoo regular dances in front of the venue’s beloved A-Go-Go sign. Photo courtesy of Patti Habib.

The BamBoo closed with an October 31 bash, dubbed BooHoo. Performers included Sattalites and Billy Bryans.

By then, chain stores including Le Chateau had moved to the strip, rents had skyrocketed, and O’Brien was knee-deep in plans to open Bambu By The Lake on Queens Quay, near Harbourfront. Sadly, his involvement lasted less than a year, and he lost most of his life savings. O’Brien suffered a second massive stroke in 2007, and passed away. His friends paid tribute in many ways, including a blog devoted to Ricci Moderne.

“I miss having Richard around,” says Klunder, who remains both prolific and versatile as a visual artist. “He was notoriously rude, but funny. The club was his brainchild and his child.

“I miss the BamBoo’s particular relaxed-during-the-day cool, and be-there-or-be-square nightclub acts, with line-ups around the block for many gigs. It was our cool, cultural community centre, a place to even bring the kids, a place for our slightly wild, musical, artistic gang. There is nothing like it now.”

Lorraine Segato—who agrees “there has been nothing like the BamBoo ever since”—also remains very active as a multi-media artist. She’s currently completing her third solo album, expected in fall, and has written a one-woman show, called Get Off My Dress, also set to premiere come autumn.

Habib is semi-retired from the club/restaurant business, but is actively involved in the city’s cultural goings-on.

Award-winning alto saxophonist Richard Underhill is busier than ever, but he too longs for the BamBoo chill.

“I miss the food, the Red Stripes, the downtown Caribbean feel, the cultural meeting point and the way your sphincter relaxed when you walked into the place,” he writes. “The BamBoo was a beacon of tranquility in a crazy city, a home to top-quality music and great people, a place where all were welcome and most were cool.”

Barnard, a consultant in the Department of Canadian Heritage since 2008, concurs, and raises the topic one.

“Places today seem uptight to me,” Barnard offers by way of comparison. “There is also no club like the BamBoo now in terms of its programming. Ironically, it feels like the city could really use a unifying entity like it to help galvanize creative energies again.”

Charles Khabouth and his INK Entertainment opened Ultra Supper Club at 312 Queen St. W. in 2003. It ran for nine years, and was renovated and re-launched as Cube last year.

Thank you to participants Barbara Klunder, Chris Brown, David Barnard, Inge Kuuts, Lillian Allen, Lorraine Segato, Patti Habib, Richard Underhill, Sam Mensah, Thad “Thaddy” Ulzen, Winston Hewitt, and to Keith Holding for permission to include the clip from his Bar Life show.

The post Then & Now: BamBoo appeared first on Then and Now: Toronto Nightlife History.

Article originally published May 23, 2013 by The Grid online (thegridto.com).

A special two-part edition of Denise Benson’s nightlife-history series begins with a trip back to the Yorkville venue that brought fine dining and club culture together—before going down in a hail of bullets.

BY: DENISE BENSON

Club: Boa Café, 25 Bellair

Years in operation: 1989-1998

History: This is a tale of two interconnected yet vastly different Toronto venues, each influential in its own way. For this article, I will be focussing on the first, Boa Café; the story of its second incarnation, Boa Redux, will be told in the next edition of Then & Now.

At the story’s centre lies Rony Hitti.

“I grew up in a family of restaurateurs and hoteliers, and was supposed to be the banker in the family,” says Hitti, who would instead become owner-operator of both Boas.

Hitti dutifully studied business finance and politics at York University, but also DJed steadily during the 1980s. He played a variety of Midtown-area clubs, and started his own DJ company, dubbed Earthquake in reference to the powerful Sensurround sound system created for the 1974 film of the same name.

“It used to shake movie theatres, and I bought one. I did pretty much all of the dances at York with that system.”

Banking didn’t work out for Hitti at the time, nor did dishwashing at his father’s restaurant. Instead, he studied culinary arts in Switzerland for a year. Upon returning, Hitti brainstormed a business plan with Charles Khabouth; the two Lebanese-Canadians had become friends as Hitti spent much time at Khabouth’s trendsetting Stilife nightclub.

“Charles and I were really close. We hung out, and traveled together. On a trip to Montreal, we went to a place called Lola’s Paradise. Lola’s was fine dining with that really cool Montreal vibe. We thought Toronto could use something like it. “Back then, last call was 1 a.m. and, inevitably at that time, everybody was looking for something to do. The only places to go were in Chinatown, for bad Chinese food, or Bemelmans on Bloor. We realized that the city needed a funky late-night dining spot that catered to a Stilife-like crowd.”

Initially 50/50 partners, the men envisioned a chic, but relaxed social spot that would serve quality food and drinks from noon until late night, five days a week. They looked to Yorkville for the location, and found 25 Bellair, formerly a daytime coffee shop. Five steps down from the sidewalk, but with a sizable window looking out at street level, the location was one long, narrow room that Hitti and Khabouth would greatly re-design.

“Yorkville was very much ’80s yuppie central,” Hitti recounts. “We wanted to bring Queen Street cool to Yorkville glam.”

Boa Café opened in October of 1989. There was nothing understated about it.

From the October, 28, 1989 edition of the Toronto Star.

Why it was important: Although Boa Café only seated 40, it had “the instant distinction of being the trendiest place in Toronto,” wrote the Toronto Star’s Christopher Hume in an appreciative review dated October 28, 1989.

Boa became one of this city’s most coveted social spots thanks to a confluence of key elements and people. It certainly was an eye-popping location, whether one chose to hang out by day—magazines, chess, and backgammon were all on offer—or night.

“There was nothing like Boa in the city at that time,” says early staffer Marcos Durian, then also a production assistant in both film and still photography. “It was a small space with incredible design that drew the masses from early afternoon to the break of dawn. Boa may have been in Yorkville, but it was so un-Yorkville.”

The aesthetic of Boa’s 1,200 square feet was largely imagined by Rony’s cousins Gregory and Alexander Gatserelia, together known as Gatserelia Design. Artist Kenny Baird, who had created installations and core elements for many clubs in the U.S. and Canada (including Khabouth’s Stilife), contributed Boa’s signature mosaic tiling, which covered much of the space.

“This was the ’80s, when it was the more detail the better,” chuckles Hitti. “Every single inch of it was designed, including the washrooms. The look of it was very whimsical; Gregory’s description was ‘It’s Antoni Gaudi meets Cocteau.’”

A bar ran the length of Boa’s room, with benches by the entrance and rows of tables filling the floor space.

Boa Café layout.

“Boa packed a heavy visual punch,” says Durian. “It was dark and intimate, with warm lighting fixtures, specially treated sinuous metal, and a copper-bar top. An intricate, colourful, serpentine mosaic stretched across the floor and south wall from the front door to the restrooms in the back. A curved sheet-metal sculpture hung from the ceiling. The walls were a sponged dark brown with one gold-leaf wall that curved, like the contours of a snake behind the bar. Hence ‘Boa,’ as in the snake.”

But it wasn’t just Boa’s aesthetic details that attracted patrons; it was also the energy, talents, and youth of the Café’s early staff. Most were already friends, or became connected as patrons of Boa. Durian hung out before being hired as a waiter and bartender because his pal Thomas Koonings worked there in the same role. Both became super tight with Mark Bacci, a teenager who grew to become a star chef at Boa Café after Hitti showed him the ropes.

“Mark could not break an egg at the outset, but had an incredible palate,” says Hitti.

“I learned to cook from Rony in the early days,” agrees Bacci. “I was a natural at it, but he showed me a lot.”

Also central was Bassam “Sam” Nicolas, who had worked for Hitti’s parents for a decade prior to becoming Rony’s “right-hand man” and general manager at Boa. Hitti gives credit as well to “all-star waitresses” Rebecca Shafrir and Sacha Grierson, both of whom became part of the Boa team while still in university.

“Mostly, we didn’t feel like we were working,” says Shafrir by email, echoing a common sentiment. “It was rather like we were having fun in our own very edgy salon.”

All of these people personified Boa Café during its first year, a year that Hitti actually describes as “very difficult, business-wise” for himself and partner Khabouth.

“We lost our shirts, and Charles was starting to experience problems at Stilife because of Oceans [the club’s adjoined restaurant],” states Hitti. “The relationship went sour between the two of us, and we decided to go our separate ways.

“That’s when Boa became my baby. I made the food more dining, and less café-ish. I also decided to bring in some of the sound equipment from my house for the music, place a DJ behind the bar, and turn it into more of a party venue. It worked.”

No matter the hour, if Boa was open, so was its kitchen. Many describe the Café’s food in loving detail. (“There were chicken sandwiches with aioli to die for, the best tomato spaghetti by Mark Bacci, and a yellow plum tomato salad that no other fine dining restaurant could better,” writes Shafrir.)

“It was a small, eclectic menu with French, Italian, and Middle Eastern influences,” says Durian. “Mark Bacci was a one-man show, with two hot plates and a convection oven. I don’t know how we serviced all those people with the small work space and tools at our disposal.”

So too grew Boa’s focus on music. It had been integral from day one, as Hitti and DJs from Stilife provided funky mixtapes of soul, rare groove, deep disco, and early house, but the Café became more synonymous with its sounds after Hitti placed his turntables behind Boa’s bar.

“Boa was the first bar/restaurant in Toronto to incorporate a DJ at all times,” he claims.

At first, all of Boa’s staff took turns behind the decks, with Stilife DJs including Chris Klaodatos stepping in to play occasional late-night parties for which the tables and chairs would be pushed aside. Boa also hosted art exhibits, film-festival parties, fashion shows, and other events. The late night crowds began to swell.

“Boa was like the cool people’s secret,” recalls Shafrir, who left after her first summer to continue studies. (She is now a Trade Commissioner for the Government of Canada, working in Tel Aviv.)

“It was small, and from the street no one could guess it was the place to be,” she adds. “Yorkville was flashy and fake; Boa was the real deal. It had a crowd of regulars who kept it alive. It was a rather underground, artsy vibe.”

“Boa blew up at night, into this after-hours scene,” describes Bacci. “Everyone from the industry found themself at Boa. It was like this underground hub of what was cool in the city. It wasn’t a boozecan; people actually came to hang out, eat, and drink. Every top chef went, along with restaurant owners and workers. We would throw parties once a month that became an insane night, spilling out onto the streets of Bellair. Cops never bothered us—because they were customers, and because the food was so good that it just wasn’t that kind of place.

“Because of Boa, and the fact that everyone came there, a 17-year-old [like myself at the time] got reservations at top restaurants in the city on a last-minute call, or just by walking in.”

Kenny Baird’s signature mosaic tiling, as featured in the Oct. 1991 edition of Interior Design magazine.

Occasional parties gave rise to DJs on Boa’s decks Thursdays through Saturdays, when the Café would be open as late as 5 or 6 a.m. Boa became the late-night hangout for a huge range of people.

“It all happened very organically,” says Hitti. “We didn’t decide to become a boozecan; we were open late, serving food, and once in a while we’d have friends come in. They would get their ‘cold tea,’ and slowly but surely, the circle of friends became bigger and bigger. We basically became the hangout for everyone from politicians to crown attorneys, senior cops, very wealthy people, and at the same time even some of the biggest drug dealers in the city. The cross-section was amazing.”

“Boa was a kind of enigma where it wasn’t a club, a full-blown restaurant or a bar, yet it managed to be all these things and more in one night,” describes Durian. “Boa had a myriad of identities, which changed by the hour and by the clientele. You couldn’t cast half the people that came in.

“It was a melting pot, a mash up from every aspect and genre of nightlife in the city, especially on the weekends. You had the Stilife crowd, the Go-Go mob, everyone that worked at the clubs, bars, and restaurants. You had city brass, weekend warriors, pro athletes, hip-hop artists, the gays, the fashionistas, actors, producers, those looking for fame, and those just looking for a good time. You had nobodies, freaks and geeks, the rich and the not rich of all races. There was no end to the diversity that walked through that door.”

Durian, who left Boa in 1992 to study film in London and then New York (he’s now a Los Angeles-based director and cinematographer), mentions visits from the likes of Ben Kingsley, Lennox Lewis, Kid ‘n Play, and members of both the Toronto Maple Leafs and Blue Jays.

“When the Blue Jays won the World Series [in 1992, 1993], we were the place they came to celebrate,” confirms Hitti. “Boa was one of, if not the only place, you could find Galen Weston sitting adjacent to [later murdered] mob enforcer Eddie ‘Hurricane’ Melo, sitting next to a bevy a models, next to Queen Street types, next to other socialites and low lives all in perfect harmony. We operated on a face-and-attitude door policy: We either knew you, or you were cool enough to get in. It wasn’t about money. It wasn’t about being famous.” (Interior photos of Boa Cafe are rare; as Hitti admits, ”We didn’t allow cameras in there, for obvious reasons.”)

A young Susur Lee is reported to have been a Boa regular, as were owners of restaurants including Rodneyʼs Oyster House, Splendido, and Centro. A new generation of club and restaurant promoters and owners (or owners-to-be) also hung out, including the Assoon brothers (Twilight Zone), Edney Hendrickson (Octopus Lounge), and Leslie Ng and Byron Dill (Kubo DX and more).

Dill, in fact, was such a regular at Boa, he later joined the staff as a bartender and event promoter.

“Byron brought that very Queen Streetish crowd vibe,” Hitti admits. “He and his friends helped make Boa Café what it was in a lot of ways.”

Bacci, in turn, credits Hitti with connecting scenes and communities.

“Yorkville was dud central at the time, [full of] dated places,” says Bacci. “It was like what Rony did in its own strange way harkened back to the Yorkville of the 1960s, like when Joso’s was just a place to drink. Boa somehow became the centre of the universe for the downtown scene. You felt like you were a part of something [that was] almost before its time for the city.”

Like friends Durian and Thomas Koonings, Bacci left Boa in the early ’90s. He moved on to cook at restaurants including Left Bank and 80 Scollard, before re-locating to New York for film school. He’s made his way as a U.S.-based actor, writer, and director ever since, maintaining ties to both Boa and Toronto. And though he and his family split time between L.A. and Hawaii, Bacci co-owns a number of Toronto restaurants, including the Lil Baci locations. (Durian has served as Director of Photography on all of Bacci’s films.)

Food remained very much a focus at Boa long after Bacci’s departure, but its DJs and late-night dancing continued to grow in popularity. After DJ Chris Klaodatos left as resident, Energy 108’s DJ Fran stepped in as Boa’s main weekend spinner from 1993 to 1996, with DJ Radamés Nieves blending Latin and Afro beats on Thursdays and occasional Fridays.

For a six-month-period of Saturdays in 1996, Fran was also joined by Hedley Jones a.k.a. Deadly Hedley, a CFNY and Klub Max alumni who, by then, also worked for Energy 108. Fran and Hedley’s popular live-to-air from Boa Café ended abruptly when Fran was found dead one Sunday morning, after he’d left the party. (Jones is now based in Los Angeles where he works as a photographer.)

“In a way, a bit of the spirit of Boa went out with Fran,” says Hitti. “It was a very close-knit group.”

The Boa bar, as featured in the Oct. 1991 edition of Interior Design magazine. Image courtesy of INK Entertainment.

What happened to it: By 1996, Boa Café was so busy that a second room was added, doubling the venue’s square footage and creating a designated dancefloor. Many hundreds of people would come through on weekends, packed in “like sardines,” according to Hitti.

“If one person danced, everybody danced. People would dance on tables and chairs, they’d dance on the bar, there were people having sex. It was absolute debauchery.”

That said, Boa didn’t receive a lot of police attention.

“I would get raided twice a year, and the charges would disappear,” shares Hitti. “Everybody thought that I was paying off half the city. I never paid anyone a single dime, but I kept good relations with everybody, and I guess people thought, ‘Why not? The place doesn’t have any problems.’ There was no overt drug dealing, everybody was having fun, and it was a discreet venue in Yorkville. It kind of took on a life of its own.”

But Hitti acknowledges, “It got to the point where the place was so busy that eventually this was its downfall.

“Literally, people would get off a plane at 1 a.m., ask where they could get a drink, and taxi drivers would bring them down. People would show up at the door, and many would be told they could not come in. We had just one doorman, Larry Trump; he could handle all those crowds by himself.

“One night in 1996, Larry told some guys they could not come in. I was called over, and said the same. One of them looked at me and said, ‘I’ll come back and spray the place.’ He went to his car in the parking lot, pulled out a machine gun, and shot seven bullets through the window. We had two of those incidents, and that’s largely what motivated me not to renew the lease in the end. Both times when it happened, the place was packed and bullets literally flew over everybody’s heads. Nobody got hurt. Twice lucky, we weren’t going to risk a third time.”

By 1998, when Hitti’s lease at 25 Bellair came up for renewal, he also owned businesses including Brasserie Zola (“a very bourgeois French restaurant”), Winston’s (“probably the highest-rated fine-dining restaurant in the city [at the time]”), and Turkish Bath, the member’s-only nightclub beneath it.

“My name was associated with being a chef, and owner of fine dining establishments,” Hitti concludes. “The last thing I wanted was my name in the newspaper associated with a shooting.” The lower level of 25 Bellair is now home to Vaticano Restaurant.

The story of Boa continues in the next edition of Then & Now, when I revisit the club’s resurrection in the early 2000s as after-hours dance club Boa Redux on Spadina.

Thank-you to Boa Café participants Mark Bacci, Marcos Durian, Rebecca Shafrir, and Rony Hitti, as well as to Hedley Jones and Thomas Koonings.

The post Then & Now: Boa Café appeared first on Then and Now: Toronto Nightlife History.