Article originally published December 20, 2013 by The Grid online (thegridto.com).

In the late 1990s, this quirky three-storey Dundas West venue provided a homebase for emergent female DJs and was a hotbed for techno, drum ‘n’ bass and all kinds of experimentation. It also helped launch the careers of Caribou, Peaches, and future Azari & III member Christian Newhook.

BY: DENISE BENSON

Club: We’ave, 330 Dundas St. W.

Years in operation: 1997–2000

History: There is a row of heritage properties along Dundas West, between McCaul and Beverley Streets and directly opposite the Art Gallery of Ontario, that tend to catch the eye. Built in the late 19th century as homes, the properties at 312–356 Dundas West gained heritage status in 1973, and now host a mix of galleries, cafés, and other businesses.

The building at number 330 stands out for its shape, colour, and newness. An infill property that sits snugly between number 326 (the Howard Bryant House) and 334 (the Richard Chadd House), 330 is the relatively modern two-and-a-half-storey commercial building that replaced one of the original detached houses. It’s a quirky build, but not entirely out of place with OCAD University right around the corner.

The address opened as We’ave, an arts and music complex, in March of 1997. Its original general manager, Sherri Ranger, had envisioned the venue as an artists’ co-op.

“We’ave stood for ‘We Have,’ which was Sherri’s concept,” explains musician and DJ Barbi Castelvi, hired in April ’97 as its live-music booker and publicist.

“They were having some parties, but there was no liquor licence or restaurant yet,” Castelvi explains in an email interview. “It was literally a drop-in artist co-op. [Experimental jazz ensemble] GUH already had a residency; they were Sherri’s friends. There were also artist workshops, curated by Sherri.”

By mid-April, Ranger departed as she believed the project was becoming too commercialized (she spoke of this in an April 1997 interview with EYE Weekly). Castelvi does agree that the idea of an artist co-op did not hold great appeal for We’ave’s main investor, Eddy Chin, or filmmaker Cindy Archer, also deeply involved in developing the space.

“Cindy worked hard at opening the restaurant and did all the hiring,” says Castelvi. “The restaurant did open, and the food was good. They were trying to appeal to the AGO-goers across the street.”

Music and art, however, became We’ave mainstays.

In addition to performances by GUH (who were often joined by guests like Wooden Stars and Julie Doiron), musical acts including Saracen, Ember Swift, Bent, Tuuli, and Guitar Army were programmed by Castelvi. She also performed as vocalist of new-wave band The Spy, and booked in rock DJs like Starboy (a member of Robin Black’s Intergalactic Rock Stars band). An early Blowup event featured founding DJ Davy Love alongside bands Poppyseed and the Love Explosion Orchestra and Man Rays.

Still, Castelvi says that We’ave “wasn’t quite the venue” for the indie, punk, and glam bands she favoured. She left by late June, and would go on to perform in numerous bands, assist Dan Burke in bookings at both Club Shanghai and, later, the El Mocambo, and DJ at venues as varied as Bovine Sex Club, 56 Kensington, Mod Club, and CiRCA.

“I remember going to a meeting at We’ave where a very young, wide-eyed Leslie Feist was hired as a waitress,” Castelvi concludes. “I believe she did some booking after I left.”

By mid-July, We’ave officially re-launched. It would be another half year before the venue’s future became clear.

An early milk. party at We’ave. Photo courtesy of Izzy Shqueir.

Why it was important: Centrally located, simply decorated, and with three different levels (allowing it to feel busy with 100 people, but hold hundreds more), We’ave was a versatile, intimate space. Its low-ceilinged, dimly lit basement especially became an epicentre of creativity as some of this city’s most influential DJs and party producers of the late-’90s-to-early-2000s learned to stretch their imaginations there.

People entered We’ave through this basement. The walls were largely painted blue. One featured a colourful mural. A long, narrow hallway led to the main room, with a small bar on the right, DJ area on the left, and sizable rectangular dancefloor in the middle. There were small booths for seating, both by the room’s front window and along two walls near the dancefloor. DJs played while tucked under the stairwell that led to the second floor, which had a similar layout, but was not always open. Both floors had small, raised stages, and featured artwork that changed frequently.

“We’ave was quaint and cool at the same time,” says Amanda Lachapelle a.k.a. DJ/producer Freedom, one of the founders of Chicks Dig It, a Monday event that boasted a roster of female talent.

Chicks Dig It, which would come to epitomize the We’ave’s community vibe and wide-open music policy, grew out of a weekly that Lauren Speers, a.k.a. DJ Chocolate, had started with fellow bass-loving DJs Jarkko and Sugar Daddy Moth in late 1997. At the time, there were no other DJ residencies at We’ave.

“I played a party there, and the managers—Jack and Diana [Editor’s note: no surnames for either are known]—and I hit it off,” explains Speers. “They offered me Mondays because they had no one coming in during the week.”

Speers developed the idea of Chicks Dig It, and launched it in February 1998 with DJs Freedom and Liz. All three women had a deep love of drum ‘n’ bass, with Lachapelle leaning toward Moving Shadow-style breakbeats while Speers mixed ragga jungle with reggae, dub, and hip-hop. D.R.S. and Kenny Ken’s “Everyman,” DJ Rap’s “Intelligent Woman,” and “Wings of the Morning,” by Capleton and Method Man were among her playlist staples.

As the crowds attending We’ave’s friendly and free Mondays started to swell, so too did the Chicks Dig It roster.

“We began with a small group, and as time went on more female DJs started their careers, and joined in,” recalls Lachapelle. “It was a great community.”

Soon, Purnnita Kotecha a.k.a. Lady P, linked with the crew. Following her were DJs like Dalia and Venus (hip-hop heads and co-hosts of CHRY’s Best Kept Secret) and electronic-music lovers like Zuzana Grimm, LeeLee Mishi, Onastic, Siren, and Violet. Still more DJs joined over time, including Abi Roach a.k.a. Zeal, Wasabi, Panda, Switch, Amtrak, and myself. When We’ave’s second floor was renovated and Chicks Dig It Large was launched to cover both spaces, more house, hip-hop, drum ‘n’ bass and techno was added as Ray Prasad, Jocelyn D, Kalmplex, KLC, and other women rotated through.

“It was a place to play without being judged, and a place for many to get better as well,” says Lachapelle. “I loved having so much support, and a space to let loose and practice, and to play new tracks of our own. It was a great open forum, and people in the scene respected that. I am pretty sure we inspired a few girls out there!”

Chicks Dig It was given a further boost when Freedom and Chocolate were featured in a special about Toronto drum ‘n’ bass that aired on The NewMusic in 1998. (Their segment begins at 6:50 in the video below.)

1998 segment on The NewMusic devoted to Toronto drum ‘n’ bass, including footage from Chicks Dig It (at 6:50).

While Chicks Dig It anchored Mondays at We’ave, a DJ crew devoted to deep house and techno held down Fridays. Tyler Kerr, Mike Welker a.k.a. Blotto, Michael Markus, Bryan Hamilton a.k.a. Bryan Falling, and Ray Gillespie a.k.a. Lazy Ray were the men behind Mettle.

They had done a few parties at nearby venue The Lemon Drop in the summer of ‘97, but it wasn’t the right fit.

“When we first saw the basement at We’ave, we all fell in love,” gushes Gillespie. “That dark little room with a great dancefloor was perfect for our music.”

Mettle kicked off at We’ave in January of 1998, promoted with the help of Hamilton’s sophisticated flyer-design work and a network of friends, including Zuzana Grimm, who also worked the door.

Mettle flyer designed by Bryan ‘Falling’ Hamilton. Courtesy of him.

Between the five residents, a wide spectrum of deep, funky house, and techno was covered. They played everything from French to Chicago house, the dub-techno released on German labels Basic Channel and Chain Reaction, and the hypnotic tech-house of Sweden’s Svek imprint.

Detroit producers were the biggest shared influence among Mettle DJs however, especially Kenny Dixon Jr. a.k.a. Moodyman.

“I’d say that his style touched on everything we did,” says Gillespie. “Moodyman was our guy for sure, and the other guys in that school—Rick Wilhite, Rick Wade. Theo Parrish—we loved them.” (He points to Paperclip People’s “Throw,” “Your Love” by Rick Wade, “January” by Kenny Dixon Jr., Rick Wilhite’s Godson EP, and “I Can’t Kick This Feeling When It Hits” by Moodyman as examples.)

But it wasn’t just Mettle’s selections that filled We’ave’s basement with hundreds of “nerdy techno guys, ravers, indie kids, and b-boys,” as Gillespie puts it; it was also the sound system through which they were heard.

We’ave’s own system was good (though DJs did have to cart in their own turntables and mixer for well over a year), but with the added speakers Mettle bought by not paying themselves, sound fully enveloped partygoers.

“We knew if we split our $5 cover five ways, we wouldn’t be walking away with much cash, so we decided we’d save all the money to re-invest,” Gillespie explains. “Very quickly, we were able to buy a pair of the big Cerwin Vega bass bins. They still have the deepest, most visceral bass I’ve heard.

“We wheeled them out Friday night to add to We’ave’s sound, which was already decent. The combo of playing well-produced 12-inches in that basement with those bins was magical. The room sounded amazing. The only lighting we had was a disco ball—just really dark, with those spinning dots.”

“It was hot and tight,” describes Hamilton, “The music pounded the crowd, and everyone got down. I did the most serious dancing of my life in that little box.”

Mettle at We’ave. Flyers designed by Bryan ‘Falling’ Hamilton. Courtesy of Tyler Kerr.

Adds Kerr, “This combination of having superior sound, both on the dancefloor and in the DJ booth, coupled with the deep vibe we conveyed, made a lot of DJs who would normally play in big venues—where they’d have to cater to a clubby crowd—ask to play their deeper records at Mettle for an appreciative crowd.”

Local favourites like Algorithm, Adam Marshall, Brennan Green, Eric Downer, Nick Holder, and Kenny Glasgow were among Mettle’s guests. When the second floor of We’ave was opened, Mettle ran on both levels and could afford to book out-of-towners, including their Detroit hero Rick Wade, and Germany’s Stefan Betke a.k.a. Pole, along with Scion and others connected to Betke’s Chain Reaction label.

“We were definitely known as music purists, or snobs even, and I think that We’ave had that reputation, too—a place that was music first,” states Gillespie. “It seemed like we were DJing for other DJs, and music producers, a lot.

“Dance music is so huge now it’s probably hard for a young reader to imagine how small that scene was back then. Everybody knew each other. There definitely was a community, and we could feel it on a weekly basis.”

“It was a unique period of time,” agrees Kerr. “Any given Friday, there were countless DJs and promoters there, and a lot of collaborations were born. We produced nights with Speed, Ritual, RNB, Fukhouse, Alien Visitation and milk., just to name a few.”

Mettle’s Tyler Kerr (left) with friend Terra Noble. Photo courtesy of Kerr.

Leanne Beer (left), Bronwyn Addico and Alex Bowes at Mettle. Photo courtesy of Tyler Kerr.

The milk. men, in fact, also started to produce events at We’ave in early 1998. Original partners including Izzy Shqueir, Richard Lo and Matthew Eastman, along with resident DJs Felix Bianchini and Gani Shqueir, had launched milk. at Kensington sports bar Top o’ the Market, which they quickly outgrew.

In their new venue, milk. wanted a space “untarnished by an association with any pre-existing scene,” says Izzy. “We’ave was perfect. It was ideally located, across from the forever-cool AGO, and just far enough north from the club scene on Richmond that we could draw people looking for a cool alternative.

“We loved the three-storey layout. The main floor had a glass ceiling on the back half if I’m not mistaken, which felt nice as you’d introduce a little moonlight into the party. There was also a smaller third floor that we used on occasion.”

With their eye-catching black and white promotion, and a focus on underground sounds that included funk, disco, house, hip-hop, and jazzy drum ‘n’ bass, the monthly parties held wide appeal.

milk. flyer front courtesy of Izzy Shqueir.

milk. flyer back courtesy of Izzy Shqueir.

“We were our market, and we didn’t dig the glammed-up club scene or the tweaked-out rave scene. Milk. was a relaxed alternative to every scene that took themselves too seriously.”

Milk. booked guest DJs including Mike Tull, Alvaro C., Jason Palma, and John Kong—the latter two of whom were also part of the similarly minded Movement crew, then producing parties at The Rivoli. No matter who was on the decks at milk., they had free rein.

Felix (left), Izzy, Gani, and Jason Palma. Photo courtesy of Izzy Shqueir.

“Guest DJs we booked were like, ’WTF? I can play this stuff?’ and we were like, ‘For sure, that’s why we hired you,’” says Gani Shqueir. “We were also surprised to see people dancing to tracks that they didn’t know.”

Milk.’s loyal core crowd included lots of U of T students and “music lovers from all walks of life,” according to Izzy. “Among the most eccentric was a guy named Agent Dan, and photographer Eddie Figueroa.”

Artist Eddie Figueroa at milk. Photo courtesy of Izzy Shqueir.

milk. dancefloor action at We’ave. Photo courtesy of Izzy Shqueir.

“I know I felt impressed with what we were doing,” comments Gani in relation to the many hundreds of sweaty dancers that milk. attracted. “I liked being in the positive environment that it was, with everyone having a good time on a budget, and giving it.”

“We’ave wasn’t a see-and-be-seen club,” remarks Chicks Dig It’s Speers. “Most people went there for the music. The walk-by traffic was diverse and eclectic, and the nights held there had random people standing outside. A lot of people who became regulars didn’t intend to go there the first time, but got roped in either by the smoke outside or the music wafting up to the sidewalk.

“Us, Mettle, and milk. were the mainstays. Some of the Mettle guys and I were almost always at each other’s nights. We were linked by other diverse promoters and music folk who came to many of our nights, like Justin from AlienInFlux, Bev and Ian from Transcendance, the Promise guys, DJ Medicine Muffin, and the guys in [dub band] Resinators.”

We’ave was a relaxed hangout and hub, where ideas and communities could intersect. Sprinkled among the Chicks Dig It crowd any given Monday, for example, were members of Sumkidz, organizers of the influential OM Festival, future members of indie band Broken Social Scene, visiting musicians like Kid Koala, Mad Professor, and Ani Difranco, along with early Toronto Raptors stars such as Damon Stoudamire and Tracy McGrady. It was a fun, family affair where anything could happen.

“One of my birthday nights, someone baked me a cake that was, um, doctored,” recalls Speers. “I realized that after it had been handed out to everyone who was there. Not only did Purnita’s then-husband Richard have an extremely adverse reaction to it, so did an undercover cop who never realized what he had consumed. He left singing “Auld Lang Syne” with his colleagues, and threw up all over my bike, which was parked outside.”

On occasion, Chicks Dig It became Chicks Drag It, with guys like Lex from Legion of Green Men, Jarkko, Sugar Daddy Moth, and even members of UK ragga-jungle crew Congo Natty DJing in drag.

Though he didn’t spin in drag, Ninja Tune artist Amon Tobin created quite the scene when he guested at Chicks Dig It in February 2000. Initially, Hot Stepper Productions had simply booked in an early eve listening party for Tobin’s outstanding album Supermodified, but when word got out last minute that the producer would also DJ, the line-up outside We’ave extended past McCaul by 9 p.m. that night.

Amon Tobin at We’ave. Flyer courtesy of Carlos Mondesir.

This was a transitional, and incredibly fertile, time in Toronto’s underground club culture. Our rave movement may have peaked, but it had given rise to new generations of DJs, producers, community-radio hosts, fashion, and graphic designers, event promoters and multimedia artists. Many maturing ravers turned to more intimate venues, like Gypsy Co-op, N.A.S.A, and Element for their music fix.

We’ave was perhaps the most understated and capricious of all, but almost always stimulating when its doors were open.

“Chicks Dig It really put We’ave on the map,” says radio host and event producer Paddy Jane, who bartended at the venue from 1998 to 2000. “You’d rarely see female DJs on any lineup, so to have a whole night rammed with supreme DJ talent that was all female was game-changing. Monday nights were rammed, as were the We’ave’s Saturday night.

“The milk. parties were amazing too; their flyers were so distinct and special; people would come in out of curiousity, and get blown away by the gorgeous music. Rhymestone, a hip-hop/soul outfit that mixed rap with soulful female vocals and brass instruments, put on sick live shows. DJ Mantis and C-Rat threw some killer jungle and breaks nights that set the roof on fire, too. People would crowd-surf and body slam like it was a rock concert.

“We’ave was a hub for new, independent promoters,” adds Paddy Jane, who also hosted a number of arts and music programs on York University radio station CHRY while working at the club. “With no rental fees or deposits, and an open-minded manager, a lot of the best promoters and DJs in the city got their start there.”

Milk. is the prime example. They outgrew the space, and did their last party at We’ave in June of 1998. Milk. went on to produce parties at larger venues like Jet (later Turbo), Big Bop, Roxy Blu, Palais Royale, Kool Haus, 99 Sudbury, and Sunnyside Pavilion.

“We’ave gave a home to the blossoming DJ scene in the late ‘90s,” summarizes Izzy. “Without it, I can say that milk. may not have carried on for the decade afterward.” (He is now a mortgage agent at Dominion Lending while Gani is largely responsible for all things milk., and is co-owner of Dundas West bar Camp 4.)

The Mettle DJs also left We’ave, in their case to move to the slightly larger B-Side, above Fez Batik, in the fall of 1999. They did a weekly there for a year, and co-presented larger shows featuring the likes of Richie Hawtin elsewhere. Mettle concluded as a crew in September 2000. (They all remain friends, with Gillespie a.k.a. Lazy Ray most active as a DJ today. Hamilton works in the New York office of Razorfish digital agency, and lives with his wife and two children in New Jersey.)

With the departures of milk. and Mettle, We’ave’s management had big shoes to fill. Some weeks, the club would be open just two nights, while others would have a packed schedule. There were other weeklies on the roster alongside Chicks Dig It (more on this to come), and countless special events.

“If you had an idea, I’d say, ‘Talk to Jack,’ explains Paddy Jane. “He was always there—it was as though he slept in the ceilings like a bat. If he liked your idea, he’d give you a night to try it out. He didn’t really care what happened in the space, as long as people showed up and had a great time.”

Dan Snaith prepping decorations for Social Work. Photo: Merri Schwartz.

One crew of nascent DJ/promoters Jack did give a chance to included then-20-year-old Dan Snaith, now better known as Caribou. He’d moved from Dundas to Toronto in order to study mathematics at U of T, and remained tight friends with others from the Hamilton area. Snaith and his roommates threw a bunch of packed parties at their home on Beverley, and wanted to take the concept to a club. In the fall of 1999, they heard that We’ave, conveniently located around the corner, was looking for DJs.

“We went in, talked to the managers, and they seemed almost as desperate to get someone in there as we were to play,” reminisces Snaith by email.

The fact that We’ave had multiple levels was attractive to the crew of many DJs, which also included Koushik, Jon Sikich, Cory Cook, Greg Jones, and Peter Mitton a.k.a. plastic/brasil. The flyers for their party, dubbed Social Work, advertised a night of funk, house, Latin, jazz, dub, drum ‘n’ bass, hip-hop and more.

Early Social Work flyer (front). Courtesy of Dan Snaith.

Early Social Work flyer (back). Courtesy of Dan Snaith.

“I remember playing Rotary Connection, Marlena Shaw, Quasimoto—music that I would still play now—and also more of the jazzy broken beat and Compost Records-type stuff,” recalls Snaith.

Their first event included guest DJ Jason Palma, plus a lot of production and promotional assistance from pals.

“The core thing was to play the music that we liked, but also important was to have all of our friends who were studying art and interested in making the events nice involved to do their thing,” says Snaith. “The decor [at We’ave] was pretty corny—sort of a ‘you’re inside a lava lamp’ type vibe. We did as much as we could to project our own space on the place.

“Merri Schwartz masterminded all of the decoration, and played a large part in everything. A lot of the preparations involved buying massive quantities of fabric, and covering the place with it. Once we made hundreds of large origami cranes in different colours, and hung them from the ceiling. Another time, we had hundreds of Ziploc bags full of water, with waterproof LEDs inside them, hanging from the roof.”

Merri Schwartz decorating for Social Work. Photo courtesy of Dan Snaith.

Five hundred people turned out for the debut event, and the attendance climbed from there. Social Work parties were sporadic, but busy.

“It was a thrill to be doing something for the first time,” says Snaith. “We were completely unknown DJs who didn’t play anywhere else, except for Jon Sikich and Koushik. People just came because the parties had a reputation for being fun rather than for any name on the bill.”

At one event, more than 800 people squeezed in.

“It was really stupid and terrifying,” Snaith admits. “People were just crushed in there, and we were so disorganized. There was no plan about when to stop, and we couldn’t even communicate with each other because it was impossible to move around the venue. The people who worked the coat check, located on the top floor, looked like they were about to have nervous breakdowns. That was when I realized that more people didn’t actually make the party better!”

Scenes from Social Work. Photos courtesy of Merri Schwartz.

They tried moving Social Work to a larger space on Spadina, but the crowds didn’t follow so they instead returned to We’ave.

By spring of 2000, Snaith was deep into music production and was ready to share his creations. (We first met during this time as he passed along demo tracks for me to play on Mental Chatter, my program on CKLN.)

“By that point, I’d met Kieran Hebden [a.k.a. Four Tet], and had mailed him a couple of tracks so he knew I was into the same kind of vibe,” says Snaith. “We flew him over for what was, I think, one of the first DJ gigs Kieran had ever taken outside London. We paid his flight, there was no fee, and he slept on our couch. We had our home phone number on the flyer, and the only person who ever called was Kevin [Drew] from Broken Social Scene, demanding to know if it was a joke that Kieran was playing at our unknown little party.

“The twist was that we expected Kieran to play artists like Dorothy Ashby and Pharoah Sanders, and clear the floor. Instead, he showed up with banging tunes; he played ‘Intergalactic’ by the Beastie Boys, and had had the newest Armand Van Helden test pressing couriered to his flat in London before he left. Rightly, he figured that we were basically a party for university students, and brought his biggest party records. That really challenged what I valued in music. Up until that point, I valued the esoteric and the difficult—I was a snobby elitist, basically—and getting to know Kieran was a big part of me coming to understand that pop music can be amazing, and radical and subversive as well at its best.

“After that, We’ave offered us a residency because we were bringing in bigger crowds than any other party, but that turned out to be a disastrous idea. No one wanted to come to a weekly event; they wanted the special one-offs. It was a very sad and soul-destroying affair that we stopped after a couple months.”

Flyer for Kieran Hebden (Four Tet) at Social Work. Flyer: Courtesy of Dan Snaith.

Who else played/worked there: There was a lot of quality house and techno heard at We’ave over the years. Promoter James Lafazanos produced a number of events under his Phox Productions banner early in the club’s history. DJ/producer Tricky Moreira was resident on Tuesdays for a stretch of 1998.

But the longest-running night of deep house and tech at We’ave was Housecall, with the heavy-hitting resident crew of Christian Newhook (now known as Dinamo Azari), Ali Black, DJ Gryphon, and Douglas Carter. They, along with guests including DJ Sneak, J-Dub, Dino & Terry, Andy Roberts, and Groove Institute, drew crowds every Thursday from 1997 to late ’99.

Though he did lights at Industry, DJed at Gypsy Co-op, and could generally be found networking at every quality club in town during this period, Housecall was an especially important step in Newhook’s career. It was here that he performed some of his earliest hybrid DJ/live shows, and explore ideas he’d later develop with Azari & III.

Jungle, d ‘n’ b, and all manner of breakbeats were also common at We’ave. Moonstarr and the folks behind Public Transit Recordings held release parties there. Junglerama was a popular weekly, with DJs like Queensyze, Jahyu, D-Region, Panda, Double J and Dorc all taking part.

Mark Pryzbylo a.k.a. Dorc bridged worlds at We’ave. He DJed as part of both Junglerama and the hip-hop-centric Stir Fry nights (also with DJs Danimal, Zoli, and Kari), and was We’ave’s main sound man, beginning in late 1998. He also recalls performances by the likes of God Made Me Funky, Cryptic Souls, and D-Sisive. One of his strongest memories from the club is from November of that year, when Finland’s Pan Sonic performed their experimental electronics through a beefed-up sound system.

Junglerama at We’ave. Photos courtesy of Mark Pryzbylo a.k.a. Dorc.

“For that show, we basically turned the entire club into a giant speaker box,” says Pryzbylo. “I have never to this day heard that much bass. Everything in the club was rattling like crazy. People sat outside on the sidewalk feeling physically sick from their organs shaking. Amazing!” (Pryzbylo went on to DJ and do sound for hip-hop weekly In Divine Style, and is now a mastering engineer.)

We’ave was the kind of place where collaborations and new ideas flourished.

“There was a fun scene in that ’hood back then, where performance between DJ, live and performance art seemed naturally blurred,” comments Sam Fleming a.k.a. DJ Efsharp.

An OCAD grad who studied Integrated Media during the late ’90s and found himself at We’ave a lot, Fleming DJed there as part of Evren Ozdemir’s hip-hop band Rhymestone, occasionally did sound, and helped produce a series of all-floor parties. He also led a music project called Recipe.

“The vibe at We’ave definitely contributed to a feeling that we could do whatever we wanted,” credits Fleming. “Recipe was as few people as a DJ combo of and myself and James McClean a.k.a. Toye, or it could be a six-piece electronic outfit with drum machines and synths, or a funk-house jam-band collective.”

Fleming points to others who also explored their outer reaches at We’ave.

“I recall that Merrill Nisker came into Long and McQuade when I worked there, and asked about drum machines. I recommended the MC-505, and the next week she was at We’ave, doing her first show as Peaches.

Flyer for Wabi’s one-year anniversary, their first event at We’ave. Courtesy of Wabi crew.

“Tom Kuo and the wabi crew did some amazing parties there as well. There was one event where he put all these semi-transparent balloons in the ceiling and projected a bunch of images, which looked like echoes of ideas in someone’s brain. Now Tom is doing next level installations that must be experienced to believe.” (The wabi collective hosts occasional events to this day. Fleming continues to DJ, and runs event-production company Evolved Entertainment.)

The series of School parties produced by Rob Judges and Dave Gillespie during the first half of 2000 also offered a blend of music, media and visual art.

“We pulled out all the stops creatively,” says Judges, highlighting the “crazy, self-deprecating” flyers he created with Takashi Okamoto, among other artistic details. (Judges also created the flyers for Hot Times!, recently discussed in the Then & Now devoted to Club 56.)

The final School event at We’ave. Flyer courtesy of Rob Judges.

“Because We’ave’s windows looked out onto the AGO, I was like ‘This is as close as I’m gonna get,’ so I brought a bunch of the paintings I’d been doing at the time—mostly De Stijl-type stuff—and hung ‘em up. I was inspired. We brought extra lava lamps, and bed sheets for projections. We’d make tasteful super-8 loops of ’70s Swedish porn film reels that I found at home. There were a lot of artists getting to know each other in Toronto at the time; the U of T, Ryerson, and OCA peeps were mingling, and School was kind of in the middle of that.”

These elements, combined with the duo’s blend of Krautrock, French house, east coast hip-hop, classic rock, reggae and more (Judges cites favourites like Yellow Magic Orchestra’s version of “Day Tripper,” ”I Can’t Wait” by Ol’ Dirty Bastard, Junior Murvin’s “Roots Train,” Steely Dan’s “Do It Again,” and Neu’s “Fur Immer”) packed their parties from beginning to end. (In 2005, Judges moved to Tokyo, where he co-produces the monthly Hindu Love parties.)

As for other staff at We’ave, few other names are known. Bartenders included Kaili Glennon (who went on to Ronnie’s Local 069 in Kensington, among other places) and Guilherme Ribeiro, now a chef.

Paddy Jane still holds the venue close to her heart.

“Working at the We’ave was a blast! I never knew what I was going to see. From poetry to drum ‘n’ bass, the parties ran the spectrum. One time a guy showed up with a coffin and performed his entire set in it. I felt like the luckiest girl in the world to get paid to see experimental performance art, and a wide range of music come to life every night.”

Flyer courtesy of Sam “EfSharp” Fleming.

What happened to it: By late summer of 2000, business at We’ave had slowed substantially.

“I remember it closing and re-opening a couple of times,” says Snaith. “Jack and Diana definitely tried to get us to come back, but we’d moved on. Our little crew of people was all doing different things.” (Snaith released his debut album as Manitoba, Start Breaking My Heart, under his pre-Caribou alias of Manitoba in 2001 and has since produced five additional albums, including last year’s Jiaolong under his side-project name, Daphni. He’s now at work on a new Caribou album. Koushik has released music on Stone’s Throw while Peter Mitton went on to work as Manitoba/Caribou’s drummer from 2003-2005 and is now a CBC radio producer. Merri Schwartz is a top Vancouver pastry chef and chocolatier.)

The end of We’ave was in sight, but still came suddenly. Chicks Dig It had moved on to the Beat Junkie by early October, but no notice was given to staff when We’ave closed weeks later.

“One day I showed up for work, and the doors were locked, venue emptied, like it never even existed,” says Paddy Jane. “The only number I had for Jack was the We’ave’s, and with no last name—and before the time of Facebook, cellphone, and email’s omnipresence—he and the venue literally vanished into thin air. The end of We’ave is a mystery.” (Paddy went on to shoot pin-up photography and host radio programs, and she now produces parties and burlesque shows under the name No Pants Society.)

As for the Chicks Dig It founders, they took the party to a variety of locations before parting. Speers is now a mother and lawyer, but still finds the time to DJ at Thymeless, reggae shows galore, and on her Rebel Music radio show, heard on Radio Regent. Lachapelle produced music for Nice & Smooth, and mixed their Metro Breaks: NXT Level compilation. She is now a Homeopathic Practitioner and is studying massage therapy.

Barbi Castelvi, who we met at this story’s beginning, produced a great deal of music with her now-husband Mitchell Gomes a.k.a. Cryo. They recorded as Syntonics, but recently launched new project Phelyns Of Vedici. Castelvi also continues to DJ.

330 Dundas West re-opened as the Deconism Gallery by professor, EyeTap inventor, and “father of wearable computing” Steve Mann in 2001. Numerous conferences, concerts and events have taken place there since. In May of this year, as part of the Contact festival, No Cameras Allowed! was mounted. A poster promoting it remains on the venue’s door, with no sign of recent activity. Emails went unanswered.

330 Dundas West in mid December, 2013. Photo by Denise Benson.

Thank you to participants Amanda “DJ Freedom” Lachapelle, Barbi Castelvi, Bryan Falling, Christian Newhook, Dan Snaith, Gani Shqueir, Izzy Shqueir, Lauren “DJ Chocolate” Speers, Mark “Dorc” Pryzbylo, Paddy Jane, Raymond “Lazy Ray” Gillespie, Rob Judges, Sam “DJ Efsharp” Fleming, and Tyler Kerr as well as to Carlos Mondesir and Michael Markus.

The post Then & Now: We’ave appeared first on Then and Now: Toronto Nightlife History.

Article originally published April 18, 2013 by The Grid online (thegridto.com).

Denise Benson revisits this influential Queen West resto-lounge that brought together bohos, bankers, artists and trendsetters for a menu that included good eats, DJed beats, a smorgasbord of live music, and a diverse cast of characters.

BY: DENISE BENSON

Club: Gypsy Co-op, 817 Queen West

Years in operation: 1995–2006

History: Though perhaps now difficult to imagine, in mid-1990s Toronto, it was still unusual for bar and restaurant owners to open sizable spots on Queen Street west of Bathurst. Trinity Bellwoods Park felt far-off, while Parkdale was not the trendy destination point it is today.

Still, evening social life on Queen was slowly moving westward. Boom Boom Room had run successfully for five years, Sanctuary had brought the goths to Queen and Palmerston, Squirly’s offered cheap nosh ‘til late, and Terroni opened its original location at 720 Queen West in 1992.

A pioneering address was 817 Queen Street West, near Claremont. In the late ‘80s, Marcus and Michael O’Hara opened the über-cool Squeeze Club there. The Squeeze was a combo restaurant, bar, art space, and billiards hall that soared at first, and struggled later. When the business went up for sale, the brothers Borg scored the location.

Marcus O’Hara’s Squeeze Club pre-dated Gypsy at 817 Queen West. Photo courtesy Vintage Toronto.

Mike Borg was well known in Toronto club circles. He’d worked as a manager and promotions director at venues including RPM and the Phoenix, and had co-owned Queen West resto-lounge Left Bank with Darryl Fine (Bovine Sex Club) and Nick Di Donato (Liberty Group). Joseph Borg had owned and operated Studebakers, a rock-themed diner.

When Left Bank was sold, the brothers—along with early partners including lawyer John May and DJ/producer Gio Cristiano—set their sites on transforming 817 Queen West. They opened eclectic restaurant, lounge, and music venue Gypsy Co-op late in 1995.

“We wanted to create a place which was not the ‘fashionable’ hang out, but that had an edge, was hip, and showcased local talent without pretention—a bohemian retreat, so to speak,” explains Mike Borg.

“With getting older and leaving the fast-paced club scene, I wanted a smaller, more sophisticated venue that wasn’t all polished and overdesigned,” he adds. “Literally, most of the décor inside was bought at thrift stores, antique shops, and many remnants of the Squeeze remained [3rd Uncle contributed design elements]. The vibe had to be cool and relaxed, with as much an emphasis on music and the bar as there was on food.”

Gypsy Co-op’s entry. Photo courtesy of Izzy Shqueir.

Open six days and nights a week, Gypsy Co-op was warm, wood-lined and unique. At street level was a long rectangular room, with a ‘general store’ and restaurant in front and a lounge space in back. The sizable store section was stocked with retro candy, specialty teas, cigars, magazines, incense and more, with one’s eyes also drawn to the doll parts, album covers and various trinkets literally hanging about.

Behind this area lay an open kitchen, easily visible to those who packed the large dining room. Here, mismatched chairs were placed around tables adorned with magazine clippings lacquered onto their surfaces. The huge ‘Captain’s table’ was popular with large groups. Behind it was the heavy velvet curtain that divided resto from lounge.

The back bar and lounge area featured a functional fireplace, dim lighting, candles, flowers, board games and a pool table or two, often pushed aside to make way for dancing. A small DJ booth faced this area, while Gypsy’s long bar ran along the easterly wall. Bar stools and couches provided plenty of seating.

Gypsy Co-op’s back bar. Photo courtesy of Mike Borg.

Original art was hung around the entire space, with new work showcased monthly.

“Gypsy Co-op wasn’t predictable at all,” says Billy X, a nightclub veteran who’d bartended and promoted for clubs including Silver Crown, Paparazzi, Catch 22, The Living Room, and Klub Max before Gypsy.

“The cutlery was mismatched, the tables and chairs were put together on a dime, and the place was decorated in Mike’s own style. They also used the slate from Squeeze Club’s pool tables to build Gypsy’s bar. It was thrown together on the cheap, on some levels, and yet somehow it all fit together nicely. There was a warm feeling in there, also a real Queen Street feel, and the booze flowed nicely too.”

Upstairs was The Hooch, renovated and expanded in 1997.

“The Hooch was a small dark space, with old wood floors, a fireplace, vintage fabrics, oil paintings and a stage,” describes Mike Borg. “Originally I wanted to have an old 1920s-30s style supper club, but it ended up being our live music floor. We also did swing dance nights and booked the room out for many private functions.”

The Hooch (upstairs at Gypsy Co-op) in later years. Photo courtesy of Izzy Shqueir.

Why it was important: With its defined aesthetic, broad appeal and word of mouth promotion, Gypsy Co-op helped invigorate a neighbourhood.

“I think that Gypsy really opened up that whole western part of Queen Street,” says Billy X. “Back in the day, it seemed far west. The only other places around there were spots like The Sanctuary and Octopus Lounge. I question how quickly it would have come around for The Drake and all of those other venues if it wasn’t for the Gypsy.”

“The Gypsy was a very cool, underground, chill-out spot,” underscores Cristiano, who’d DJed at Catch 22, the Phoenix, The Joker, Velvet Underground and elsewhere. “It had a little bit of everything, and kind of reminded me of Mike a bit—bohemian, psychedelic, and funky. It was the first of its kind on Queen. I really think the Borg brothers nailed it.”

The brothers opened Gypsy Co-op at a time when lounges were popular, and restaurants had begun to hire DJs en masse. But very few venues mixed resto, lounge, DJed and live music—all while serving high-quality food.

“We put a strong emphasis on the food,” states Joseph Borg. “People could come to a cool, relaxing place, be dressed down, and still have five-star food.”

“Gypsy did really well during restaurant hours too because they offered great food at great value, in a really cool, eclectic environment,” agrees Billy X. “I remember there being a great steak dinner for $12—a bargain. It was accessible.”

Billy X (left) and Andrew Dmytrasz. Photo courtesy of Theresa Szalay.

Restaurant critics took note, and their positive reviews helped diversify Gypsy Co-op’s crowd, which included artists and CEOs alike.

“Gypsy was very much a local, with friendly, accepting people,” describes Joseph Borg. “We could have a room with 75-year-olds, families with kids, trendsetters, and people just out to party, and all seemed to be able to exist under one roof. We always maintained the community feeling.”

“It was a great date spot, and a great place to meet new people,” points out Theresa Szalay, a former bartender at OZ nightclub who played many key roles at Gypsy during the eight years she worked there.

“At the beginning, during the week, Gypsy definitely would get the ‘starving artist’ types that paid for their beer with all the loose change in all their pockets,” recalls Szalay. “As time went on and nights were promoted, the crowd was very Queen Street: artists, actors, musicians, DJs, hipsters, foodies and such. I always found that Gypsy really attracted music and DJ followers, as well as many other people in the hospitality business, because the whole funky restaurant/lounge concept was new for Toronto.

“I think people who went to Gypsy were there for the whole experience—the food, the vibe, the music, the art, the tarot card readers, the belly dancers, and also the wild staff. One waiter, named Ron, would walk on his hands to tables to take an order, and then serve a pint of beer balanced on his head. These are the reasons people spent complete nights hanging at Gypsy, and kept coming back.”

Gypsy staff Kristy Dineen (left) and Marla Silva. Photo courtesy of Theresa Szalay.

“My fondest memories of that place are about the clientele and the music,” adds Andrew Dmytrasz, a head bartender and one of Gypsy’s resident heartthrobs. “It was such an eclectic crowd. You had everyone in there—your suits, your hipsters—even me as a clean-cut Mississauga boy, I kind of fit in there too, somehow. It was an artsy, but very open place.”

“Gypsy worked because the blend of people was just right,” summarizes DJ Vania, a well-established Toronto talent who spent seven years spinning at Webster Hall in New York before returning home and choosing to play in more intimate venues.

“The staff was attractive and could execute. The food was good, and the music never got in the way. It’s a tricky balance that most resto-lounges can never attain. The best part was the vibe—it was very chilled and relatively stress free. That started at the top with the Borgs, and trickled down through the staff and on to the customers.”

The balance attained between the brothers Borg (“I was the visionary ‘street’ guy and Joe brought calm, balance and business to the forefront,” states Mike.) would later be tested at their much larger Fez Batik, opened on Peter Street in 1999, but it was perfected at Gypsy and personified in the venue’s signature Tuesday weekly, dubbed Salon 817.

Tuesdays were industry nights in the truest sense. Mike Borg, along with host/promoter Billy X, resident DJ Vania, his brother Vadim, and Gio Cristiano, had extensive contact lists of fellow bar staff, and put them to good use.

L-R: Mike Borg (Gypsy Co-op co-owner), Billy X, Andy Frost of Q107. Photo courtesy of Mike Borg.

“In the first year, we had maybe 50 to 100 people out, largely a lot of our friends, and then it took on a life of its own,” describes Billy. “There would be nights where I’d know 10 or 20 people, but the other 500 I did not. We were doing some big numbers on Tuesdays at points.”

Salon 817 ran until 2003, with Vania spinning “rare groove, soundtracks, sound library obscurities, and, of course, trippy lounge sounds, always with a sense of humour,” while a range of live musicians performed.

“We had everything from barbershop quartets to East Coast-style bands, sitar players, bongo players, rock guys, jazz guys, and everything in between,” recalls Billy. “It was an open stage for anything we thought was interesting.”

Upstairs on Tuesdays, The Hooch became synonymous with band King Brand Valium.

“They were a trippy, talented group of studio and touring musicians who attracted a lot of other high-profile local musicians,” says Mike Borg. “Think ambient, freestyle, jazzy groove, with guitar, bass, drums, trumpet, percussion and psychedelic lights.”

Following King Brand Valium’s live sets, resident DJs included Douglas Carter, Vasi Medley and Christian Newhook (a.k.a. Dinamo Azari of Azari & III). Other DJs, like Cristiano, Mark Oliver, John E, and Kenny Glasgow also played, which meant Salon 817’s crowds ranged from rocker to raver.

“People were black, white, gay, straight, all over the map,” describes Billy. “It was a real microcosm of the Toronto party scene.

“Mick Jagger and Jerry Hall were in on the same night as Kim Mitchell and his wife. I saw them introducing their wives to each other. Jeff Healey came by all the time. Oasis was in a couple of times, Backstreet Boys, so many people. Tie Domi, Mats Sundin, and other Maple Leafs came out, as did other athletes, and people from CityTV—both Georges [Stroumboulopoulos and Lagogianes] were there a lot. It was the place to be on a Tuesday so you’d get everyone.”

Gypsy Co-op attracted an impressive range of celebs, from actors including Mira Sorvino. Dan Aykroyd, and Michael Imperioli to other musicians like Lenny Kravitz, Robbie Robertson, David Bowie, Tommy Lee, Charlie Watts, and drum ‘n’ bass star Goldie.

Theresa Szalay (centre) with Gypsy Co-op staff members Kim-Ella and Leah. Photo courtesy of Szalay.

Theresa Szalay recalls a sleepy Monday evening on Victoria Day weekend 2001. It started with a skeletal staff and ended in surprise.

“There were four customers in the whole place and the street was empty, so at 11 p.m. I decided to close. As waiter Tom Malloy was closing the front curtain he noticed a girl run up to the door. He called to me, ‘Kate Hudson is knocking, and wants to come in.’ She said she had some friends in the car, they wanted to come in for a drink, and asked if we could keep the doors locked. They had their own security. I told the bar to re-open, and a few minutes later in walked Kate Hudson with her then-husband Chris Robinson, and all his bandmates from The Black Crowes, plus the bands Oasis and Spacehog, Liv Tyler, and Oasis’ manager. Voila, we had a private party!

“Liam Gallagher wanted to play some Beatles and old rock so off he went, messing with our already temperamental mixing board. It was loud and sounded awful. I called our in-house DJ and waiter extraordinaire, Kevin Lee, because it was midnight on a holiday Monday and he lived right down the street. Fifteen minutes later, Kevin showed up with lots of vinyl, and the night continued. They were all very appreciative for the hospitality, paid their very large bill, and tipped everyone well. They also gave me six tickets—awesome seats—for their concert the next night.” [Note: Another Gypsy DJ, Jorge Dacosta, recalls that it was, in fact, he who played tunes at this private party. His comment is below.]

There’s no shortage of Gypsy-related celebrity stories, but it was the many hundreds of devoted regulars who allowed the venue to thrive for more than a decade. Gypsy Co-op’s emphasis on interesting music was a big part of why they were there.

“We did everything from klezmer to mariachi, Middle Eastern, Cuban, swing, blues, reggae, soul, house, hip-hop, electronic, funk, rock and grunge,” says Mike Borg. “I was tired of the mainstream, and believed many of our guests and staff were as well.“

He recalls booking bands like Professor Plum (“an ambient acoustic trio”), Anti Gravity Janitors (“space-trance funk”), and Codex (“trip-hop ambient dub)” alongside DJs on Thursdays and Fridays. Hogtown Hep Cats hosted a long-running swing dance weekly. Saturday evenings boasted a rotating cast of top local DJs, including Vania, Gio, DJ Colin, JC and Bristol, England native Lee Castle a.k.a. DJ/producer Sassa’le, former CKLN radio host and founder of Version Xcursion.

Coverage of Gypsy Co-op’s 3rd anniversary in NOW Magazine, December 1998. Image courtesy of Mike Borg.

“The wide collection of DJs who played all kinds of music made Gypsy different,” says Castle. “It was about like-minded people having a great time, and DJs keeping their ear to the ground. The owners played a big part by giving DJs creative freedom, and being open to new ideas.”

Castle’s signature blend of trip-hop, breaks, dub, and all forms of UK bass music was also heard when he guested at my own long-running event, Glide Wednesdays.

Launched in January 1997 and running for almost seven full years, Glide was a hotbed of underground electronic sounds not often heard in club settings, from dub to soulful drum ‘n’ bass. The complementary Break Fu weekly—with bass-loving tech heads Aria, Jarkko, and Transformer—ran upstairs for some time, while downstairs, I booked a wide range of local guest DJs, like Paul E. Lopes, Moonstarr, and Chocolate.

With the Borgs’ support, I was also able to present early appearances by the likes of Portishead DJ Andy Smith, L.A. beat experimentalist The Angel, innovative British producer Andrea Parker (on her DJ Kicks tour), and Bristol-based Cup Of Tea artists like Purple Penguin and Jaz Klash (Rob Smith of Smith & Mighty with Peter D and The Angel).

“It was personal for me to see DJs from my hometown come over and smash it,” says Sassa’le, who also recalls the Wednesday night another famous Bristolian caused a stir.

“Roni Size was at the venue, just chilling, and walked over to ask a question. The guy next to me couldn’t believe it and started freaking out,” says Castle, who has continued to DJ and produce (his latest album, SystemEcho, was released recently).

Collection of Glide Wednesdays flyers. Courtesy of Denise Benson.

In early 2000, the Glide vibe was expanded upon when I invited talented DJ and kindred musical spirit Andrew ‘Allsgood’ Puusa to join me full-time. It was his first club residency.

“I think what made Glide an amazing night was adventurous programming,” says Puusa. “We had a strong lean towards sounds that were on the fringes of electronic and dance music, and didn’t have much of a voice in Toronto. Downtempo, left-field hip-hop, nu-jazz, broken beat, and future soul were all championed, along with deep house and dub, from roots to modern.” (He now releases re-edits with Alister Johnson on their Free Association label.)

It was Glide’s lean towards dub and its many modern-day offshoots that attracted regulars like James and Graeme Moore, the bassist and guitarist, respectively, in dub band Resinators.

“No one was spinning anything except what they wanted to,” recounts James Moore of Glide. “The uncompromising quality was exactly what made it special. The music was new, and we talked about it a lot. The crowd was a who’s who of Toronto music heads—musicians, radio and club DJs. The scene was very open and accepting. It was an absolute must-attend for years.

“Glide was also a place out-of-town DJs were welcomed. We knew their music, and they could count on an appreciative audience, with lots of tolerance for offbeat, weird stuff.”

As evidence, Glide’s five-year anniversary was marked by sold-out appearances by both Netherlands-based Twilight Circus Dub Sound System and, two weeks later, Manitoba (now known as Caribou) who performed his first live P.A. in Toronto. British producers Bonobo and Mark Rae also guested, as did NYC’s Nickodemus and, in 2003, we marked six years with a two-floor lineup featuring Akufen, Mike Shannon, Deadbeat and Tim Hecker. Those were heady times.

Resinators also added much bass to the mix over a series of live dates.

“When Resinators started our weekly dub residency upstairs, it was great synergy,” says James. “We would pack that little room with as much gear as it could handle. One night surprise guest Glen Washington sat in on drums, bass, and vocals. It was common to see talents like Esthero and LAL, among up-and-comers. It was the start of the ‘open mic’ Resinators’ sessions where we honed our classics with guest vocalists.”

Also significant were Thursday nights at Gypsy, when the live hip-hop showcase In Divine Style reigned supreme upstairs in The Hooch. Launched in January of 2001 by Ryan Somers a.k.a. Fritz tha Cat, former rap editor for Vice magazine, the pioneering event was an extension of Somers’ In Search of . . . Divine Styler ‘zine (later, a related book), and was especially infamous for its open mic segment.

“We generally presented a night with three to five main performers, and then an open mic freestyle segment that featured anywhere up to 25 MCs, singers, performers, comedians, and poets,” explains Addi Stewart, a.k.a. Mindbender, an original host of the night who later took over organizing duties.

“The goal was to give artists a venue, an audience, and a chance to perform when there was barely any other opportunities or spaces to do so.”

Key contributors to In Divine Style included engineer/soundman DJ Dorc, doorwoman and host Alexis, DJ and MC More or Les, and other DJs including Todd Skimmins, Vangel, Danimal, Druncnes Monstr, Son of S.O.U.L., Mel Boogie, and EfSharp. The monthly SheStyle sessions featured DJs including Dalia and Tashish, and heavy-hitting host MCs like Eternia and Sunny D. Art by the likes of Elicsr and EGR was on display while bboys and bgirls added to the IDS energy.

More or Les (left) hosts In Divine Style. Photo: Richard Lautens/Toronto Star.

Stewart says that “approximately 636 MCs came through,” a mix of local, national and international talents. Now familiar names like Ian Kamau, Brassmunk, Tara Chase, Masia One, Graph Nobel, Aysicks, Dope Poets Society, and Theology 3 were among them. He makes mention of wordsmiths like Chuggo (“the electric essence of what KOTD battle rap has become today); Travis Blackman (“a room-silencing superhuman vocalist and eye-expanding performer); and an 18-year-old Isis, later of Thunderheist, who made her club debut at IDS (“she ripped the mic insanely!”).

Until it ended in January of 2006, after running as a monthly during its last year, In Divine Style played a crucial role in nurturing Toronto’s hip-hop talent and community. It put performers in front of caring, often capacity, crowds.

“Friends felt like family,” describes Stewart. “People sold, traded, and bought each other’s CDs, we had themed nights, and a very special warm and fuzzy connection between heads in a hip-hop era that honestly does not exist in this day and age. There was no internet, so you had to be there to hear what people said and did every week.

“Second-hand stories were not enough; it was about being present and participating in the culture. It was really a place filled with love for hip-hop lyrics. MCs had to come with some good rhymes. People never get booed off stage for being average, but the most applause would go to the best mic rockers. In Divine Style was the perfect place for an aspiring MC to lose their stage virginity!” (As evidence, dozens of IDS performances were archived and can still be enjoyed online.)

Who else played / worked there: It’s impossible to list all of the DJs who played at Gypsy over time, but other familiar names from the venues’ earlier years include DJ Martini, Peace Harvest, James St. Bass, Fish Fry, Dave Cooper, Jason Palma, and Sam ‘EfSharp’ Fleming. Fleming promoted the Word Is Mightier weekly while also working as a cook and arts curator at the Co-op.

The kitchen and bar staff was, of course, essential to Gypsy’s function and team spirit. Chefs included Andrew Underwood, Laura White and Chris Thomas, with support from spirited kitchen staff including Kristine Catignas, Amber Husband, and Kim-Ella Hunter. Among the bar and wait staff were musicians like Miles Roberts and Steve Singh. City councillor Michelle Berardinetti once worked there, as did Jill Dickson (later co-owner of Watusi) and the late, lovely Jenna Morrison.

Even Gypsy’s team of managers—including Dave Clarke, Clay Hunter and Salvatore Natale—was a cast of characters.

Salvatore Natale in the Gypsy Co-op office. Photo courtesy of Mike Borg.

“Staff was one of our biggest assets,” emphasizes Joseph Borg. “They needed to have a smooth personality, be a little unusual, and accepting of all people. They had to be able to deliver a professional experience to our guests, without looking the part.”

Bartender Andrew Dmytrasz refers to the waiter named Ron to illustrate this point.

“One night, when the dining room was packed, he puts a tray with a single pint of beer on his head, and walks ever so slowly and carefully to deliver it. The entire dining room stopped eating, watched him and erupted into applause. That was the kind of fun that Gypsy was all about. It wasn’t just, ‘Give me my drinks and food, and we’re out of here.’ To this day, it’s my favourite place to have worked.” (Dmytrasz would later open Mississauga resto-lounge The Enfield Fox with Sal Natale and Joseph Borg, and now works for Epic Cruises.)

“I think Gypsy was truly a ‘co-op’ of artists and creators who could showcase themselves and share talents in one space,” states Szalay. “There was always so much going on, and it changed all the time.” (Szalay is now mother to a young daughter, and has developed a line of body care products called Olive Tree Organics.)

Perhaps the biggest change of all at Gypsy Co-op came in 2003, when a new chapter began.

“Mike had gone to start his new life in British Columbia, so the last while was not the same,” explains Joseph Borg. “Part of the soul of Gypsy had left.”

In spring of 2003, Gypsy Co-op was sold to 27-year-old entrepreneur and event promoter Ismael ‘Izzy’ Shqueir, along with friend Devin Thomas and other partners.

Dolores and Shingo Shimizu with Gani Shqueir (right). Photo courtesy of Izzy Shqueir.

Shqueir is familiar to many as the co-founder of milk. events, which launched in 1996 as a small party in Kensington Market, and grew to become one of the biggest and most distinctive party brands in town. Izzy, along with brother Gani Shqueir and DJ partner Felix Bianchini, had produced big shows in venues like Roxy Blu, Turbo, and The Warehouse. They also presented artists including Perry Farrell, Dimitri From Paris, and Jazzanova at the Borgs’ Fez Batik. As a result, Shqueir was brought in to program and market events at Gypsy, and was then a natural candidate to lead the venue’s next chapter.

“The feeling was that Izzy had brought much to the Gypsy, and would be able to provide a new heart and soul to allow it to grow into a new decade,” says Joseph Borg.

“The brilliant thing that separated Gypsy Co-op from other establishments was its warm, welcoming and laid-back style,” reflects Shqueir. “Gypsy never set out to be a slick bar or fancy restaurant—not when it started or after I took over.”

Shqueir worked to maintain Gypsy’s formula, food quality, and aesthetic while providing much-needed upgrades to the kitchen, washrooms, and sound system.

“We were careful to try and preserve the old magic as much as possible,” he states. “I think my contribution tied Gypsy back into the changing trends—musically and food-wise. With music as my forte, we brought through an array of talent, ranging from locals like Fritz Helder & The Phantoms to iconic producers like Prince Paul.”

Izzy describes the music programming as “a little more street level,” as he, Gani, and Felix maintained an eclectic mix, with added emphasis on hip-hop, house, and electronics.

DJs John Kong (left) and Dirty Dale at Gypsy. Photo courtesy of Izzy Shqueir.

The Hot Stepper crew produced occasional events, as did techno-loving brothers Zeeshan and Osman, then owners of nearby clothing shop, Reset. Mira Aroyo of Ladytron came in for a DJ set, bands including God Made Me Funky performed, and Sunday nights were revamped to feature belly dancers and live traditional Arabic music.

Hip-hop heads had a lot to enjoy. Not only did In Divine Style continue on Thursdays, but DJs Numeric, Dalia, and More or Les presented their classic hip-hop monthly Never Forgive Action on Fridays for well over a year, while the New Kicks night brought beats and breakdancers to Wednesdays for three years.

Initially held down by DJs Fathom and 2-Swift Household, New Kicks was hosted by beloved b-boy Benzo, of Bag of Trix. Eventually, DJ Serious joined Fathom in blending funk, breaks and hip-hop on three turntables and two mixers.

“New Kicks became the central night for local breakers and our neighbours,” says Shqueir. “Fathom and Serious are such versatile guys, and rocked the lounge all night long.”

At the New Kicks weekly. Photo by Zach Slootsky.

What happened to it: “Given that Gypsy had been successfully operating for many years, the building and its structure were becoming severely worn,” Shqueir recalls, citing major electrical and plumbing issues among other pressing needs.

“After it became clear that further renos were needed to keep the business competitive, things became tough. Trends jumped our strip of Queen West and ignited around The Drake. Negotiations with the landlord to secure a solid, win-win, long-term deal weren’t successful. At that point, we cut our losses. We had enough to pay our staff and small suppliers, so we folded and left.”

Gypsy Co-op’s doors were locked on December 28, 2006. Shqueir feels that its influence lives on.

“Other venues since have carried on the supper-club concept,” he begins. “They have been larger, they have been louder, and they been successful, but they haven’t captured the magic [of] Gypsy Co-op. The mélange of people from different creative scenes and age groups is not something I’ve seen naturally occur since.

“Venues like The Drake, Ultra, and Brant House all followed the same format successfully, within their own niches, but none have done it with the old-school method of two turntables and a promoter. Gypsy launched with a certain momentum, reputation, and street credibility. It’s the perfect sweet spot every business owner hopes to achieve.”

Post-Gypsy, Shqueir pursued his “childhood dream of driving trains,” and has trained with Bombardier for the past five years, working towards a locomotive engineer certificate. He is also a licensed mortgage agent. Gani and Felix continue to produce events under the milk. banner.

Mike Borg lives in Kelowna, B.C., where he owns and operates 250-seat restaurant and lounge, Cabana Grille. He’s also a partner, with Joseph Borg and others, in Pegasus Hospitality Group, which operates venues including Palais Royale, Casa Loma, and The Grand Luxe.

817 Queen West is now home to The Dog’s Bollocks sports pub.

Thank you to participants Addi ‘Mindbender’ Stewart, Andrew Dmytrasz, Andrew Puusa, Billy X, Gio Cristiano, Izzy Shqueir, James Moore, Joseph Borg, Lee Castle, Mike Borg, Theresa Szalay, and Vania, as well as to David ‘Fathom’ Mussio, Noel Dix, Sam ‘EfSharp’ Fleming, Thomas Quinlan.

The post Then & Now: Gypsy Co-op appeared first on Then and Now: Toronto Nightlife History.

Article originally published by The Grid online (The GridTO.com) on May 24, 2012.

In the early ‘90s, alternative rock was exploding overground, with the rave scene coming up right behind it. This beloved Adelaide Street club bridged these two movements together in a legitimate, licensed space.

BY: DENISE BENSON

Club: Catch 22 Niteclub, 379 Adelaide W.

Years in operation: 1989-1997

History: While a five-year-lifespan tends to be a decent run for nightclubs in this city, some strike a nerve and manage to go it longer, thanks to an ever-evolving community of supporters. Catch 22 was such a venue.

Located on Adelaide near the corner of Spadina, Catch was slightly off the beaten path as it lay on the edges of the then-developing club district and was a few minutes’ walk south from Queen West. It was opened in November of 1989 by a group of friends—with Pat Violo, Lex van Erem, and Gio Cristiano at the core—in a former storage space on the building’s lowest level.

Photo courtesy of Andy Gfy.

“Lex van Erem had the space and wanted to build a restaurant, but I convinced him it wasn’t a good idea because of its location,” recalls Violo, who had been a manager at RPM nightclub. “I told him it best suited a nightclub. He liked the idea and asked me to be his partner.

“The original idea was to open a club that played only alternative music, and looked very underground. We wanted the music to be the focal point, and it was inspired by CFNY’s format.”

“We wanted to do something that Toronto was missing at that time,” adds Cristiano, a.k.a. DJ Gio. “Klub Domino was gone, Nuts & Bolts was gone, The Silver Crown was gone, so there wasn’t any more really cool alternative places. Thus, Catch 22 was born. We had our own style, and went from punk to techno, from rock to ska.”

Artist and star Catch bartender Suzette Cooper. Photo courtesy of Andy Gfy.

Inspired by the open approach of revered alt club Nuts & Bolts, which had closed just the year before, Catch 22 had a similarly industrial feel. Customers entered through a steel door—having first passed by a painted mural of the Silver Surfer and a street-level caged window sometimes occupied by go-go dancers—and walked down into a mid-sized, L-shaped room. The long, concrete bar boasted a mosaic glass counter created by artist and star Catch bartender Suzette Cooper while the club itself was adorned in sheet-metal designs. This was the epitome of 1990s alternative chic, made more comfortable by seating areas, a pool table, and Catch 22’s notoriously friendly staff.

Front area of Catch 22. Photo courtesy of Andy Gfy.

The club’s raised DJ booth and shiny, slippery stainless steel dancefloor—which, contrary to rumour, did not come from Nuts & Bolts—were focal points and its sound was crisp.

“The sound kicked ass and was specially designed for the place,” emphasizes Cristiano. “The lighting was crazy as well. I remember we had this robotic piece right in the middle of the dancefloor that would go up and down, and move side to side. It looked like the planet Saturn.”

Catch 22 dancefloor. Photo courtesy of Andy Gfy.

 Why it was important: A decidedly underground dance club, Catch 22 was both influential and welcoming. A progressive approach to music programming lay at its core and, as a result, the crowds who came out were open-minded.

“Catch was full of people who were into alternative music—not goths, not rockers, but people who lay somewhere in the middle,” says Andy Gfy, an early Catch 22 customer who became one of its key staff, serving as doorman, bartender or Mr. Fixit as required. “The people who came to Catch came to dance. The crowd was no attitude; I never heard anyone making fun or teasing. Catch 22, to me, was a bunch of black sheep herded together.”

Andy Gfy (left) with Rob the lighting guy. Photo courtesy of Gfy.

Early on, the club’s programming included a punk Wednesday hosted and DJed by CIUT’s Mopa Dean, also the lead singer of the band Armed and Hammered, who frequently performed. The night later gave way to a long-running alt and industrial night DJed by Rono Box and hosted by Andy Gfy.

DJ Gio held down Fridays and Saturdays for some time. A popular and diverse DJ who also came to be known for his nights at The Phoenix and Klub Max, Cristiano had his ear to the ground. He and DJ Hanna epitomized the Catch approach with their Hell’s Kitchen Fridays.

“Musically, we covered a lot of ground, from psychedelic stuff to big beat, techno, jungle, grunge, alternative—anything and everything that was not getting played on the radio except for some stuff being played on 102.1 [a.k.a. CFNY],” says Cristiano.

Full disclosure: I took over Fridays from Cristiano and crew in October of 1993, when I launched and DJed the mixed queer alt night BENT, which ran for almost two years. I appreciate the men of Catch 22 to this day for their support of my programming ideas, which ranged from live bands to cabarets, leather parties to film-fest gatherings, queer community fundraisers and loads more.

The fashions at Catch 22 were varied. Photo courtesy of Andy Gfy.

But the DJ who is most strongly associated with Catch 22’s early years and success is one Craig Beesack, a gifted club jock who would also become a beloved CFNY host. Beesack started off as the Thursday-night resident, working with infamous promoter Billy X, and was moved to Saturday nights in 1990. Cristiano had caught word that Beesack would soon host the program Warming Up the House on CFNY early Saturday eves—directly before Chris Sheppard’s infamous Club 102 live-to-air—and so the DJ would run from radio station to nightclub. He brought a sizable audience with him.

“That’s when the magic really started,” says Cristiano. “We got so slammed on Saturday nights. Mr. Beesack and his crew really made that place the best alternative the city had seen in a long time. I have so much respect for the guy. Craig played stuff from 1000 Homo DJs to Metallica, Testone to Bodycount, Stereo MCs and Nine Inch Nails. Everything was perfectly formatted and beat-mixed, if you can believe that.”

“Beesack was the man!” agrees Don Berns, who was then CFNY’s Program Director. “Craig was a totally unique DJ who combined industrial and heavier four-on-the-floor techno into a seamless mix that gave his night at Catch a unique flavor, and also made it very different from his weekly alt-rock night at The Cotton Club in Markham. His knowledge of the music, selection, and skills in playing it were the reasons I hired him to create Warming Up The House.

“I’m not a club person and have never enjoyed hanging out—except at Catch,” adds Berns, now an actor who also spins occasionally under his rave name of Dr. Trance. “Something about the underground vibe and the people there resonated with me. Catch 22 was the only club that had the vibe of a couple of underground NYC clubs I’d been to in the ’70s: dark, loud, cool people, cooler music.

“My friend Martin and I got into a pretty regular routine in 1990-91: spend Saturday night at Catch and then go to 23 Hop to continue the party with the Exodus boys. Once the raves got into high gear and we both joined the Nitrous crew, we eventually drifted away from that routine. But for nine months or so, Catch was an integral part of my social life. I would always discover interesting new music when Beesack was on the decks.” (Unfortunately, no one I interviewed for this story had a current contact for Craig Beesack and, as such, he could not be reached for comment.)

There was, in fact, a very pronounced overlap between some early 1990s alternative clubs in Toronto and the roots of what would become our massive rave scene. Catch 22 played an integral role, not only with the music its DJs played, but also by hosting electronic-music events that ran Saturday afterhours through to Sunday night.

Iain McPherson a.k.a. the pioneering DJ Iain who held residencies at clubs like Nuts & Bolts, OZ, and Limelight, and was a founder of the original Nitrous rave crew—initially came to Catch as a Saturday late-night rave DJ. He became the main Saturday club resident for most of 1993, playing a mix of alt, industrial, and new electronic dance music alongside friend and innovative DJ James Kekanovich.

“I think it was only natural that the early edgy production styles of rave music would find a sympathetic ear in the more open-minded audiences of alternative music,” says McPherson. “Despite its up-tempo disco underpinnings, the soundscapes of early rave screamed ‘Pay attention to me! I’m new, adventurous and often aggressive!’ How perfect for alternative crowds.”

Chris Twomey (left) with UK junglists DJ Kenny Ken and MC Fearless. Photo courtesy of Mary Ireton and Joan Tulloch.

Not only did Catch 22 help introduce club-goers to new forms of electronic dance music—especially breaks, drum ‘n’ bass and techno—it also provided a licensed, stable space for raves when the scene was in its infancy.

Mary Ireton and Joan Tulloch were both familiar faces at Catch. Ireton had worked at Cotton Club with Craig Beesack and followed him downtown to work as a Catch 22 bartender. Tulloch, a fan of industrial music, was a Catch customer from its first week.

They were the force behind a number of Saturday afterhours at Catch “on weekends when there were no raves,” Ireton and Tulloch tell me collectively by email. “There was only a rave every six weeks back then. No club or bar was playing rave music, and they were not willing to give up a weekend night, since they thought there would be no drinkers.”

Mary Ireton and Joan Tulloch. Photo courtesy of them.

DJ Mark Oliver (left) and friend at Majic Mondays. Photo courtesy of Andy Gfy.

The two were given Mondays at Catch 22. Majic Mondays were truly that, from the time they opened in September 1993 until the club’s closing in 1997. DJs Mark Oliver and Dr. No were the first to spin, but the line-up was different each week. Diverse local rave and EDM bricklayers like John E, Algorithm, James St. Bass, Tim Patrick, Mystical, Medicine Muffin, Terry Kelly, and Czech played alongside international guests who’d stayed in town after a weekend gig, including Mike Huckaby, Kenny Ken, Ellis Dee, L Double, and John ‘00’ Fleming.

“Majic Mondays was a gathering of music lovers of vast tastes and a wide range of ages,” share Ireton and Tulloch. “There was a community of people—all open to these new styles of electronic music. We were unique in that we didn’t just play one sound and Catch 22 was a unique venue for this music as it actually had a bathroom and running water—much more civilized than the warehouses that were being used for some of the raves!”

A collage of Majic Mondays flyers. Photo courtesy of Mary Ireton and Joan Tulloch.

DJs who appeared at Majic Mondays. Photo courtesy of Mary Ireton and Joan Tulloch.

Who else played/worked there: Catch 22 was home to a few generations of local alt DJs who would go on to break new music and set the pace wherever they played.

“The DJs that came through Catch were some of the most influential in Toronto’s alternative scene,” agrees Mike Mckinlay a.k.a. DJ Michael X, who played a mix of industrial, goth, new wave, new rock, and Britpop at his X-Isle Thursdays and Rip Rig and Panic Saturdays.

“Craig Beesak, DJ Iain, Rono Box, DJ Jürgen, Die J Mars—all of these guys were changing the music scene and upshot the levels of what was happening in the clubs. Catch was one step for them in their evolutions. The club kept their customers happy by always looking for something new or different.”

Die J Mars in the DJ booth. Photo courtesy of Andy Gfy.

DJ Jeff Caldwell

DJ Jürgen held down Industrial Strength Thursdays with the late Martin Streek, and then on his own, after Mckinlay’s X-Isle concluded. Mars—a Catch Friday resident after me—moved to New York and developed an impressive career as DJ, producer, remixer, and fashionista. Jeff Caldwell a.k.a. Jeff C was a much-loved Saturday resident later in Catch 22’s history, while many other top alt locals, including Shawn Macdonald, DJ Shannon, DJ Dwight, and Paul Dhingra all made good use of the Catch booth.

Martin Streek (left) and friends at Catch 22. Photo courtesy of Andy Gfy.

“You see, everybody wanted to be a part of that place,” states Gio Cristiano. “We had no problem finding talent. Everybody did it for the music and to give back to the scene. To this day, I really respect everything that everybody did at Catch; everybody was so different, but so, so good.”

“I remember walking in to Catch and finding guys like Marilyn Manson, Trent Reznor, and Pop Will Eat Itself in there,” he adds. “Also, many members of Cirque de Soleil when they did their first show in T.O. They hung out because they loved our bar and staff, especially Suzette. She was the best bartender in the city at that time.”

“Catch 22’s bar and door staff were legendary and wonderful,” adds McPherson. “The place had a lovely, comfortable, community vibe to it.”

Paul, a.k.a. Rave Master. Photo courtesy of Andy Gfy.

Like many I spoke with, McPherson’s former DJ partner James Kekanovich makes special mention of Catch 22’s venerable doorman Paul a.k.a. Rave Master.

“Paul was the first touch point when entering the club, and his understanding of the scene being created there was an essential component to the experience. He was a familiar face and really knew the crowd.”

Staff would have to contend with only one big recurring problem.

“The dancefloor would go out of control when Ministry came on,” recalls Andy Gfy. “People just flew everywhere. Pat used to freak out about all the broken glass; the floor was covered in it. Eventually, it was decided that we couldn’t play Ministry or Rage Against the Machine between 12:30 and 1 a.m. [then last call in bars].”

Flyer for the final event, courtesy of Christy Washer.

What happened to it: In 1997, Catch 22’s owners found that the building’s landlord would not renew the lease. The club closed with a bash on May 31. 379 Adelaide West was soon renovated into the office building that exists today.

379 Adelaide St. W., as it appears today.

Pat Violo, in association with Liberty Group, opened infamous live-music bar and alternative dance club Velvet Underground at 510 Queen St. W. Many Catch 22 alumni can be found there, including Andy Gfy on bar and Paul a.k.a. Rave Master at the door.

There was a Catch 22 reunion party held last year, with DJs Mars, Jürgen and Jeff C, with talk of future events. A related Facebook group keeps the Catch community connected.

Thank-you to all those interviewed, as well as to Christy Washer and Tim Barraball for their contributions.

The post Then & Now: Catch 22 appeared first on Then and Now: Toronto Nightlife History.

Article originally published April 26, 2012 by The Grid online (TheGridTO.com).

As Clubland boomed at the turn of the millennium, this beloved Queen West space provided a big-room experience in an intimate, underground atmosphere—but it ultimately became a victim of its own success.

BY: DENISE BENSON

Club: Element Bar, 553 Queen W.

Years in operation: 1999-2004

History: In the late 1990s, Toronto’s rave and house music scenes were booming. Raves attracted audiences of multiple thousands while even licensed clubs catering to underground tastes tended to hold at least 800. The Entertainment District was littered with venues—most of them commercial and unadventurous—while the College and Ossington strips had not yet developed into hotspots for small to mid-sized venues.

In this environment, a group of friends rented a decidedly intimate space on Queen, between Spadina and Bathurst, that had been home to popular pool hall Behind the Eight Ball and, briefly, 24/7 Billiards. The address was also known for after-hours parties on its top floor, dubbed Zodiac.

Tony Mutch, Marcus Boekelman, and their silent partner Patrik Xuereb all met in high school. By their late 20s, Boekelman and Mutch had both produced parties, with Boekelman having experienced Ibiza and London and promoted events in Toronto featuring electronic dance-music stars like Paul Oakenfold.

“Tony and I would fly to N.Y.C. for the weekend just to see Danny Tenaglia spin at The Tunnel or Sasha and Digweed at Twilo,” Boekelman recalls. “It all seemed so new and fresh, with techno and house gaining in popularity. This was a very exciting time, and you really felt like something culturally important was going on that belonged to our generation.”

This all set the stage for what would become Element Bar. The goals were simple.

“We were inspired by the energy of Toronto’s rave scene and by Industry nightclub, and wanted to bring select local DJs and monthly international guests to an environment that was intimate and underground,” explains Mutch.

“We wanted to create a place where you could hear the music we loved in a more comfortable, warm environment, and legally get a drink,” says Boekelman. “I remember going to Montreal a lot at the time, and there were a few bars that perfected this model: a great night out without taking it over the top, where you could hang with your friends and dance. The bigger parties were fun, but some nights you didn’t feel like the crowds, the lineups, uncertainties, and sketchiness.

“The Element space became available, and we saw an opportunity to create a little bar-club with big-room sound.”

Element opened on December 11, 1999 and immediately drew dancers to a stretch of Queen West not generally known for house music.

Opening night at Element Bar. Crowd (above), DJ Andy Roberts (below). Photos courtesy of Tony Mutch.

Why it was important: With a total legal capacity of roughly 300 people, Element was an unpretentious and versatile two-floor venue. The bar’s intimacy would be both a key attraction and, ultimately, its downfall. Other musically related Toronto clubs of the time—from Roxy Blu to System Soundbar were thriving. Element served as a good warm-up (or comedown) spot while also a great all-night hangout for seasoned clubbers and diverse bar-hoppers alike. It also filled a niche when Industry closed just eight months after Element opened.

“The idea was not to replace Industry, but to recreate a similar vibe in a more intimate space,” recalls AnnMarie McCullough a.k.a. DJ Amtrak, a fellow high-school friend of Element’s three owners who also was one of the club’s core weekend residents throughout its history.

“I feel like Element was exactly what was needed at that time, and I remember being so grateful that it happened right when it did. Having come through the rave scene, I was glad to be among a slightly older, more mature crowd that still wanted to dance, but was there for the music.”

Opening night at Element Bar. Bartender Alison Stevens (above), DJ Sneak (below). Photos courtesy of Tony Mutch.

Painted baby blue and orange, Element had a retro-modern feel, with a circuit-board mural running the entire wall length upstairs where globe lights hung and a vintage record player greeted passersby in the window. The upstairs was spacious and chill while downstairs was dark, sweaty and pounding, thanks to a sizable system designed by Apex Sound.

“Element had two distinct personalities,” says Mutch. “The music on the main floor was usually loungey vocal house. The downstairs was another world altogether—an alter ego. It was always very dark, very loud, hot, and smoky. The music was aggressive hard house or tech house. It was full sensory overload. The wood walls and floors and low ceiling resonated like you were standing inside a speaker cabinet. Anyone would feel comfortable on the main floor, but only seasoned partiers would understand the downstairs.”

“We spent most of our budget on the sound, not the décor, because that’s what we cared about most,” adds Boekelman. “One of the things that set us apart then was our DJ-booth placement. We put the DJ right on the dancefloor, not hidden away in some other tiny room or up on a pedestal like in many other clubs. The DJ was ‘the show,’ and you could literally reach out and touch them or make eye contact and say, ‘Hi, nice mix.’

“It was amazing to see some of these DJs so up close, working at their craft, especially then when vinyl was still the best choice. Dance-music people love to watch a DJ expertly handle a mix; it’s an art form, and if they get it right you show your appreciation. I think we were a popular place to play among DJs themselves because of this interaction with the crowd.”

Element may have been small, but many big-name international talents went out of their way to play there. Booking agents would place touring DJs at Element on a Friday, and they’d play for more cash elsewhere on a Saturday. Some chose to make surprise late-night appearances for fun, after earlier sets elsewhere.

“The international talent was amazing,” says McCullough, who also had a hand in bookings. “Everyone played at Element, with surprise sets from Sasha [of Sasha and Digweed], Nick Warren, and Sneak all in the first year.”

DJ Ludikris at Element. Photo courtesy of Tony Mutch.

That said, at its core, Element was a showcase of Toronto house and techno talent. Open Wednesdays through Saturdays, with special events on Sundays, the bar featured key local residents including Andy Roberts, Kenny Glasgow, Ludikris, Gryphon, Nick Holder, Evil P, Peter and Tyrone, Angel and Cullen, and DJ Krista. I also played monthly in Element’s later years.

“Given that Toronto had an abundance of talent, it was a natural fit to promote it,” says Mutch. “We were very selective, and tried to be true to our house and tech-house format.”

Communicate flyer, courtesy of Wayne Mealing.

Among the most popular of Element’s residencies were Communicate Fridays, which ran from September 2001 until just before the club’s closing. Produced by brothers Steve and Wayne Mealing a.k.a. DJs Stretch & Hooker—then co-owners of massive rave production company LifeForce—Communicate also featured co-residents Myka and Tim Patrick.

“We were known to play it loud,” says Wayne Mealing a.k.a. Hooker. “I remember nights in the winter when the upstairs would get packed, and the front window would be a sweaty, foggy mess. We’d get carried away, blast big party tracks, and end up having a mini-rave on the first floor. It was great to be upstairs or down.”

“Communicate was a locals-driven night so we didn’t have many guests,” Mealing recalls. “However, we did have Donald Glaude play on our third week, and it was off the hook. The party was amazing on both floors.”

“That was one of the most memorable nights for me,” says Boekelman. “Donald was just killing it, and the place was rammed. People were going nuts that night, with their hands in the air. It was so hot and sweaty, it felt like it was raining in the room. I saw one girl dancing and crying and screaming and laughing all at the same time. That night was magic.”

Most of all, Communicate was a chance to hear Toronto DJs who would normally be found playing at much larger venues—like Turbo, System Soundbar and raves galore—stretch out their sounds. Mealing explains why he thinks the bar’s format worked.

“Element was special because it offered something that Toronto was short on: it was intimate, affordable, a great place to meet people as a starting point of a night, and it also usually ran to 4 a.m. Element was very welcoming—stress- and attitude-free.”

“Element was around during one of the city’s golden eras for house, and there was a lot happening in Toronto for this kind of music,” adds Dino Demopoulos, who played vocal and deep house alongside brother Terry during an earlier Friday residency. “What Element got right was a tight focus on keeping things pure, without too many frills. It was a fun little club that didn’t take itself too seriously.

“People often tell me stories about being first exposed to house music at Element,” continues Demopoulos. “Since it was a bar—at least our upstairs floor was—it was a more accessible context to get exposed to this music than a lot of other clubs in the city. Yet, despite its more mainstream appeal, we kept it very deep and pure there. That was cool; since we didn’t have to dumb it down, the energy was consistently so high.”

Element was open to all, with none of the dress code or restrictive door policies that many other dance music clubs of the time put in place to signal “maturity.”

“It wasn’t a beauty contest with a velvet rope and red carpet at the front door,” Boekelman states. “A good vibe in a club has very little to do with how people look; it’s attitude that makes the difference. There was a very diverse mix of people coming together at Element. Everyone was there for the music. My girlfriend’s dad came by for a visit one night, and spent the entire evening on the dancefloor.”

Tony Mutch, DJ Amtrak and Marcus Boekelman.
Photo courtesy of AnnMarie McCullough a.k.a. DJ Amtrak.

Who else played/worked there: Element Bar had a friendly, inviting vibe that extended beyond its size. Security was minimal, physical fights didn’t seem to happen, and the bar’s staff was instrumental to its appeal.

“Most of the staff was there for the four full years of Element,” says Mutch. “They were loyal, and gave Element a big part of its personality.”

“I remember that it was joining a family rather than just a job,” says Julian Reyes, who worked as both head bartender and manager during Element’s run. “The core group of people was there because of already established relationships, and if you were to be hired, you needed to have a genuine interest in house music. I truly believe that we welcomed people into the scene with open arms, and that energy was definitely infectious.

Other bartenders, including Alyssa Daniels, Grace Van Berkum, “Disco” Dave Fraser, Marty Smits, and Francesca Zielinski also doubled as hosts.

“I remember Element as having a real family vibe to it,” confirms Zielinski. “All the regulars and staff were connected on a personal level, and really loved the music. It wasn’t about being seen or what people were wearing; it was truly about the music.”

On that note, many other prominent T.O. DJs held it down on one, or both, of Element’s floors. On the tech tip, Fukhouse produced parties featuring DJs like Ian Guthrie, Eric Downer, and The Dukes while 2012 JUNO nominee Arthur Oskan played a live P.A. at Element in 2003.

Mark Scaife and Matt Coleridge—then infamous for their Breathe night at System—played regularly, as did established house DJ/producer Jason Hodges, and other local house talents like Mike Gleeson and Mat Lunnen. The Activate crew bumped breaks on Wednesdays during Element’s final year, with DJs including Evan G, Red Turtle, and Dave Saddler.

A little known fact is that Element was also a hip-hop haven on select nights, with DJ Fase having held down Touch Thursdays and then Sundays with co-resident DJ Hangman. In 2002, Fase and DJ Grouch even hosted Toronto’s first underground hip-hop live-to-air, with Lifted Wednedays broadcast as part of CIUT’s Project Bounce program. (Hear a Lifted set here.)

As for international guests, the extensive and impressive list also includes DJ Dan, Doc Martin, DJ Heather, Hector Romero, Josh Wink, Steve Lawler, Ellen Allien, Marco Carola, Steve Bug, Speedy J, and Detroit techno godfather Derrick May, who headlined on the August long weekend of 2001.

“After we made the booking, we were concerned about turnout because the event was on a Sunday,” recalls Mutch. “So we promoted it as free before 11 p.m.. because, ordinarily, we never had a huge turnout before then.

“On that night, the bar was packed by 11 p.m., with no door cover collected. To cover costs, we had to let more people in, but by midnight we were way over capacity, with a massive line out front. That was a red flag to the AGCO [Alcohol and Gaming Commission of Ontario] inspectors who regularly cruised down Queen Street, so they paid us a visit. That over-capacity ticket issued resulted in a 30-day license suspension. Trying to manage capacity was by far the most stressful aspect of the bar business as the penalties were so severe.”

Promoter Gavin ‘Gerbz’ Bryan (co-owner of Industry) on left, hanging at Element. Photo courtesy of Wayne Mealing.

What happened to it: That Derrick May gig was a sign of things to come.

“For me, the club simply outgrew itself,” says Boekelman, who sold his shares in November 2001, leaving Mutch as sole owner. “The brand was bigger than the space. We had constant problems with over-capacity. Many nights, more people would be turned away than actually got in, which wasn’t great for business. Looking back now, we would have done well to relocate to a larger space under the same name.”

By 2003, Element’s crowds became less consistent but the visits by AGCO became more constant. At the end of April 2004, Element’s liquor license was revoked and the bar was forced to close suddenly.

“Element closed because the AGCO would not renew the liquor license,” says Mutch. “The landlord sold the building at the same time, and the space became a clothing store.”

Though neither is now involved in nightlife ventures, Boekelman and Mutch did open resto/lounge Habitat at 735 Queen St. W. in 2002. Many of Element’s resident DJs, including Amtrak, went on to spin there.

“I think most people look back fondly on their time at Element, whether they worked or partied there,” summarizes McCullough, now based in Vancouver. “It was a great club, and I think it left its mark on Toronto’s club scene. Places like Footwork definitely emulate what Element created.”

553 Queen West is currently home to businesses including clothing store Brava on the ground floor and fitness centre Core Studio on the third.

553 Queen West in 2012

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

Article originally published February 1, 2012 by The Grid online (TheGridTO.com).

In this instalment of her ongoing nightlife-history series, Denise Benson looks back at the notoriously decadent late-’80s dance club that brought metalheads and rap fans together, installed a hot tub and cages on the dancefloor, and effectively brought the “queer” to Queen West.

BY: DENISE BENSON

Club: Boom Boom Room, 650 ½ Queen St. W.

Years in operation: 1988-1993

History: One cannot discuss this city’s nightlife history at any length without mention of the brothers Ballinger: Lon, Stephen, Douglas and Peter. The self-described “Rock ‘n’ Roll Farmers” from Dundalk, Ontario ruled the roost in mid-to-late-1980s Toronto. In 1986, they converted the former Holiday Tavern at Queen and Bathurst into The Big Bop, a multi-floor rock and dance club that packed in the student crowd. Its success paved the way for future Ballinger club endeavours, including Go-Go, Rockit and, at the northeast corner of Queen and Palmerston, Boom Boom Room.

Previously, 650 ½ Queen West was home, at street level, to live blues venue The Pine Tree Tavern, with a hotel above. In 1988, the Ballingers bought and renovated the building, turning the upstairs into Hotel Heartbreak—a hotel-cum-rooming house announced by a big, bold neon sign—and the downstairs into a “Rock ‘n’ Roll Danceteria” that was far more intimate and edgy than their other club efforts.

Saturday night resident DJ Mr Pete (left) with Vince and Trish. Photo courtesy of Kim Ackroyd.

Boom Boom Room was well suited to its surroundings. In the late 1980s, Queen west of Bathurst was still the great unknown—wild and peppered with unique possibilities thanks to then-affordable rent. With the newly opened, artist-owned Mexican restaurant La Hacienda a couple of doors down (and the Bovine Sex Club not yet in existence), Boom Boom Room became Queen West’s new meeting place for punks, metalheads, fashionistas and assorted nocturnal creatures of all genders and orientations.

The Ballingers chose a rugged and raw aesthetic, with metal and exposed concrete at the core of their 350-capacity space. The entrance, made of prison-cell bars, led to a catwalk lined by highway guardrails. From there, one could play voyeur and watch people dance on the floor below or—after it was added a year later—in the showpiece metal “go-go cage” found directly across. The infamous raised DJ booth was hell to access—up a tall, vertical metal ladder—but provided incredible sightlines once records were lugged up.

DJ James ‘St. Bass’ Vandervoort. Photo courtesy of him.

“The space was unlike anything I had seen before: all concrete and metal and sparse, but with a killer sound system,” recalls James Vandervoort, who originally worked lights, and later earned his DJ stripes and alias of James St. Bass at the venue.

Vandervoort also recalls the “the family vibe” of the Boom as managers, DJs and other staff who worked in Ballinger-owned venues hopped between clubs as needed. Many of them also lived upstairs in Hotel Heartbreak.

“It was chaos some nights,” Vandervoort exclaims. “With the Big Bop, Boom Boom and Go-Go all built and opened over a few years, all of the staff was tried out in all the club combinations.”

Boom staff and friends hang after hours. Photo courtesy of Sofie Weber.

Why it was important: Boom Boom Room brought a diverse clientele further west along Queen, largely thanks to its staff and quality music programming. The two original resident DJs—Vania and Richard Vermeulen—were key. Vania and host KC were the forces behind hugely popular Wednesday weekly Sgt. Rocks, arguably the first club night in Toronto to mix metal with alt-rock and hip-hop.

“I was always at Sgt. Rocks because it was a great party, filled with biker-style dudes and hot rock ‘n’ roll girls,” says Vandervoort. “This was at the best time for ’80s hair rock—think Guns N’ Roses, Faster Pussycat, Jane’s Addiction and The Cult circa Sonic Temple—but Vania mixed it up and played Public Enemy and other hip-hop to the rock crowd, too. They loved it!”

Sgt. Rocks flyer courtesy of James Vandervoort

Boom Boom Room promo courtesy of Tim Barraball

For much of the Boom’s first year, DJ Richard Vermeulen worked its booth Thursday through Saturday. He had developed a strong following while resident on Tuesdays at early Richmond Street hotspot Stilife, and had a wicked way of blending rock, funk, disco, acid house and more.

Vandervoort became St. Bass—and inadvertently helped lay the foundations for “Queer West” beyond Bathurst—in 1989, charged with the task of drawing a larger audience on Thursdays. A queer rocker boy with a big love for Toronto’s after-hours house scene and clubs (including Twilight Zone and Tazmanian Ballroom), Vandervoort began playing a blend of house, disco and exclusive British 12-inches, sent to him by friends who had moved to London. Not surprisingly, the night packed up with a fashion-conscious crowd, including a lot of gay men. Re-branded Boys Night Out, Thursdays became a Boom signature night.

“Guys were coming down to Queen and Palmerston from Church and Wellesley. We were attracting major numbers of queers out of the established clubs in the Village, which had not happened before to my knowledge,” says Vandervoort. “I wasn’t trying to prove anything vis-a-vis Queen West versus Church Street, but Boys Nite Out did prove there was gay club life beyond the gay ghetto.

“I’d like to think it was because of the music,” says the man who went on to helm CIUT’s popular Hard Drive show. “I was packing the floor with sounds like [A Guy Called Gerald's] “Voodoo Ray,” E.S.P.’s “It’s You,” and all the Ten City records I could get. Thursdays grew quickly to become the busiest night, and I learned to mix as I went along.”

It didn’t hurt that the night also featured hosts including Stephen Wong—now half of fashion house Greta Constantine—and “untraditional boys in underwear doing their thing” as go-go dancers in the caged catwalk.

“Most famous was Noam Gonick, now a hip queer filmmaker based in Winnipeg, who dazzled with outrageous drag outfits and fetish gear, and really took the night over the top visually. The first night Stephen Wong sent him into the cage to dance, Noam cut himself to shreds on all of the sharp metal and unfinished edges. The whole space was dangerous that way; we are all scarred from the booth, stairs and that catwalk,” Vandervoort recounts.

James St. Bass soon DJed Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays, leaving to become a resident at Go-Go in 1990. So began phase two of Boom Boom Room, marked most obviously by the sale of the club business to Steve McMinn, a manager at both the Boom and Go-Go, and his then-girlfriend Kim Ackroyd.

Kim Ackroyd (far left) with Tim, Manny, and Scott circa 1991. Photo courtesy of her.

“Our first six months consisted of throwing lots of parties, fashion shows, cirque, music performances, piercing-and-tattoo demonstrations—basically exploring what worked in the space and what didn’t,” Ackroyd recalls.

“We found that the neighbourhood itself was very diverse and therefore it made sense that the club should be. Within a year, we had five strong and very different nights, with hard rock on Wednesdays, a boys night on Thursdays, Dyke Nite on Fridays, a more suburban rock night Saturdays and industrial on Sundays.”

Denise Benson circa 1991.

Full disclosure: I was the DJ and promoter of Dyke Nite, which ran from 1991 to 1993. It remains a highlight of my DJ career, both because the Boom was where I really began to blend rock, reggae, rave, hip-hop and house, and because early ’90s dyke-and-queer culture was expressive-to-the-point-of-explosive. With full Boom Boom Room support, we featured early evening experimental film screenings, readings by the likes of Sarah Schulman and Alec Butler, community fundraisers, concerts by Ani DiFranco, hot-tub parties and more. The club’s catwalk and cubbyholes were put to good use, with the night’s vibe captured in Excess Is What We Came For, a short film made by Kathleen Pirrie Adams and Paula Gignac.

“Back then, it felt like we were just throwing some really fun cool parties, but in hindsight, there was a social revolution going on, especially on Dyke Nite,” says Ackroyd. “We were pushing all kinds of boundaries and sailing in uncharted territory. We provided space for people to express themselves, to find their voice. It was a beautiful thing.”

“Imagine Cheers with a clientele of goths, punks, freaks, rockers, gays, lesbians, preps and glam all rolled into one room,” summarizes Michael X Mckinlay, resident DJ and mastermind of the wildly popular Sunday Night Asylum from 1989 to 1993. “You didn’t need to go elsewhere.

“The Boom was a very unique venue, both in operations and in appearance,” says the DJ, then also known for his events at venues including Nuts & Bolts, Catch 22 and The Phoenix.

“Steel cages kept you separated from the go-go dancers but, once the dancers had left, the cages were yours. Being a narrow, two-storey club had its drawbacks, but over all, the Boom lived up to its name—boom!”

Michael X Mckinlay, on Big Dan’s shoulders. Photo courtesy of Sofie Weber.

Who else played/worked there: “One real benefit of the Boom was the diversity of its DJs,” asserts Mckinlay, himself known for mixing the likes of Prince with Rage Against the Machine, Sisters of Mercy and Apotheosis’ “O Fortuna”… before closing it all out with some John Denver.

“You had crossover-play between the DJs, but they were really unique and had different styles and followers,” says Mckinlay. “We were allowed to play what we wanted and weren’t held back by a ‘club theme’ or a prerequisite style.”

Some of the other core DJs who played during different periods included Mark Oliver, Matt C, Jason Steele, DJ Iain, Shawn MacDonald and DJ Dwight. Louie Palu, now an award-winning documentary photographer, and DJ Joe held down Sgt. Rocks together as “DJ Joe Louie” after Vania departed, while Mr. Pete rocked Saturdays for years. When Mr. Pete split, a Boom bartender named Shannon got her DJ start by taking the helm on Saturdays.

DJ Shannon at the Boom. Photo courtesy of Kim Ackroyd.

“I’ve been so influenced as a DJ by the Boom,” says DJ Shannon, now a 17-year-strong resident at the Dance Cave. “There was no holding back on the dancefloor as we played for open-minded people who loved all kinds of music. I like to think I’ve been keeping the flame alive all these years. I miss that bar so much; I’d say it was my favourite haunt back in the day.”

Boom bartender Deanna. Photo courtesy of Kim Ackroyd.

Many other creative Torontonians lent their skills to the Boom, including promoter Steve Ireson (he went on to manage at Go-Go), bartenders Julian Finkel (now owner of Model Citizen in Kensington Market) and Michael Schwarz (now an owner of Insomnia on Bloor), tattoo artist Mikey and fashion designer Deanna, a Queen Street darling now also known for her years of bar service at the Bovine.

Boom staffer Mikey. Photo courtesy of Kim Ackroyd.

Boom doorman Richard. Photo courtesy of Kim Ackroyd.

“We were lucky that our core bar staff were very talented people,” says Kim Ackroyd. “We had fashion designers, DJs, tattoo artists, musicians, and graphic designers working as bus-people, bartenders, wait staff and doormen. Our success was heightened by the dedication of the staff who contributed more than what they were hired to do.”

Most memorable moments: Deanna, who worked in various capacities from 1988 to 1993, cites the club’s hot-tub parties; setting things on fire while serving customers; the time actor Doug Bradley (a.k.a. Pinhead in Hellraiser) judged a Halloween contest; and the opening of Dyke Nite in 1991.

“The very first Dyke Night was so fucking busy we had to hire another busser on the spot,” she shares. “That night, we had more than 500 people through the door; the bussers had to walk outside and around to the front door to service the front bars. You couldn’t move in there.”

Dyke Nite ad. Courtesy of Denise Benson.

“The girls had some pent-up energy that they let loose,” deadpans Ackroyd, who also recalls visits by Madonna’s dancers and crew during the Blonde Ambition tour stops and “some things I just can’t share. Sex and drugs and rock and roll…”

“In today’s world, if asked whether I had any fun stories of the Boom Boom Room, well, it would be considered NSFW,” agrees Mike X Mckinlay. “Let’s just say that having a hot tub in the middle of your dancefloor can create an intimate experience for you and some friends. Oh yeah, pool tables are great too. So are elevated, virtually inaccessible DJ booths.”

What happened to it: Most people I spoke with say Boom Boom Room closed near the end of 1993, while a few suggest early 1994 feels more like it. The crowds had thinned by then, but long-time staffer Deanna also recalls that, mysteriously, the Ballinger brothers still held the liquor license and let it lapse. The brothers opened New York mega-club Webster Hall in 1992, and own it to this day.

Hero Burger at 650 Queen West

Later in the 1990s, Boom Boom Room became intimate rave haven Fat City—owned for a stretch by Steve Ireson and Mychol Holtzman. The venue then became the uniquely (some might say “bizarrely”) decorated Volcano Room, owned by Michael Sweenie who would later open Andy Poolhall on College Street. In 2005, it opened as a Hero Burger, with the Hotel Heartbreak sign still found above. The one time I visited the washroom there, the Boom’s original corrugated steel doors were still in place, as was the club’s lower level concrete dancefloor. Take a wander, and imagine for yourself.

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