The original Then & Now: Twilight Zone article was published October 5, 2011 and was second in the web series originally developed for The GridTO.com. As the Then & Now series expanded in reach, so too did the length of each story and number of participants who contributed to each. This expanded history of the Zone was written in March 2015, and was exclusively available in the Then & Now book until this time.

Trailblazing 1980s nightclub Twilight Zone brought diverse crowds and sounds to Toronto’s Entertainment District long before such a designation even existed. Those who were there lovingly explore its lasting legacy.

By: DENISE BENSON

Club: Twilight Zone, 185 Richmond Street W.

Years in operation: 1980 – 1989

History: Long before the Entertainment District was awash in condos, clubs, and restaurants—back when the area was still largely non-residential and known as the garment district—four brothers opened a venue that ultimately influenced the neighbourhood’s development.

Tony, Albert, David, and Michael Assoon forever altered Toronto’s dance club nightscape with their Twilight Zone, but that venue’s reach was rooted in earlier efforts. The Assoon family moved from New York to Toronto in the 1970s. During their high school years in Scarborough, the music-savvy siblings produced events in school spaces.

“That was back in the day, when Soul Train was on, and we wanted to have something that was more in our culture,” describes Tony Assoon. “We decided to have the first soul party ever in Toronto. It was funk music, a little bit of disco, and so forth. That’s how we started.”

Assoon says they produced a few successful parties, and the idea spread to other high schools before the brothers all graduated. Tony moved back to New York during the height of the disco days.

“I was a club hound,” he laughs during our lengthy conversation. “I went to all kinds of places, like the Commodore Hotel, Night Owl, The Great Gatsby, Paradise Garage, The Loft, and Milky Way.

“One of the clubs that I hung out at a lot, that really influenced me, was called Melons. It was on the top floor of a loft and was a roller skating rink in the daytime. A legendary DJ called Tee Scott played there. Later, Larry Levan and Frankie Knuckles also played.”

Assoon brought his knowledge and love of New York clubs, style, and music with him when his parents requested that he return to Toronto. He mentions checking our ’70s disco hotspots like Heavens, Checkers, and Mrs. Nights, but landing a job at the Yonge and Bloor Le Chateau clothing store, conveniently located next to a modeling agency, connected him with a different crowd.

“We all loved fashion,” says Tony. “At that time, the whole new wave look was in so we’d dress freaky.”

The Assoons began to do parties at places like The Ports, on Yonge near Summerhill, and in a building on Sherbourne.

“They were great promoters,” says friend Charmaine Gooden of the brothers. She first met them at The Ports, then spent lots of time listening to music with the Assoons and other friends, and attended their early events.

“They started renting rec rooms in apartment buildings to have parties. These were well attended by a diverse, mixed-up crowd—older, younger, money, and fashion. Part of the fun was dressing up. [People came] from Forest Hill, Regent Park, the suburbs, and Scar- borough, so it was varied.”

Through the apartment parties, the Assoons built a solid following and set out to find larger, more secluded spaces.

“We first experimented at 666 King West in September of 1979,” recalls Albert Assoon. “We had to move from there quickly because dust started pouring out of the ceiling from the vibration of the bass. We went on the prowl and eventually wound up at 185 Richmond West. We sought these locations because they were in areas where we wouldn’t get noise complaints or disturb residents.”

“It was desolate,” says Tony of the Richmond and Simcoe area where the Assoons, along with close friends Bromely Vassell and Luis Collaco, launched the Twilight Zone in January of 1980. “It was just industry and factory buildings. Everyone thought we were kind of crazy for moving there, and into a warehouse, but I was used to seeing things like that in New York, so it didn’t seem to be a big deal.”

Soon, crowds would come from far and wide to attend this magical late-night place where the mix of people was as eclectic as the music they were treated to.

David Assoon at the Zone entry. Photo by Theodora Kali.

Why it was important: Twilight Zone was an unlicensed after-hours club where the Assoons could let their imaginations run free. The 8,000-square-foot space held more than 1,000 people. It was a rectangular room with a huge wooden dance floor, juice bar, unisex washrooms, and a side lounge for chilling. Tall dark pillars lined the main space.

“You went up three flights of narrow, rickety wooden stairs to the ticket booth and then into a massive room, which was all black,” describes Gooden. “Everything was black. Period. I remember painting a woman morphing into a stiletto on the wall in the lounge area; the whole space was a kind of canvas for creatives. Those guys would let you try out your ideas.”

Twilight Zone was a hub for creative people and colliding influences. Where most other dance clubs tended to be known for a particular sound, the Zone embraced the electrifying collage that was the 1980s. Local and international DJs played disco, funk, punk, electro, hip-hop, new wave, house, and more over the years. There was very little division between sounds that emerged from distinctly different undergrounds.

“You could be playing house and drop in a new wave song; people were right into it,” reminds Tony Assoon. “It almost all started during the same era.”

Twilight Zone regulars dancing. Still from Back to the Zone, courtesy of Colm Hogan.

At Twilight Zone, it could all be heard through a stunning soundsystem. From the club’s start, sound was important. A system rented from Sunshine Sound kicked things off nicely, but it was in the Zone’s second year that a state-of-the-art soundsystem designed by New York’s Richard Long was installed.

“I was used to hearing a certain kind of sound in New York,” explains Tony Assoon of the impetus. “The thing that couldn’t be reproduced was a certain kind of bass. I took my brothers to Paradise Garage, and my brother Michael partied with me a lot at Melons. I told them, ‘Remember that soundsystem? I know the guy and want to put the same system in here.’ They told me to get a price; I think it was about $100,000 U.S. It was a lot of money. At first my brothers said, ‘No, it’s too much,’ but I insisted. We had to close the club for two weeks, and it took a lot of work. We had to spray and insulate the club, and then they got all the speakers and put everything in.

“When we re-opened, it was slow. All the guys looked at me, like, ‘You and your big ideas.’ I said, ‘Give it some time.’ The first group of people came in, heard the system, and didn’t know what to think. The next week, the crowd doubled because everyone started buzzing about the sound. After that, it was all history. People couldn’t believe what they were hearing.”

“When they put in the Richard Long system, the Zone changed forever,” states DJ Dave Campbell, a Zone regular from the time he was a teen. “The bass could regulate your heartbeat, and because the floor was wood, you couldn’t help but dance.

“You could hear the sound from University and Richmond,” Campbell adds. “People would ask, ‘Where is Twilight located?’ I would tell them, ‘Head west of University on Richmond, look for the amber flashing light, and listen.’”

“The sound was like a dream,” agrees Gooden. “Once you’ve listened to music on those amazing speakers, no one can fool you.”

Sound designer Richard Long (left) with associate Roger Goodman. Photo courtesy of Albert Assoon.

At its core, Twilight Zone was about the music played through that bumping system by its adventurous resident DJs. Weekend nights were divergent yet complementary.

Don Cochrane held down Fridays for most of the Zone’s existence. He first attended the club just weeks after it had opened. Cochrane and a large group of friends “outnumbered the people there” but enjoyed the funky grooves of DJ Albert Assoon. Cochrane and Assoon talked tunes.

“We agreed to meet mid-week for him to hear my UK dance sounds,” says Scottish-born Cochrane. “He and his brothers listened. I got an immediate offer to play the following Friday.”

UK Dance Floor ran Fridays from 11 p.m. to 7 a.m. or later, with Cochrane blending new wave and other dancefloor-friendly sounds then-bubbling in the UK with funk, Chicago house, Italo house, German industrial, world beat, and “wild cards.”

Cochrane’s playlist of anthems included the likes of Endgames “First Last for Everything,” Kate Bush “Running Up That Hill,” Bobby Konders “House Rhythms,” Blondie “Rapture,” Bohannan “Let’s Start the Dance,” Jimmy Bo Horne “Spank,” Rocker’s Revenge “Walking on Sunshine,” A Guy Called Gerald “Voodoo Ray,” Liquid Liquid “Cavern,” and “anything James Brown, George Clinton, or Funkadelic.”

He also, of course, featured a hefty dose of UK acts like The Smiths, New Order, Depeche Mode, Talk Talk, Human League, and Bronski Beat, but broke ground when he played them.

“They were ‘retail’ hits, but we had them first—by months, sometimes even a year—as I had them imported,” Cochrane emphasizes. “I did the same for the German industrial dance bands such as Nitzer Ebb. CFNY would come to the booth and monitor my playlist. I got a great kick out of breaking new records—and even sounds.”

“Fridays were the big alternative dance night,” confirms Albert Assoon. “UK Dance Floor featured the new wave you would hear on CFNY, however you heard it first at Twilight Zone. Don was pretty ahead of the music trends abroad and delivered on the dance floor. He would also come party on Saturdays and pick songs he’d then incorporate, giving Fridays more edge than anywhere!

“On Saturdays, the combination of myself and brother Tony was also pretty awesome,” Albert states. “Tony, who had returned to NYC as a teen, came back and would school us all on underground disco. He knew his music and screaming divas very well, and mesmerized the dancefloor with a cappellas on top of stuff. I observed Tony and Don, and came up with my own style, playing mostly funk, freestyle, a bit of new wave, and more.”

Tony mentions a few of his Saturday Zone classics, including D-Train “You’re the One For Me,” First Choice featuring Rochelle Fleming “Let No Man Put Asunder,” and Fonda Rae “Touch Me,” but also makes clear that reggae, early hip-hop, and all sorts of sounds were in the mix.

“We loved playing it all,” Tony emphasizes. “Human League, Thompson Twins, and all the other English groups you could think of were a given. You weren’t a DJ unless you played all of those.”

“I loved it when Albert or Tony would rush up to the booth on Fridays and say, ‘What the fuck is that?’” says Cochrane of the musical interplay. “I would do the same on Saturdays. It was such a mutually beneficial environment that manifested a unique global sound on both nights.

“The Assoons were bold, true to their vision, honest, and pioneers,” he praises. “They were a tight family, and a family who embraced me. Also, [Tony and Albert were] two brilliant DJs.”

Thanks to the Assoons’ vision, the Zone is fondly remembered as Toronto’s first home of garage and house, especially as the music’s bricklayers became imported guests.

David Morales (L) and Tony Assoon in the Zone DJ booth. Photo courtesy of Albert Assoon.

David Morales (L) and Dave Del Du Valle a.k.a. David Delvalle. Photo courtesy of Albert Assoon.

“Twilight Zone started off the tradition of bringing international DJs on Saturdays, beginning with DJ Kenny Carpenter, David Morales, Frankie Knuckles, Dave ‘Madness’ Du Valle—all from NYC—and Jay Armstrong from Ministry in the UK,” says Albert. “All the DJs offered a different sound and melted the crowd.”

These connections were largely fostered as Tony Assoon bounced back to New York often to buy music, go to clubs, and hear DJs.

“I was always the type of guy that if I heard a DJ and they sounded good, I’d say, ‘Hey, how would you like to play?’ In those days, DJs were hungry. They would jump to come to Canada.”

Kenny Carpenter was one of the first booked, followed by DJ/producer Johnny Dynell of NYC clubs like Danceteria, The Roxy, and Save the Robots. Dynell suggested the Assoons book a then-up-and-comer named David Morales, which led to repeat visits by the Def Mix master. Morales and Du Valle were frequent guests, sometimes even spinning together, as was Frankie Knuckles. Detroit’s Derrick May and Alton Miller often made the drive to party at the Zone, and both played on occasion.

“Derrick May played a couple of times, but he was a little too advanced,” recalls Tony. “Derrick was playing and making techno long before people knew what techno was.”

Without a doubt, the music heard at Twilight Zone influenced a generation of Toronto house DJs and producers, not to mention a whole host of warehouse party promoters. People like Aki Abe, Dino & Terry, Mitch Winthrop, Yogi Patel, and Nick Holder were regulars.

“Nick lived by the DJ booth,” says Tony of Holder, one of Toronto’s global house ambassadors. “The Zone was a big influence on him because he saw David Morales, Frankie Knuckles, and so on. I think he played a couple of times. Dave Campbell also got put on every now and then.”

Campbell may have DJed at the Zone in the club’s later years, but it took some doing for him and a group of high school friends to pass through its doors. Saturday nights were so busy that staff was selective.

“We were turned away the first few times we attempted to get into the club,” Campbell shares. “We didn’t quite meet the standards of Saturday’s cool, fashion-conscious clientele, so we decided to go on a Friday, as they weren’t as strict at the door. At the time, I was into new wave music and loved CFNY. Some of the music played on Fridays would cross over to Saturdays, like Yazoo, Fad Gadget, Yello, and other tracks, along with the pre-house anthems. We got to know some of the staff, like Bromely at the door, and were finally able to get in on a Saturday.”

Flash-forward a few years, and Campbell had moved downtown, begun to DJ, and was invited to fill in for Tony on occasion.

“The first Saturday night I played, I was very nervous, but it turned out to be one of the most amazing nights of my DJing career. It was surreal playing on that system. It had three turntables, a pitchable cassette player, and a reel-to-reel. When Frankie Knuckles played, he used the reel player to blend in his own special mixes of stuff he produced, like his mix of Chaka Khan’s ‘Ain’t Nobody.’ David Morales used it to play his mix of Whitney Houston’s ‘Love Will Save The Day.’ Dave Du Valle seamlessly worked all three decks at once. He was amazing.

“But what made the Zone so amazing to me, besides the music, was the eclectic mix of people, with white, black, gay, and straight all partying in one space,” says Campbell. “It was like nothing I had experienced before, including the unisex bathroom.”

Twilight Zone was the place to be, with large, diverse, and creative crowds dancing ’til dawn week after week.

Gooden, who attended regularly for most of the club’s nine-year history (“Always from after 2 a.m. ’til close”), encapsulates the experience. “It was the kind of place that was so overwhelming, a kind of free style, with people dancing all over the place. It gave waspy, stuffy, uptight Torontonians a release valve where people could just be bohemian and extravagant.

“The Zone was a mix of black, white, Asian, old, young, hipster, fashion-trendy, new wavers, break dancers, young punks, skinheads, and Scarborough secretaries in their outfits. You had the Scarborough blacks, Charles and Church Street gays, Queen West alternatives, and people from Whitby to Etobicoke. Those years at the Twilight Zone were like a cauldron with all the people who got mashed together.”

“It was a weird era when everyone got along,” comments Tony. “All the people who listened to house music started showing up on the new wave nights, so you’d see somebody in a suit dancing next to somebody with a Mohawk or somebody who was a skinhead. Half of those kids didn’t even know why they were wearing Nazi flags in the back. They’d be dancing with everybody; if they were that prejudiced, they wouldn’t have been there, dancing beside somebody black or somebody Jewish or gay. Everything was more for fashion than it was for a reason.”

“It was unique and without aggro,” agrees Cochrane; “They came for the music.” This was also true on Pariah Wednesdays, which ran in the early through mid-’80s.

“Wednesdays were more underground,” describes Tony; “Pariah catered to the more punk kind of crowd.”

Pariah had its roots in the downtown arts and music scene. Toronto club veteran Lynn McNeil had launched the night with DJ Siobhan O’Flynn at Club Kongos (later Club Focus) on Hagerman Street. The two met when O’Flynn DJed in The Rivoli’s back room for L Squared, an influential event promoted by The Katherine with DJs Richard Vermeulen and Pam Barnes. (“To my knowledge, Pam was the first woman DJ in Toronto, and I was the second,” says O’Flynn.)

After about a year at Kongos, Pariah moved to Wednesdays at Twilight Zone, with O’Flynn joined by DJ Stephen Scott.

“Coming out of Hagerman, the music at Pariah was a mix of punk, disco, old funk, and the start of the early ’80s Brit scene,” she describes. “We played The Fall, Wire, early Stone Roses, and American punk and post punk, like Television.

“Pariah would have been the first place I played Sisters of Mercy ‘Gimme Shelter.’ I still re- member that song on that soundsystem was damn impressive. It was just so immersive to experience vinyl records played on such a stupendous soundsystem. You just felt it. Being able to listen to PIL, Joy Division, and the big orchestral Sisters of Mercy sound in a room with perfectly EQ’d sound was incredible.”

Hundreds came out between 10 p.m. and 5 a.m. each Wednesday. “You had to be pretty committed,” comments O’Flynn; “You weren’t holding down a job that you had to be at at nine in the morning. Pariah started with a very strong foot in the emerging counter-culture punk scene. There was also a whole group of underage alternative school kids. The club scene or bar scene was just starting to take off, so we’d get that after-hours crowd, and Goths.

“Broadly, it was hungry alternative music fans, which is why people were so open to really diverse genres of music. I know that a lot of people came to the club specifically to be introduced to new music. Both Stephen and I were avid consumers of tracking what was new, reading NME [New Musical Express], and buying imports.”

In addition, O’Flynn redecorated Twilight Zone’s interior every few months (“I’d source out non-flammable materials that you could have in environments where people were behaving chaotically”), and booked in local indie bands of the time, like Change of Heart and Groovy Religion.

“There really weren’t that many places you could go out and hear the music we featured,” recalls O’Flynn. “For the Assoons to let us have our night in their club was always kind of amazing.”

Twilight Zone interior. Photo courtesy of Albert Assoon.

Who else played/worked there: “I love that for a lot of high school kids, the Zone was their first memory of a club,” says Tony. “We’d open up early for them, and then close. They’d want to stay, but we had to say, ‘No, you’re not 16.’ We were all-ages, but you had to be 16 to stay after hours.”

One night that stands out for its early-evening crowds was when the Assoons brought New York’s Dynamic Breakdancers in for a show.

“That was around the time that Herbie Hancock came out with ‘Rockit’,” Tony recollects. “We packed that club from six in the evening until 1 a.m.. They did maybe four shows. People just kept coming; they wanted to see what this breakdancing was all about.”

Further proving the brothers had their fingers on the pulse of multiple musical movements, the Zone also featured performances by artists as diverse as D-Train, Divine, Sharon Redd, Joycelyn Brown, Jermaine Stewart, Prince Charles, Anne Clark, The Spoons, and The System.

“One year, we had an anniversary party without any acts booked,” adds Tony. “I happened to see Eartha Kitt crossing the street and called out, ‘Eartha Kitt?’ She said, ‘That’s me.’ I said, ‘I would love for you to come and sing. We have no act tonight. Tell me what you want, and we’ll work something out.’ Her response was, ‘I want two things: a cold bottle of champagne and a champagne glass.’ She came on stage, sang ‘Where Is My Man,’ and had so much class. Amazing.”

Fashion Show at Twilight Zone. Photo courtesy of Albert Assoon.

Albert recalls a visit by a certain New York hip-hop trio. “We had the Beastie Boys in. They went on a rampage and graffitied the club. We had just sanded the area and it wasn’t painted, so we decided to leave it as part of the decor.”

O’Flynn also remembers that eve, and laughs as she shares an anecdote. “It was probably 1982 and the Beastie Boys were at the club. They wanted to spin, and I said no. I kicked them out of the DJ booth. To this day, I can’t believe I did that.” (Post Pariah, she went on to play plenty of speaks and clubs, including Domino, Dance Cave, RPM, Nuts & Bolts, the Bovine, Phoenix, and Left Bank. O’Flynn is now a professor and consultant who teaches digital media at the University of Toronto.)

A variety of other DJs spent time in Twilight Zone’s DJ booth over the years.

“The Zone’s music was unique,” summarizes DJ and radio producer Scot Turner, who went by Skot during his eight years as a programmer and host at pioneering alternative radio station CFNY 102.1FM. He went to the Zone often enough to appreciate its musical mix, and to support it with on-air mentions.

“Their reputation was for house music, but also for their openness to alternative, which they were not afraid to embrace and showcase. Anyone with a love of dance music and vibe was welcome.”

Turner, in fact, DJed a Thursday night called Swoon for a short stretch. “The music format was intentionally non-bass and beat, with lots of jangly guitar. It was art rock and pop—The Smiths, Cure, REM, Violent Femmes, Prefab Sprout, Lloyd Cole, and the like.“

Skot / Scot Turner at Twilight Zone. Photo courtesy of him.

Turner also DJed at venues like Club Z, Club Focus, Empire Dancebar, RPM, and Joker over the years, and would go on to help launch Energy 108 (“The first true all-dance music station in North America”). He appreciated Twilight Zone for many reasons.

“It was bare bones, but the soundsystem was first rate. It was what proper club sound should be: very loud, without hurting your ears, and with bass that you feel in your chest. It was not licensed, so the music came first. Without the distractions of alcohol and ‘picking up,’ it attracted a more purist music crowd. (Turner is now Brand Director for two Kitchener radio stations and contributes to The Spirit Of Radio web page at Edge.ca.)

There were also attempts made to have a dedicated gay Sunday, with DJs such as Barry Harris, Paul Grace, and Stages’ resident Greg Howlett. Tony admits it never took off, and the reason he provides is a reminder of the division that existed even in more tolerant and mixed spaces.

“When AIDS happened, that made a huge difference in who would go where. People started thinking in stereotypes, and stuff like, ‘If I touch somebody gay, I’m going to get AIDS.’ People could be very discriminatory. Meanwhile, I was still going to gay bars, trying to book DJs. I went to a gay club—The Roxy—to book Frankie Knuckles. I had so many friends who were gay that I didn’t pay that kind of stuff attention. I really wanted that crowd to be part of my crowd. Nobody enjoys music more than a gay crowd; those were the guys who brought satisfaction to my turntables.”

While the Sundays never came together, there’s no question that communities did on other nights at the Zone. Throughout the club’s history, artists, performers, and the fashion-forward were a part of its core crowd. Actors and hockey players were also in the mix.

“Patrick Cox, the designer, came there a lot,” says Tony. “So did Wayne Gretzky, Mario Van Peebles, and Grandmaster Flash.”

“At The Twilight Zone, you had Kenneth Cole, Suzanne Boyd, Michael Griffiths, the Soho designers, Dean and Dan of Dsquared, and other local artists who were regulars,” adds Albert. “Many greats met up and fully expressed themselves with their look and attitudes!”

The highly fashionable Charmaine Gooden also mentions many fellow regulars. “Donna Boyd was a presence; when she danced, it was like there was a spotlight on her. She held her body, singing, acting, and living out the song. She was just so glamorous and had a smouldering personality. We gave some of our favourite regulars nicknames: There was Richard ‘National Ballet,’ Suzie Horton was ‘Jacket and Panty Hose,’ Tony and Basil Young were like the Nicholas Brothers. Ronald Holmes, who worked the bar, was from New York and a one-man dance squad. People gathered around him to learn his particular style.

“Some people never went to church, but they were at the Zone every Sunday morning,” elucidates Gooden. “For some, it was a spiritual experience. The music on Saturday was also very based in gospel.”

Fashion Show at Twilight Zone. Photo courtesy of Albert Assoon.

Zone regulars at a costume party. Photo courtesy of Albert Assoon.

The aforementioned Tony Young, later known as MuchMusic host Master T, was frequently found on the dance floor, as was Michele Geister, who co-founded and produced MuchMusic’s RapCity program. Photographer Michael Chambers was another regular, as was Tom Davis, who later booked the Cameron House and now owns The Stockyards restaurant. Others mentioned by interviewees include Lyndon Hector; Norbert Ricafort; Ford Medina; Marla Rotenberg; makeup artist Danny Morrow; clothing designer Ian Hylton; Raymond Perkins, who ran The Dub Club at the time and went on to work as Director of Culture at Roots; and Aaron Serruya, who produced his first party at Twilight Zone and is now co-owner of both Yogen Früz and Red Nightclub. Darryl Fine, now co-owner of the Bovine, was a regular who sometimes tended bar.

There were a lot of dedicated staffers. Some include original Zone investors Luis Collaco and Bromley Vassell, who went on to do lights and door, respectively. Gerald Ash and Lino Santos were core bussers for years, while Chris Arthur worked the door and more. Dave Campbell also mentions host Ted Aman, and Lisa McCleary, who worked in the Night Gallery, below Twilight Zone.

“We took over space on the ground floor and opened a café called Night Gallery in 1984,” explains Albert. “We offered a free buffet with the $10 admission, and it was generous. I swear some people came just to eat.”

The Assoons’ father was the main Night Gallery chef. Sometimes there was music in that space as well.

“Twilight Zone was my first official club gig,” says Derek Perkins, who took over Fridays after Don Cochrane left to pursue his career at Ogilvy One in 1987 (Cochrane shares that he went on to launch the Air Miles program and now works in the airline industry).

Perkins “started playing alt and classic rock downstairs in the Night Gallery. At that time, there was no alt format on any nights upstairs. Within two to three weeks, the room reached capacity and the Assoons gave me Friday night in the Zone.”

Other DJs who played occasional Fridays included Larry St. Aubin (aka Larry Saint), Ivan Palmer, Michael X, Avery Tanner, and James Stewart, but Perkins was the main resident. Fridays became known as The Darkside. Perkins also came to play on Wednesdays.

“Prior to working there, I was a huge fan of Pariah and of DJ Siobhan,” he credits. “She was a huge influence on the style I later adopted, mixing classic rock and funk with alternative.”

He namedrops personal anthems by the likes of Patti Smith, Aerosmith, Love and Rockets, Felt, and The Demics, but he also “included artists such as Boney M, Blondie, Man Parrish, Grandmaster Flash, George Kranz, and other beat-centric stuff so some of the dance crowd would stay. They mixed in pretty well with the freakier late-nighters.”

Perkins also shares a vivid, sensorial memory.

“There was a smell like no other place I’ve ever encountered. The best I can figure is that it was a mix of French Formula hairspray, cologne, perfume, hashish, coco puffs, coconut fog fluid, stale booze, and bathroom odour. It was an oddly intoxicating smell.”

He was the last alt DJ to play at the Zone and was there until the club’s demise.

“The crowds would go up and down as more competition came to the area, but there were almost always enough people to make it viable,” says Perkins, who went on to play clubs including Nuts & Bolts, Freak Show, Empire, The Copa, Whiskey Saigon, Klub Max, and Zoo Bar. (He then ran creative departments for multiple radio stations, and now markets luxury real estate.)

What happened to it: “Near the end of the Zone’s run, the crowd had become younger,” says Dave Campbell. “It seemed that the sanctuary had changed. There was no more Celestial Choir ‘Stand On The Word’ or Lonnie Liston Smith ‘Expansions’ played as the Sunday morning sunlight came through the window. We had lost our church.” (Campbell went on to play a range of clubs, including The Copa, The Diamond, and Roxy Blu. He now runs his own DJing service, is the Friday resident at The Citizen on King West, and plays parties including What It Is! and Twilight Zone reunions.)

The Zone’s crowds may have shifted in its final years, but they still filled the club. The venue closed in early 1989 because the Assoons’ lease had expired and the building’s owner sold the property. It became a parking lot.

“We would have bought the building,” says Albert; “However, despite our successes, the banks would never finance us with anything—except the one time my father put up his house for us to buy Twilight Zone’s soundsystem. We had to sign a waiver where our unborn children would have to pay if we defaulted. That loan was paid on time and in full, but they would not agree with our vision.”

Twilight Zone came to a close soon after a February party that featured David Morales. People still speak of the club—and the communities it brought together—with deep appreciation.

“The Zone was like a club in the real sense; everybody felt they were part of the club,” says Gooden. “When you saw an ex-Zoner elsewhere, you had a connection. To this day, Zoners are still a sub culture.” (She is now a magazine editor and Professor in the School of Fashion at both Ryerson University and Seneca College.)

The Assoons—also the visionaries who, in 1984, thought to open Fresh Restaurant and Nightclub at 132 Queens Quay E., which was ousted a year later to make way for RPM (The Guvernment later held the address)—went on to open Gotham City Bar and Grill at 81 Bloor St. E. in 1990. Rent was too high for them to make a long term go of it.

Albert and Michael Assoon went on to be deeply involved in late ’90s house haven The Living Room, while Tony moved back to NYC, where he continues to enjoy clubs and music, and works for New York Life. Albert, Michael, and David Assoon now own versatile event space Remix Lounge at 1305 Dundas West.

After more than 20 years of existence as a parking lot, the ground where Twilight Zone once stood has been swallowed into the 199 Richmond West address of the Studio on Richmond condo build. Filmmaker Colm Hogan is at work on Back 2 The Zone, a detailed documentary about the club and its widespread influence.

Thank you to participants: Albert Assoon, Charmaine E. Gooden, Dave Campbell, Derek Perkins, Don Cochrane, Scot Turner, Siobhan O’Flynn, and Tony Assoon, as well as to Colm Hogan, Darryl Fine, and Theodora Kali.

The post Then & Now: TWILIGHT ZONE (extended mix) appeared first on Then and Now: Toronto Nightlife History.

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

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

By: DENISE BENSON

Club: Roxy Blu, 12 Brant

Years in operation: 1998 – 2005

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

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

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

Singh took another approach for his next venue.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Roxy entrance. Photo courtesy of Denis Scher-McDowall.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Adventure also came in the form of the people themselves.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then and Now: Toronto Nightlife History
By Denise Benson. Foreword by Stuart Berman.

Published by Three O’Clock Press. Publication Date: July 15, 2015  

562 pages, with four sections of colour photos. 

More info and to pre-order: http://threeoclockpress.com/titles/then-and-now

The history of Toronto’s nightlife reveals its pulse.

From award-winning veteran music journalist and DJ Denise Benson comes Then & Now: Toronto Nightlife History, a fascinating, intimate look at four decades of social spaces, dance clubs, and live music venues. Through interviews, research, and enthusiastic feedback from the party people who were there, Benson delves deep behind the scenes to reveal the histories of 48 influential nightlife spaces, and the story of a city that has grown alongside its sounds.

Advance Praise

“Contrary to conventional wisdom, Toronto has known how to party for a while. Then & Now tells a heretofore untold social history of Toronto, including the clubs where often-marginalized people found both community and liberation deep into the night. This book is an essential chapter of Toronto’s recent history.” ̶    Shawn Micallef, Author and Spacing Co-owner

“The early days of punk and new wave at The Edge; clubs like Voodoo and Twilight Zone where you could be normal being weird; playing Depeche Mode and New Order at Focus and Club Z; dancing to The Specials at Nuts and Bolts and Fad Gadget at Domino Klub; playing The Happy Mondays at Empire … Legendary Toronto club culture and memories brilliantly captured and stamped in time.” ̶    Scot Turner, Producer/Host CFNY 102.1, Program Director Energy 108

“Denise Benson’s Then & Now … shines a deserved light on the many young, often disenfranchised, DJs, promoters, and business owners who created scenes from nothing, providing safe and exciting spaces for alternative communities and culture to flourish. Denise gets it so right because she was there herself, is still there. Good thing, since reading her chronicles makes me want to dance!” ̶    Liisa Ladouceur, author Encyclopedia Gothica

“Denise … ambassadors all good things in the Toronto music scene. The work she’s accomplished documenting pivotal moments in club history is nothing short of amazing. She is a proven archivist and we are lucky to have someone with this level of passion in our ever-growing and evolving scene.” ̶    Nitin Kalyan aka DJ/producer Nitin, co-founder of No.19 Music

Then & Now launch party poster design by Noel Dix

Please join us in celebrating the release of Then & Now: Toronto Nightlife History!

Featuring:
Denise Benson in conversation with Stuart Berman (8:30-9:30)
followed by DJs spinning through sounds, genres and decades from 10pm ’til late.

MARK ‘SHUGGY’ OLIVER

PAUL E. LOPES & MIKE TULL

JAMES ST. BASS

DJ BARBI

and DEKO-ZE

Then & Now will be for sale at a special launch price and Denise will be signing books.

***

About the launch party:

Light refreshments will be provided.
There will be a cash bar and a full dinner menu available to launch guests.

The main floor of NEST is physically accessible. We regret that there will not be ASL interpretation provided.
Please contact: publicity@threeoclockpress.com with any accessibility queries or concerns.

This is a FREE event.

The post THEN & NOW: Book July 15. Launch July 23. appeared first on Then and Now: Toronto Nightlife History.

In the second half of the 1990s, the iconic purple building on the southeast corner of Queen and Bathurst underwent a transformation from dance club to all-ages live music hub. What now houses a modern furniture and décor store was once home to punk, metal, hip-hop, Darkrave, and a whole bunch of proud music misfits.

By: DENISE BENSON

Club: The Big Bop, 651 Queen W.

Years in operation: 1997 – 2010

History: Often, we must look back in order to move forward. That’s certainly the case with this story. When last we delved into the history of The Big Bop, it was during its period as a dance club owned by the Ballinger brothers.

Interviewees for that story were hazy, at best, about the closing of the Ballinger’s Bop. It was clear that the venue had suffered financial hardships from 1994, when it went into receivership, but concrete details about its eventual end – let alone its evolution as a club space – were scant.

As it turns out, the original Big Bop continued to operate until 1996 under the management of Peter Ballinger.

“Peter was the least seen and the least involved until the Ballingers bought Webster Hall, and the other three brothers – Lonnie, Steve and Doug – were in New York,” recalls Trevor Mais who, as DJ Tex, rocked crowds in the building through three different club incarnations.

Mais was an employee at the original Big Bop from 1989, working as busboy, bar back, lighting tech and, from 1993, DJ. While he also did lights at Go-Go and played at clubs including Boom Boom Room, The Phoenix, Joker, and Beat Junkie as DJ Tex, Mais had especially deep ties to Big Bop. He tells me that the club truly struggled from 1995. Various attempts at revival failed.

In spring of 1996, the building at 651 Queen West opened as Freedom: The Nightclub.

Promotion for the short-lived Freedom nightclub. Image courtesy of Trevor Mais.

“The transition to Freedom was helmed by Jim Tsiliras, who [told me his] father Nick had owned the building since it was the Holiday Tavern, and that the Ballingers leased it from them,“ says Mais, who played rock, retro, R&B and disco on Freedom’s ground floor Wednesdays through Fridays.

“The Big Bop’s main floor [street level] only closed for one week during the transition to Freedom,” he recalls. “I never stopped working; the main floor was always a viable source of income. That’s why they didn’t overhaul it. The second floor, however, got a million dollar overhaul, and was closed for at least six months.”

Mark Micallef, a Toronto club veteran who DJed at venues including The Copa, Klub Max, and original Big Bop, concurs with the timeline and details offered by Mais.

Micallef was a resident DJ on Freedom’s second floor for the club’s first few months, but says that even with “completely new sound and lighting” and a clubbier approach to the music played, the venue “never really took off.”

Micallef moved on to play at Joker, located at 318 Richmond West. Freedom came to a close a short while later.

In 1997, the building was suddenly re-branded as The Big Bop by new owner Dominic Chiaromonte, the man who would come to paint it purple and guide the venue, however inadvertently, in a very different direction.

Previously, Chiaromonte had owned Ukrainian Caravan restaurant, with locations in Etobicoke and Yorkville. He tells me that after a decade of operation, Ukrainian Caravan went under. Next, he had three silent partners (including cousin Dominic Tassielli) who wanted to invest in a nightclub with him.

They looked at a number of downtown locations over the course of almost a year, until the Bop building came up. It was in the hands of banks at that time.

“I knew of the Bop because I used to be a patron, especially on Depression Wednesdays,” says Chiaromonte during a lengthy phone conversation. “The Big Bop was the nightclub for a thousand people in Toronto back in the mid ‘80s to early ‘90s.

“I knew the building, and liked it. We jumped on it. It was easy to jump on because the banks wanted to get rid of it. We worked out a very good price for that time.”

The new Big Bop, with windows, circa 1997. Photo courtesy of Trevor Mais.

“When Dom took over in 1997, the building never closed either, and he switched names right away, without hoopla or fanfare,” recalls Mais.

Without missing a beat, DJ Tex went on to spin classic rock and alternative on the new Big Bop’s main floor.

“In the new Bop era, we moved the DJ booth right to street level, and opened the corner windows so you could look right into the belly of the beast. Some staunch Bop purists didn’t like the change, but change was happening all around – musically, and in terms of owners, staff, times, fads and looks.”

L-to-R: Steff, Karen, Trevor ‘DJ Tex’ Mais, Sherry in the Bop’s main level, 1998. Photo courtesy of Mais.

The conversion: While the capacity of the club – roughly 1,000 people, between all floors – never changed, the Big Bop’s main function sure did. Chiaromonte hadn’t planned a shift from dance club to live music venue, but that’s what happened.

“To tell you the truth, we didn’t know what we were doing,” he admits. “We just wanted to get into the club with the DJs, and at that time that seemed more logical, in terms of the salaries. We realized within months that it wasn’t going to work out. We just couldn’t compete with the big dance clubs at the time, like Joker, Whiskey Saigon and Limelight, where people were flocking. That area had become the core for DJed nightclubs by then. We realized ‘This is why the Big Bop went under.’”

A musician friend, Yurko Mychaluk of Seven Year Itch, suggested that Chiaromonte and partners book bands. Inspired by the support of live music at venues like the Horseshoe, Lee’s Palace and El Mocambo, he agreed.

Mychaluk also suggested Chiaromonte hire talent buyer Yvonne Matsell, who had booked blues acts at Albert’s Hall, been central to the success of outstanding Queen West roots and indie rock venue Ultrasound, and also worked at the Horseshoe.

Though The Big Bop was not known in live music circles at the time, Matsell agreed to check out the spot.

“When I saw the middle room, I felt that the venue had great potential,” she recalls. “I thought that if I could bring my following, the room would be a great space for bands to play.

“The upstairs room was really lovely and I thought it was prime for singer-songwriters. It was very intimate, and the thing that sold me on it was all of the fairy lights in the ceiling. They also had a piano, which wasn’t any good, but lent itself.”

Matsell agreed to book those rooms, which she named Reverb and Holy Joe’s. The venue’s identity as a dance club was put to rest as sound, staging and lights were brought in.

Reverb room by day. Photo courtesy of The Big Bop Facebook page.

As a good-sized room with a large stage and great sightlines, Reverb became a new home for record label showcases, touring acts, and more established Toronto bands. Matsell’s early bookings, which set the tone, included Dave Alvin of the Blasters, Austin’s Alejandro Escovedo, Michael Franti’s Spearhead, and the first Toronto appearance of Third Eye Blind.

“The Rheostatics played a packed gig the night that Princess Diana died [August 31, 1997],” recalls Matsell. “I vividly remember her tragic accident being played out on the bank of TV screens over the Reverb bar, while the Rheostatics played, unaware of what was happening and why the audience had their backs to them.”

Holy Joe’s became known a cozy spot to catch talented singer-songwriters and largely solo artists.

The stairs to Holy Joe’s. Photo courtesy of The Big Bop Facebook page.

“I began residencies up there with people who, at that time were really new to the music scene in Toronto, like Jason Collett, Hawksley Workman, Danny Michel, Emm Gryner, and Amy Millan, before she was in Stars.”

“Yvonne kick-started us, there’s no doubt about it,” credits Chiaromonte. “She was the one who gave us credibility, and basically put us on the map. She knew who to talk to, and all kinds of bands started to come and play.”

Despite her efforts and connections, Matsell was let go after about two years (“They decided that they were paying me too much money, and thought they could do it themselves.”). She immediately went on to book seminal College Street music hub, Ted’s Wrecking Yard.

By this point, the Big Bop featured live music in all three rooms. Chiaromonte had to fill them.

“There was a period of time that I was booking, likely for about six months,” he recalls. “I tried to go the same route as Yvonne, musically, but I couldn’t get the bands that she got, and I couldn’t compete against the Horseshoe because they had all of these loyal bands and agents who didn’t want to play for me. It was very discouraging and really rough, but what came into the picture was a lot of young bands.

“I remember talking to my lawyer and asking ‘What’s the rule for having all-ages events at a nightclub?’ He told me we could do it. He also told me that the chances of getting busted when you do all-ages are a lot greater, but I had no choice. And what I realized was ‘Hey, I could charge rent for all-ages shows.’ Because we wouldn’t make money from alcohol sales, the promoter would have to pay us rent to compensate. For some reason, bang – It boomed! We became known as the all-ages club.”

The transformation was made all the more complete when Chiaromonte hired Noel Peters to book the Bop’s street level space in mid-1999. Peters, who had founded Inertia Entertainment in ‘96, primarily promoted metal and punk shows, featuring both touring and local acts. He gave the ground floor its name.

“As the Reverb had an identity as did Holy Joe’s, my thought was to view the entire complex as ‘The Big Bop’ and give the ground floor its own Identity,” Peters explains. “Metal and punk music can basically be a religious experience so I came up with ‘Kathedral.’”

Reverb, Holy Joe’s and Kathedral would retain their names –and feature wildly varied sounds- for the rest of the Big Bop’s run.

The main entrance. Photo courtesy of The Big Bop Facebook page.

Why it was important:“The Big Bop complex was a classic product of old Queen West culture – free wheeling, open to all, value priced, hard drinking and disdainful of intolerance of any type,” states concert promoter Ewan Exall. “That was reflected in the booking policy, which at some point brought just about anything you could imagine to one of the three stages.”

Exall, who’d grown up downtown and landed his first job next door to the Bop, at army surplus and outdoor store King Sol, was happy to book shows at the corner of Queen and Bathurst. He brought in dozens of touring punk, hardcore, metal and indie bands – initially working as part of Against the Grain Concerts, then on his own – between 1998 and 2010.

“I really loved the Big Bop, and it was a central part of my life for 10 years.”

It was easy to love the Bop building as a music fan. All three rooms were a great fit for their function. Reverb had particularly good sound, a wide layout, and was an ideal showcase space for music of any genre. Holy Joe’s, with its couches, felt like a living room where you might just discover your next favourite artist. Kathedral was dark, gritty and perfectly suited to aggressive rock.

Chiaromonte’s need to fill all three rooms multiple nights weekly resulted in an unrestricted booking policy.

“We opened the Bop to anything and everything. We opened it up to whoever wanted to book it. It didn’t have to be a metal club. It didn’t have to be a punk club. Or a rock club. Whatever came around, that’s what was slated for that day.”

Talent bookers / promoters Andrea Caldwell and Noel Peters at the club in 2002. Photo courtesy of Peters.

It helped that Chiaromonte had some solid in-house bookers who could make sense of it all. Soon after Peters was hired to focus largely on Kathedral, Andrea Caldwell was brought on board to help book Reverb and Holy Joe’s.

Though she didn’t then have much experience, Caldwell was immersed in different music scenes, from acoustic to funk, hip-hop, and indie rock. She had worked at Sneaky Dee’s and Gasworks, organized singer-songwriter nights at The Artful Dodger, and got hired at the Bop after producing a multi-venue benefit series for The Red Door Women’s Shelter.

“The show at Reverb went really well, and Dom needed a booking agent,” Caldwell recalls. “By the end of the night, he offered me a job. I woke up the next morning and started calling all the musicians I knew.

“Dominic’s main concern as a club owner was to book events that would bring crowds into the venue; he didn’t favour any particular scene or make his choices based on musical opinions,” adds Caldwell. “That gave us the freedom to take chances, and support several different music scenes at the same time. As well, it was the only club around that supported the all-ages scene, which attracted many talented kids who just needed a chance to get up on a stage and work things out.”

While not all shows held at the Bop were all-ages, most were. Noel Peters agrees that this was both rare and much needed.

“The Bop was really the only small all-ages-friendly venue in the city, and for live music, it was great to have the opportunity for a younger generation to come and see their favourite bands or to discover upcoming ones. Within a year or so, demand was high for the space, and we had the Bop running as an almost seven-days-a-week operation.”

This gave rise to a new generation of musicians – and promoters – who were able to develop within the purple and black walls.

Jake Disman, sound tech, in Kathedral. Photo courtesy of Scoot DeVille.

“I think the Bop was most important for being the place that gave almost every band a chance to play their first gig ever,” says Jake Disman, an audio technician who had previously done sound at the Cabana Room, and started at the Bop in 1998 as a fill-in for house tech Aaron Michielsen.

“Bands that had no background, and no real fan base, who could never have gotten a chance to play the Horseshoe, played the Bop,” Disman adds. “Kids grew up [seeing bands] there, and when they started their own bands, that’s where they aspired to play.”

Bands like Alexisonfire, Down With Webster and Billy Talent, while still known as Pezz, played some of their earliest shows on Big Bop stages.

“Down With Webster’s Tyler Armes and his friend were on the streetcar one day and they had heard that the Big Bop did all-ages,” recalls Chiaromonte, “They were young and couldn’t book themselves any place so they came to talk to me. I set them up with a gig, and over the course of 10 years, they did between 10 to 20 shows at Big Bop. Now they’re huge.

“Same thing with Alexisonfire; they played our club quite a bit, and then when they got big, they did a special show at the Bop, which was very cool of them.”

Down With Webster, in fact, recorded live sets at Reverb to compile a six-track debut EP titled The Reverb Session July ’03. They sold this CDR at gigs.

“There were a lot of firsts for artists and promoters in that club,” says Caldwell; “First live show, first weekend gig, first time playing a new song live, and so on. The Big Bop gave you space to try out ideas.

“Also, the great thing about having three floors is that we could accommodate musicians and bands at all different stages of their development. I was given the opportunity to book residencies and on-going showcases with artists such as Down With Webster, Cleavage, Pilate, Lindy Ortega, Justin Nozuka, Wave, Graph Nobel, Samba Squad, Die Mannequin, and many more. It was always wonderful when the crowds grew from 10 people to hundreds.”

The development of bands on Bop stages contributed, in turn, to the growth of this city’s live music scene. More bands, more fans, more people out supporting live music would be the simple equation. There was also no shortage of music industry people who spent a great deal of time in that building, scouting and showcasing talent.

“We saw up-and-coming bands perfect their sets and grow their careers right before our eyes,” describes sound tech Lucy Van Nie, who launched his audio career at Holy Joe’s in 2000.

Audio tech Lucy Van Nie at work. Photo courtesy of him.

“I remember mixing Tegan and Sara there to a crowd of about 65 in the early 2000s,” says Van Nie, later the house tech of Reverb. “I remember mixing Hedley for a label showcase a few months before they blew up and took over pop rock in Canada. Bands like My Darkest Days, Alexisonfire, Die Mannequin, and Canadian rockabilly royalty The Creepshow used the Reverb as a home base to try out material and tighten up stage shows before first big singles and national tours.”

And then there were the outsiders. The Big Bop – Kathedral in particular – was known as the place to catch punk, metal and hardcore bands, both touring and local.

“Kathedral was a dive to say the least, so that’s where almost all of the punk and metal shows were,” describes longtime Bop staffer Scoot DeVille. “You can’t really destroy a place that’s already been destroyed. There were so many holes in the walls.”

Hundreds of local punk acts played the various Bop stages over the years, many of them booked by John Tard of The 3tards.

“John brought in just a staggering amount of punk bands, mostly Canadian,” credits Jake Disman. “He was a very big part of the all-ages successes that we had.”

Exall also recalls that “Over the nine or so years I did shows there, a who’s who of indie, punk, emo, metal, and hardcore touring acts came through the door.”

His top memories include performances by Cro-Mags as well as fellow American punks AFI (“Those shows were always total mayhem, kids swinging from the pipes, the whole bit.”) as well as a certain dubstep star in the making.

“An incredibly young Sonny Moore – 15, I think – fronted his screamo metal band From First to Last at the Kathedral in 2004. They were second out of three bands on some touring package. I always knew that kid would be a star. We at Embrace still work with him as Skrillex, which is one of the things I am proudest of in this stage of my career.

“But the consensus seems to be that the best show I ever did there was At the Drive-In opening for Get Up Kids,” Exall adds. “No one really knew who ATDI were at that point; the Vaya 10-inch had just been released. All standard rock superlatives apply to their performance that night.”

Exall also speaks of booking local punk band No Warning multiple times, including on bills with King Size Braces (“Those nights were electric! It was just kids having fun, all stage dives, high fives, and the excitement of hanging out on the block outside.”), and happily recounts the tale of catching a classic Canadian punk pairing.

“One of the times BFGs opened for Dayglo Abortions sticks out. Kids went crazy for the Goofs in a way that I hadn’t seen since the ‘80s. I realized that the entire building was full of people participating in a street culture that we all helped create. That was a pretty awesome moment.”

Damian Abraham of award-winning hardcore band Fucked Up also speaks fondly of the punk culture that found a home in the Bop’s rooms. He started going to shows there in the late ‘90s, and thinks of the Bop as “a seminal space.”

“I got to see some amazing shows in the building, like The Swarm’s last show; tonnes of amazing No Warning gigs; the last Our War show, and various incarnations of the Cro-Mags,” Abraham enthuses. “When I was able to finally start playing there, it felt as if Fucked Up had crossed some threshold of legitimacy that my previous bands hadn’t. Also, it is the venue where I saw my future wife Lauren for the first time. ”

Fucked Up played Kathedral and Reverb close to 10 times during the 2000s, including two of their annual Halloween shows, but Abraham’s recollections tend to feature other bands.

“When No Warning opened for Hatebreed there, a bunch of friends they had met on tour from Boston drove up. Up until this point in Toronto, people had been moshing, for the most part, in a very MTV ‘push mosh’ kind of way. When these people from Boston hit the floor and started throwing fists and skanking and getting super low, the Toronto kids took note. From that point on, hard style mashing hit Toronto. [Producer/manager] Greig Nori and Deryck Whibley from Sum 41 were also there, checking out No Warning as a potential new band to manage. They signed them that night I believe.”

Thrash metal band Nevermore performs at Kathedral in 2000. Photo courtesy of Noel Peters.

There was a heavy crossover of punks and metalheads at the venue.

“My favourite moments at the Bop as a patron were all of Noel’s metal shows,” raves Exall. “Half the time I had no idea who was playing – ‘Some new band from Norway’ – so my housemates and I would end up accidentally seeing Emperor or something.”

Peters did indeed bring in “Norwegian black metal kings Emperor, heading the Kings Of Terror tour.”

It’s one of the shows Peters cites as a highlight in the Bop building. There were many others.

Stormtroopers Of Death at Kathedral in November 1999. Photo courtesy of Noel Peters.

“Bringing Stormtroopers of Death in; they never toured, but did once for Bigger Than The Devil. The bar was almost drunk dry that night,” says the promoter. “Cradle Of Filth made their first-ever Canadian appearance, back when they were still dark and controversial.

“Longstanding relationships I have with some bands were born in the Bop building; Opeth sold out two shows in one month, playing Kathedral first, and then Reverb 21 days later. Last month, they sold out Kool Haus, presented by me. Mastodon played to maybe 20 people their first time through Toronto; Mercyful Fate came through, and then King Diamond the following year. Having Mayhem successfully enter Canada in 2001 for their first-ever Canadian appearance was memorable, as was booking [country act] Corb Lund and the Hurtin’ Albertans only to have maybe 20 people show up. This is only the tip of the iceberg.”

Opeth at Kathedral in 2001. Photo courtesy of Noel Peters.

Peters left the Bop behind in March 2003, citing dissatisfaction with in-house sound, Chiaromonte’s raising of rental rates, and having to put out fires (literally).

“It was fun, and it was good to have a home base for four years, but eventually the business of Inertia outgrew what the Big Bop had to offer in terms of quality, capacity and a professional working environment.” (Inertia marks 20 years of presenting aggressive music in Toronto this year.)

The Bop’s multiple rooms featured far more than rock. The building also became an unlikely home to raves and electronic music. Goodfellaz and Nocturnal Commissions threw a pile of parties there while Shakti Collective presented a number of blacklight trance events. DJs such as Dragnfly, Lady Bass and Unabomber a.k.a. Christian Poulsen (Hugs Not Drugs) were frequently found on flyers listing 651 Queen West as the address. There were the Ipanema raves on long weekends and, of course, there was Darkrave.

Lloyd Warren a.k.a. DJ Lazarus is the driving force behind Darkrave. DJing in Toronto’s alternative clubs since the early ‘90s, Warren began to play at the Bop in 1998, when he moved his popular monthly Fetish Masquerade events over from Club Shanghai (the Subspace fetish parties later took root at the venue too.)

Flyer for the first Darkrave event courtesy of Lloyd ‘DJ Lazarus’ Warren.

Lazarus launched Darkrave in 1999.

“I wanted to create a rave environment, but with darker edged music,” Warren explains. “Darkrave evolved from featuring mostly industrial to incorporating more psytrance, hardcore/gabber, and dark techno.”

At its height, the monthly party took over the entire Bop complex as it attracted crowds upwards of eight hundred “Goths, ravers, clubbers, normals, and people who just found themselves there.

“The Big Bop was huge and cavernous. It was grungy, a bit run down, and a glorious party space,” Warren describes. “There was always a room or corner to be explored. Multiple staircases led to different rooms, meaning it was easy to get lost. It was dark – eternally night. You never knew what time it was because there were no uncovered windows to let the sunrise in.”

“The Bop was a magical complex,” agrees Greg Gallant who, as DJ Phink, played alongside Lazarus at the Bop for both Darkrave and Fetish Masquerade. “It was multi levels of bouncing, fun times. I remember we got UV reactive bubbles a few times for Darkrave. It was fun watching people catch the bubbles with their faces, and then learn that their face also glowed under black light.”

Bouncing good times at Darkrave. Photos courtesy of Lloyd ‘DJ Lazarus’ Warren.

Darkrave events tended to feature playful props, like UV lighting, cotton candy machines, and bouncy castles. Some parties really stood out.

“The Darkrave with VNV Nation in 2000 was crazy,” says Warren. “I have never seen so many people in the Reverb before. Patrons were literally standing on the wall rails because the floor was so packed. The energy was electrifying.

“One night, an electrical fire started on a hydro pole just outside the Bop. It caused a full blackout inside while hundreds of people were dancing. Instead of everyone leaving, we lit candles and some patrons went on to the stage and started drumming on improvised objects. The dancefloor resumed, and there was a real sense of community.”

Gallant, who had played earlier as Phink at venues including Sanctuary Vampire Sex Bar and Area 51, was also an anchor of the alt-rave community that gravitated to the Bop, as well as to Funhaus, the club Warren operated across the street from 2003 to 2008 (Chiaromontewas a partner). Phink started the Eloko psy-trance series at Funhaus, having already turned heads with parties held at the Bop.

“The first real party I put on at The Big Bop was with my partners in the Deep Sea Fish psytrance collective,” says Gallant. “We brought Infected Mushroom for the B.P. Empire tour, their first time in Toronto. It was a great, sold out event, and they kept the floor bouncing right ‘til 5am.” (A partial list of raves held at the Bop, with flyers, can be found here.)

DJ Lazarus (left) and DJ Phink playing different rooms at a Darkrave. Photo courtesy of Lloyd Warren.

Fact was, you never knew what you’d find in the building from night to night.

“We were mostly known for rock, punk, and metal, but it was common to have metal on one floor, a hip-hop show upstairs, and a singer-songwriter showcase in Joe’s,” reminds core staffer Scoot DeVille. “We were the only venue in the city where you could walk into a punk show on the ground floor, say ‘This band sucks,’ go upstairs and see a touring metal band, again say ‘This band sucks,’ and then go up to the third floor to see Esthero having band practice.

“It was actually really fucked up, but it worked. We had everyone from 14-year-old girls dancing in their bras at a rave at 4:30am, to their moms coming to see the throwback hair metal bands they grew up with.”

Scoot DeVille (centre) with then-Mayor David Miller, and Reverb bartender Helena. Photo courtesy of DeVille.

The club’s lack of curation may have been borne out of necessity, but in the end, it defined The Big Bop.

“Other clubs in the city at the time, and I mean this respectfully, were too well curated to let our type of music or any really outside music happen there,” says Damian Abraham; “But the Bop didn’t give a fuck, and booked in Darkrave, black metal, hip-hop, hardcore, screamo – all the stuff that wasn’t cool enough at the time for some of the other venues in town.

“It was like CBGBs in that way; [CBGBs’ owner] Hilly gets credit for having this amazing ear, but his genius was having an open door booking policy. Television and Ramones were able to play CBGBs when they couldn’t find other places in New York to play. That is the Bop’s gift to Toronto: it wasn’t too caught up in any one thing to prevent the next thing from developing.”

Fucked Up perform “Crusades” at Reverb, 2009. Video posted by PunksAndRockers.com

Who else played there: Many who went to Reverb during its early years, myself included, will associate that room with some incredible hip-hop, funk, and soul events. We have promoters Carlos Mondesir of Hot Stepper Productions and Jonathan Ramos of R.E.M.G. to thank for many of them.

Mondesir presented Ninja Tune artists like Amon Tobin, DJ Food, and DJ Vadim, as well as the likes of DJ Cam, Nightmares on Wax, and a very special touring group of turntablists in 1997.

Deep Concentration DJs (L-to-R): Kid-Koala, Jazzbo, Peanut Butter Wolf, Cut Chemist, A-Trak, and Grouch in behind. Photo courtesy of Carlos Mondesir.

“Deep Concentration was a tour for an album by that name featuring Kid Koala, Peanut Butter Wolf, Cut Chemist, A-Trak, and I added Grouch to rep Toronto,” Mondesir describes. “It was probably the best turntablist gig this city has ever seen. A-Trak was added to the bill at the urging of Kid Koala’s manager. We had to make special arrangements with his family for him to come and play. Needless to say, it was nuts.”

A young DJ A-Trak at Reverb, 1997. Photo courtesy of Carlos Mondesir.

Also in ’97, and against many odds, Hot Stepper presented Japanese artists United Future Organization for a sold-out show.

“I did that gig against the advice of my DJs,” recalls Mondesir; “I’d say it confirmed the viability of nu jazz in this city for many. Marilyn Manson also attended, which was really odd.”

On the live soul, jazz and funk tip, Hot Stepper’s signature Bump N’ Hustle series found its footing at Reverb.

“We’ve been doing Bump N’ Hustle so long that many people don’t know that for the first six years or so, it was a full live showcase of emerging soul music artists. Vocalists like Divine Brown, Glenn Lewis and tonnes of others rose through our gigs. Bump N’ Hustle was a massive source of pride in local music ability and community.”

Bump N’ Hustle band, featuring the late David ‘Soulfingaz’ Williams. Photo courtesy of Carlos Mondesir.

Surprisingly, Hot Stepper even did some Garage 416 house events at Reverb, including the presentations of Steve “Silk” Hurley, Joe Claussell, and Pevin Everett with his live band, Seance Divine.

“The Reverb sound was great,” explains Mondesir of presenting Garage 416 events outside of its main home of the time, Roxy Blu.“ Reverb wasn’t aesthetically nice, but turn the lights down, light some candles, roll some cool AV and it’s all good. I used great local AV guys regularly, Projektor and then Mix Motion. That compensated a lot.” (Hot Stepper turns 20 this year, with other mainstay events including Break for Love and their Sunday afternoon summer series at Cube.)

Dancefloor action at Bump N’ Hustle inside Reverb. Photo courtesy of Carlos Mondesir.

As for Jonathan Ramos, his R.E.M.G. logo was featured on a lot of flyers promoting shows at Reverb.

“Jonathan was instrumental in building a quality hip-hop scene at the Bop,” credits Caldwell. “He opened a lot of doors for Canadian hip-hop artists. [Through his shows] I was fortunate to work with artists such as The Rascalz, Ivana Santilli, k-os, Choclair, Michie Mee, and Classified, plus Jurassic 5, Ursula Rucker, and so many more.”

Ramos, who formed R.E.M.G. in 1993, booked Reverb regularly from 1998 on.

“Their booking policy made it accessible to acts, promoters and genres that didn’t always ‘fit’ at other venues,” writes Ramos.

“At that time, hip-hop wasn’t the omnipresent genre it is today and wasn’t ‘welcome’ in most venues. There was a misconception that these shows came with low bar sales and attracted violence, and as such most venues either didn’t allow the shows or levied prohibitive rental fees.”

REMG flyer for Raekwon at Reverb, 2000. Courtesy of Jonathan Ramos.

Some of the other acts Ramos booked in at the Bop include Dilated Peoples, The Hieroglyphics, The Coup, Spearhead, and The Beat Junkies. There’s one show that still stands out to him.

“Talib Kweli, September 2006. Kweli was at the top of his game, had one of his biggest hits, and was one of the first to put on a young Chicago producer named Kanye West. The energy in the room was palpable. Both Kweli and the fans had an amazing time.” (Ramos remains active as a concert promoter and is now the Director of Live Music for INK Entertainment.)

Talib Kweli live at Reverb in 2006. Video posted by mymanhenri.

Lots of other promoters, performers and DJs took note of the above events and brought in their own. DJs Kola, Serious and Fase produced parties. The Salads hosted their ‘Salad Gold’ series; Shaun Boothe presented The BarberShop Show; and James Bryan performed with loads of different projects, including The Philosopher Kings and Sunshine State. African percussionist Vinx hosted jam sessions that brought out some of this city’s best players and vocalists while local artists Blaxam, Jacksoul, The Pocket Dwellers and Fefe Dobson, among many others, brought the funk and soul.

Flyers courtesy of Andrea Caldwell.

From Maestro Fresh Wes to Metric or the Misfits, early Death From Above 1979 appearances, and even a Megadeath acoustic show, the possibilities were endless.

“The variety of events that we could be facing from week to week was unbelievable,” summarizes soundman Disman.

“One of the best shows that I remember was Asian Dub Foundation in Reverb, which was packed beyond belief. I was trying to do sound for a show in the Kathedral, with maybe 25 people in attendance, but when the audience upstairs started jumping up and down in time, the ceiling of Kathedral was flexing so much that the bands refused to get on stage. We cancelled the show downstairs, and I went up to join the party.“

Poster wall of memories. Photo by Lucy Van Nie.

Who else worked there: “Soundmen Jake Disman, Aaron Michielsen, ‘Lucy’ David Van Nie, Hiroto Tabata and Brendan Bane were the guys who I depended on the most to ensure the musicians were happy,” credits Caldwell. “They were true professionals who didn’t allow their own personal tastes to dictate their ability to do a great job for artists. Those guys always went above and beyond to make sure the whole night ran smoothly.”

Sound tech Brendan Bane. Photo by Lucy Van Nie.

Interviewees repeatedly mention the Bop’s many fine sound techs, with others including the Kathedral’s Mike Unger, and Greg Below, who worked both Kathedral and Reverb before co-founding Distort Entertainment and managing bands including Alexisonfire.

Following Peters and Caldwell as in-house bookers were Rosina Tassone and then Cindy Parreira, who has posted more than 100 live clips from shows at the Bop to her YouTube channel. (Caldwell, who left the Bop in the mid 2000s, went on to work with James Bryan at his UMI Entertainment and continued to book shows. She left Toronto three years ago, returning to Sault Ste. Marie where she now works in animal rescue.)

Bartender Alex. Photo by Lucy Van Nie.

Tina and Chris, November 2007. Photo by Lucy Van Nie.

Clubs of the Bop’s size also rely on a solid bar and security staff, with some of the core members mentioned including Sandy Bergin, Jamie Iker, Karen Neko, Pinky Love, Nina Tereschenko, Andrew Ryan Fox, Sylvana Ched, Steve McLeod, Peter ‘Slim’ Betley, Hubert Wysokinski and Marco Di.

Ken Stone was also a central figure in the Big Bop family.

“Ken was barback in his ‘50s,” shares DeVille. “Sadly, he passed away from lung cancer in 2005. We had a wake for him – Dom actually paid for his cremation – at the Bop. We all went up on the roof, very drunk, and Dom gave us all a handful of Ken’s ashes. We each went to our own little spot on the roof, cried, said a few words, and scattered his ashes. We were truly family; we went through births, deaths, divorces, breakups, addictions, recoveries, everything together.”

Audio engineer Van Nie, who says he mixed 35 to 50 bands a week at the Bop, agrees.

“The Reverb was my second living room; I often spent more time there than at home, as did most of the Bop staff. It was our refuge, our creative outlet. Through the rough times and the happy times, we were one dysfunctional family, raising a new generation of audio engineers, promoters, musicians and bartenders.”

“I used to call the Bop ‘The purple people eater’ because once you came there, you never left,” cracks DeVille, who worked as a busser, occasional bartender, and bouncer.

“If you could work at the Bop, you could handle anything. From drunk minors throwing up on me to holding down a naked man high on PCP screaming about how he was the messiah, I’ve seen it all. Twice. And I wouldn’t change a second of it. That 10 years was the best period of my life, and I miss it every day.” (DeVille now works security at both Sneaky Dee’s and Hard Luck Bar.)

Jane and Scooter. Photo by Lucy Van Nie.

Security staff member Peter ‘Slim’ Betley. Photo by Lucy Van Nie.

What happened to it: Chiaromonte co- owned the building until 2007, when it was sold to Toronto developer Daniel Rumack.

“I was ready to pack it in,” he admits. “I’d put in so many years, I was drained. During the first years, I even lived at the Bop. I really threw myself into it because I had to.

“By 2007, all of us partners got together and said ‘If somebody comes up with this figure, we’ll sell.’ Somebody did. We had an agreement with him that we would stay on, and if he found someone else, he would give us four months or if I wanted out, I could get out of the lease by giving four months.”

That time came near the end of 2009, when Rumack announced he had a new tenant. This too was timely.

“The last few years were not very well attended, and the building was starting to fall apart,” describes Disman.

The Big Bop went out with a bang on January 30^th, 2010. Kathedral featured 20 bands over 12 hours while Nocturnal Commissions and Embedded presented the ‘Good to the Last Bop’ rave on the other floors.

Poster by Field Trip Designs, www.JayTripper.com. Courtesy of Jay Tripper.

“The last song ever played at the Reverb was by me at the rave,” says Warren a.k.a. DJ Lazarus. “I played VNV Nation’s ‘Perpetual.’ A fitting song for the end of an era.” (Warren currently DJs at Nocturne and Velvet Underground while his roving Darkrave turns 15 this year.)

After the Bop’s close, the southeast corner of Queen and Bathurst underwent a significant transformation. Underneath all that grit and purple paint, 651 Queen West was a beautiful brick heritage building. Following extensive renovations, it opened as CB2’s first Canadian location in January 2012.

Chiaromonte has not yet been inside.

“No, but I’ve heard that you walk in, and see the Big Bop sign,” he comments. “It definitely looks like they did a nice restoration job. And you can’t stop big business.”

Early in the building’s restoration process. Photo by Ira S. Cohen.

Close to completion. Photo by Ira S. Cohen.

Apparently you can’t stop Chiaromonte either. Though he’d planned to retire after selling the Queen West building (“We made good money.”), Chiaromonte opened a new club almost immediately after closing.

“I realized my plans of retirement were bullshit,” he laughs. “Within 24 hours, I found the venue out in the west end that would become Rockpile, and we signed the lease. We grabbed all of the stuff from the Big Bop, brought it to the new location in January of 2010, and opened a couple months later.”

Final last call for the Bop. Photo by Lucy Van Nie.

Many familiar faces went with him. Lucy Van Nie coordinated the move, and did the audio and lighting design and install (he went on to work for Guerrilla Remote, and is now works for Westbury and is house tech at The Piston). Jake Disman is house tech of Rockpile West (the short-lived Rockpile East closed in December), and also works as a touring front-of-house tech.

Located at 5555A Dundas West in Etobicoke, Rockpile features tribute bands, indie bands, and even hip-hop shows (Talib Kweli performs there on February 20), with punk and metal at the core. Only this time, all-ages really means all ages.

“You know what’s so cool? Seeing all these old rockers come in with their kids,” says Chiaromonte. “We had the Misfits play both Rockpiles, and it was amazing to see how many of the old punks brought their kids. We were sold out for both shows. And the Misfits loved it.”

Dominic Chiaromonte watches the Misfits load in at Reverb. Photo by Lucy Van Nie.

Thank you to participants Andrea Caldwell, Carlos Mondesir, Damian Abraham, Dominic Chiaromonte, Ewan Exall, Greg Gallant, Jake Disman, Jonathan Ramos, Lloyd Warren, Lucy Van Nie, Mark Micallef, Noel Peters, Scoot DeVille, Trevor ‘DJ Tex’ Mais and Yvonne Matsell.

The post Then & Now: The Big Bop, part 2 appeared first on Then and Now: Toronto Nightlife History.

Article originally published April 29, 2014 by The Grid online (thegridto.com).

In the mid-1980s, the Queen-and-Bathurst area was a wasteland—until this multi-floor/multi-genre dance-club rocked the corner to life, and shifted the future course of Toronto nightlife in the process.

BY: DENISE BENSON

Club: The Big Bop, 651 Queen St. W.

Years in operation: 1986-1996

History: The heritage building on the southeast corner of Queen West and Bathurst has long been a prominent marker in Toronto’s collective consciousness. Originally known as The Occidental Building, it was built in 1876 for the Toronto Masons, and was the work of Toronto-born architect E. J. Lennox who also designed Old City Hall, Casa Loma, and more than 70 other buildings in this city.

The south-east corner of Queen and Bathurst, circa 1928.

In 1948, the upper part of 651 Queen St. W. was demolished and the address opened as the Holiday Tavern. The Holiday was a dinner club, complete with stage shows, including jazz and R&B bands. Later, the Tavern would become known as a beer hall and strip club. An attempt to revive it as a live-music venue was made in the ’80s, with bands like The Shuffle Demons holding down residencies.

It was also during this period, specifically in 1984, that the largely white building underwent a neon, new-wave makeover by Toronto artist Bart Schoales, who was commissioned to create both interior and exterior murals.

The Holiday Tavern gets Bopped. Photos by Ira S. Cohen.

The ultimate credit/blame for this paint job has widely been bestowed upon the Ballinger brothers, four farm-boys-turned-club-impresarios who arrived in Toronto after achieving great success in Cambridge, Ontario. There, they had converted an old pizzeria into the highly successful Ballingers Danceteria and Videotheque. But the Ballingers–Stephen, Lon, Douglas and Peter—did not turn their attention to 651 Queen St. W. until 1986.

“We had sold Ballingers in Cambridge in 1984 for $1.5 million, after purchasing it five years earlier for $200,000,” Lon Ballinger divulges by email.

“We bought an old building at 666 King West, on the northeast corner at Bathurst, and had just finished recreating it as a fashion-display building when Douglas told us he noticed the old Holiday Tavern, which had just been redone by some other guys, had closed. This was February of 1986.

“At that time, we needed to make money, so we rented the Holiday for $9,000 a month, and spent the next four months getting it into shape. We opened the Big Bop on June 26 of 1986. I was then 35, Steve was 36, and Douglas was 28. Peter, the fourth brother, was more of a small, quiet partner.”

It was a much different time at the corner of Queen and Bathurst. While it may be difficult to believe today, there was very little nightlife on Queen west of Spadina. Bathurst marked the gateway toward a deeply impoverished Parkdale. It was not a likely location for a large nightclub to gain mass appeal.

“It was, in a sense, the dividing line between civilized world and a kind of insanity,” says Boris Khaimovich, a doorman who had worked security at clubs in New York as well as at The Copa.

“There was also Galaxy Donuts across the street from us. There was the worst Mr. Sub on the corner, an old cigar store near it, and Mr. Pong’s was down the street. It was simplicity at its best and worst.”

“We wanted to do a club that embraced the area,” offers Lon Ballinger. “It was tough, full of winos and drug addicts. Being young and mischievous, we thought to ourselves, ‘Let’s make this area like Disneyland for adults,’ so we sold the Bop as the four-storey funhouse in the part of the city that never sleeps.”

Very quickly, the multi-tiered Big Bop drew capacity crowds, with line-ups around the block and down to Richmond. The Ballingers had their calling card.

Bop promo image courtesy of Joey Santaguida.

Why it was important: At the time of its opening, the Big Bop was one of very few clubs in Toronto that could hold 1,000 or more people.

“As far as mass appeal, mainstream clubs went, there were only five or six at the time,” Khaimovich recalls. “The competition was The Copa, RPM, The Diamond, and then there was the upscale Berlin at Yonge and Eglinton.”

The Bop distinguished itself through a number of key factors, including multiple floors, wonky layout and décor, and a range of music not then heard under one roof. The Ballingers were pioneers of the large, multi-level dance club in Toronto.

“We came up with the idea of using all the floors from our growing up in the sticks of Ontario farm country, where our Mom and Dad had moved their brood from the city of Toronto so we could grow up knowing nature and how to work hard,” says Lon Ballinger. “Parties during our teen years involved going to big old country farmhouses where we flirted with cute girls and smoked pot while moving from room to room.

“The Big Bop was [planned as] a dance club for everyone who loved pretty kids, great music, and lots of well-priced booze. It was built to offer a complete interactive party that was to take up every room in the building with either dancing or visual effects—from the basement coat check area with strobe lights flashing off and on within the paint-splattered room that freaked everyone out, to the to the black lights and neon waterfalls [painted by Floria Sigismondi] on the third floor.”

Big Bop promo goods, Photo courtesy of Joey Santaguida.

There was nothing subtle about the Big Bop. Pink lights shone brightly on the army-green walls of the first floor, also adorned by painted murals of the Jetsons and various oddities. A long bar lined the room, which boasted a black-and-white checkerboard floor and a DJ booth placed above two small stage areas where crowds could strut their stuff.

“The Big Bop was big, bold, colourful, and audacious,” summarizes Avery Tanner, the man who would be mostly strongly associated with that DJ booth. “It rank of beer and scotch, and the walls were puke-green. The sound was adequate and the lights meagre, but the vibe was palpable.

“When you walked into the building, even during the day, it was like entering the whale. She seemed to have a life of her own. The dark winding staircases and the tangle of little tiny lounges on the third floor made it like the maze of Minos. It would be so packed that it could take you a half hour to move from floor to floor.”

Adds former Bop security man Krafty Brown, “You could wander from the brightly lit main floor into the flat black and day-glo stairwell, up a set of stairs and come out in this large black room with a wall of TVs to your left, behind the bar. If you went up the other stairs, you would have the option of a third floor, with more day-glo, and a tiny room with a fountain that was attached to a larger room with no music, but couches to chill in.”

Brown, a musician, DJ, sound tech and security man, has worked in clubs since the early 1970s, when he started as a busboy at the Colonial Tavern. He later played in the house band at The Cheetah club (formerly Mrs. Knights), and “worked as everything, but a waitress—the job I really wanted” at Yonge Street hard rock club The Gasworks. Brown still worked there when he landed the security job at Big Bop in summer of 1986.

“When Doug Ballinger hired me, he took me to every little space on every floor, even to the unfinished part of the basement, which he left open to the public with no or very little light,” recalls Brown. “It was a doorman’s nightmare, but he told me if I found people in there to ‘just make sure they are having a good time.’”

“The mentality that the Ballingers had toward their patrons was simplicity at its best,” confirms Khaimovich. “‘Get ’em in, get ’em drunk, get ’em to dance.’ It felt very much like a frat-house party. The décor resembled that as well, including a bunch of broken chairs and couches, with springs sticking out of them. There was a kitchen that served pizza. It was a party. It was boys and girls and booze and music.

“Once I said to Doug, ‘You know, we’ve got these two doors at the front. We should open them both up for traffic flow,’ and he said, ‘No Boris, no. You want to have the kids rubbing up against each other as they’re squeezing into the door.’ That’s the simplicity. If a customer complained, it was met with ‘Have a beer.’”

Crowd at the Big Bop. Photo courtesy of Joe Santaguida.

The Ballinger brothers couldn’t have cared less about courting the cool kids. Their priority was to create fun without pretense.

“We came from no money, had no education, and no one ever lent too much help or good advice,” says Lon Ballinger. “We always felt confident in our imaginations, our work ethics, our sense of playfulness, and our fun-loving attitudes. We knew instinctively that people just wanted fun and fantasy, and we gave them what they wanted.

“We boarded up the windows, and the doors offered no signage. That approach caused so much good controversy, just like the way we were the first club to ever open only 20 hours a week. We knew from the experience we had picked up at Ballingers that the best way to make money and keep costs low was to concentrate the hours, so we opened from 8 p.m. to 1 a.m. [last call at the time], four nights a week.

“We recognized that Wednesdays could have a low cost and college-crowd vibe, so we called this night Depression Wednesday, and charged $2.50 admission and $2.50 for drinks. It was a huge hit. Thursdays were Ladies Night, with free admission and free drinks till midnight for the girls. Friday and Saturday were just off the hook. All the local kids gravitated to our madhouse of fun.

“Within six months, we were making $60,000 per week and it was costing us $15,000. We had line-ups to get in that were two city blocks long. Needless to say, we thought we were pretty special.”

Those lineups had a great deal to do the Bop’s wildly varied mix of music, divided by floors. Without a doubt, the club’s star was resident Deejay Avery Tanner, who rocked the first floor Wednesdays through Saturdays.

Tanner had DJed his way through university, promoted events, and worked at both incarnations of Domino Klub. He’d even installed sound and built the DJ booth at Domino’s Yonge and Dundas location. After he quit there, Tanner thought he was through with DJing.

“Then I heard that the new owners of the Holiday Tavern were looking for a ’50s and ’60s rock ’n’ roll DJ,” Tanner tells me. “I had been a record collector before a DJ, had all of the music and always loved the classics. It felt like a natural fit. I put together a mixed tape and went in to introduce myself.”

He was hired in April of 1986 to help install the Big Bop’s sound and lighting, and then set its scene musically for most of the club’s years.

“It was the Ballingers’ idea to do a multi-level club with rock ’n’ roll on one floor and dance music on another,” says Tanner. “Their plan was to play ’50s and ’60s rock on the first floor. I told them I was concerned that it would be a sort of ‘house of oldies’ cliché, and thought it should appeal to youth and have an edge. That’s why we played Memphis soul like Booker T, psychedelic rock like The Zombies, blues like Muddy Waters, odd stuff like Mungo Jerry, and groovy stuff like David Essex. Of course, there was also plenty of Doors and Stones to keep it rocking.

“It soon became clear that we needed to play the ’70s—Aerosmith, Zeppelin, Blondie, and funk and disco, too. It was a musical history tour every night. Over time, even early ’80s stuff like Billy Idol and The Cult became nostalgic enough to enter our vocabulary, but when the grunge thing hit, it was time to pull out the stops. We had come of age, and we played everything. That’s just the way it was.”

The Bop’s second floor featured dance music—disco, new wave and early house. It was daring to feature such a range under one roof on a nightly basis.

“It was unheard of,” asserts Tanner. “Clubs either played one music or another, and there was no mixing of styles or crowds until we opened. In fact, no one played rock at all. After the Big Bop’s success, clubs all over downtown started playing rock ’n’ roll.”

“We knew we had a superstar on our hands with Deejay Avery Tanner,” says Lon Ballinger. “He grabbed his collection of ’50s and ’60s music, cut out a big DJ booth, and became the heart and soul of the Big Bop.

“Avery told me once, ‘You guys may have built the Big Bop, but I am the Big Bop.’ He was right. The girls came from near and far to see this mad little man DJing, drinking, and playing air guitars. He was bigger than any rock star could dream of.”

An entertainer as much as he was a DJ, Tanner was known to leap about to songs while singing along and playing toy instruments. The crowd danced directly below.

“My booth was a cut out in the wall, like a puppet theatre, and we put on a good show if I do say so myself,” says Tanner. “I would climb out onto the window ledge, and the girls would stroke my hair like I was Adonis. It was as close to being a rock star as you can get without actually being a rock star.”

Tanner had a comrade and “right-hand-man” in this revelry: lighting operator Joe Santaguida.

Joe Santaguida (left) and Avery Tanner in the DJ booth. Photo courtesy of Tanner.

Santaguida, who’d grown up at Queen and Bathurst and keenly watched the transition of the Holiday Tavern to the Big Bop, became a regular at the club soon after it opened. In 1988, Tanner invited him to do lights. They became a duo act.

“Avery and I had a routine for every song, to entertain the people,” says Santaguida. “We were not just DJs; we were showmen, and the crowd knew us as a team. People came to the booth to dance and party with us; our job was to take requests, hang out, dance, and drink! It was absolutely amazing to look out and watch the crowds rocking along with us.”

Those crowds were heavily skewed to college and university students, but with a healthy mix of neighbourhood locals, Queen Street artists and musicians, and others who packed the place.

“All the hockey players used to come right after their games, and hold court in the back,” says Lon Ballinger. “Wendel Clark, Lanny McDonald, Steve Thomas, and many others got ogled and probably much more.

“There was a lot of sex and romance in the air, and this too is what made the Big Bop so special. You might very well meet the girl or boy of your dreams; my cousin met his wife there, as did my brother Douglas. We had so many beautiful girls and handsome young men there, wanting to meet each other, and all of this music and attractiveness. It changed the rundown old neighbourhood for the better. We were very proud of the Big Bop, and how when you entered through the only door that ever opened to the public, we were all equal, one people under the spell of the music and love.”

Nadya Swyrydenko and Gregory Hewitt behind his first-floor bar. Photo courtesy of Hewitt.

Who else played/worked there: The Big Bop’s success soon paved the way for other Ballinger clubs in the city, including Boom Boom Room, Rockit, Go-Go, and The World. There was a heavy overlap of staff between Ballinger venues, most obviously so with DJs.

James Vandervoort a.k.a. James St. Bass first made his name as resident DJ of Boys Nite Out at the Boom. He recalls filling in for DJ Debbie Rottman, then the Bop’s main second-floor resident, many times during 1989.

“Debbie was a classic-alternative DJ, but she knew her dance-music history,” says Vandervoort. “She was a very experienced DJ who coached me to beat-mix New Order, Depeche Mode, and Pet Shop Boys’ records. I learned so much from her; she was my first DJ mentor, and first to support my ambitions and make me try harder to spin better. ”

Vandervoort also associates the likes of The Cure, Violent Femmes, Tones on Tail, and Erasure with Big Bop’s second floor, and highlights a song both he and Rottman played: New Order’s “Fine Time” (Silk mix). (Vandervoort went on to become a resident DJ at clubs including Go-Go and Limelight, and hosted CIUT’s pioneering HardDrive dance music show. Rottman is deceased.)

Other DJs heard over the years on the Bop’s second floor include adventurous early resident Cam Gavin, and dance-music dons including Jason “Deko”Steele, Kevin Williams, and Mark Micallef, who also organized a DJ record pool. On the first floor, Mr. Pete was a regular fill-in for Tanner, lighting man Joe Santaguida later became a resident DJ, and Trevois Mais a.k.a. DJ Tex rounded out the roster.

Originally, the third-floor lounge did not have music, but after a bar was built and busboy Gregory Hewitt was promoted to tend it, he provided the tunes.

“I bought a portable CD player, brought in an old stereo, and started playing my own music,” recalls Hewitt. “I played a lot of Kraftwerk and a ton of disco.  It was a slow start up there, but I eventually had a bunch of amazing regulars.”

Hired by the Big Bop’s first general manager, Michael Ibrahim (now owner of Club Abstract in Kitchener), Hewitt also went on to bartend on the Bop’s busy main floor, and was among an early wave of Bop staffers comprising artists, musicians, and other performers.

“I don’t know what it was with the staff of that time, but we were a very, very tight family,” he describes. “It was a large collection of downtown music and arts people, most involved in numerous projects outside the Bop.”

Big Bop staff Shawn (right), Michael Ibrahim, Kerry McInerney. Photo courtesy of Gregory Hewitt.

Hewitt points to examples including Floria Sigismondi, who worked one of the Bop’s beer bars before becoming a renowned video- and filmmaker. Teresa Roncon was an early waitress, and left the Bop to appear as a host on CityTV and then MuchMusic. Actress, model, and visual artist Bridget Griggs bartended along with the likes of Hobie Post, Kerry McInerney, Linda Parent, John Tench, Cheryl Butson, Cristy-Jane Byrom, Jenn Chycoski, Nadya Swyrydenko, and Julian Finkel.

“Julian had the best long hair in the club, maybe even in the city, but that wasn’t his draw,” says Hewitt of the one-time bartender who now owns Kensington Market boutique Model Citizen. “He was one of those people that women and men were just drawn to. His personality and presence was magnetic. Miles Roberts was another bartender and fantastic human being, not to mention a brilliant singer, dancer, artist and bloody hilarious. [Roberts now lives in Vancouver.]

“Lola a.k.a. Carmel Debreuil was also a bartender. Even though she wasn’t there for long, she left an impression. She was known to stand up and straddle the beer bin to dance to her fave songs. She also wore a lot of bustiers and bras when she worked, and sometimes we would use make-up and draw fake areolas to draw more guys to her tub for beer sales. That still makes me laugh.”

As for Hewitt himself, he left the Bop after being fired suddenly.

“The Ballingers believed I was stealing,” he reveals. “I was kind of devastated as I’d given my everything to that job, and why would I steal—I was making heaps of tips. I would often forget to pick up my paycheque for weeks at a time.”

Hewitt immediately landed a bartending job at rival club RPM, and turned down the Bop when he was offered his job back just days later. He also worked at The Phoenix before moving on to work in television. Hewitt is now a social-media consultant with TheGregoryProject and blogger at GET Out! Canada.

Other Big Bop staff of note includes barback Bruce McCallum, later a familiar face at both Sneaky Dee’s and The Horseshoe; musician and animator Crawford “Crocky” Teasdale, then a lighting man; and doorman Anthony Reffosco, who later worked as general manager at Go-Go before opening his own Power nightclub.

Big Bop T-shirt. Photo courtesy of Joey Santaguida.

Ian Michael Shaw was a well-experienced bar man by the time he was recruited from a managerial role at Yonge Street’s Hard Rock Café to act as the Bop’s general manager. He came on board late in the club’s history, in 1993, when the Ballingers had already moved to New York to run Webster Hall (more on this shortly).

“[I was hired] when the Ballingers had divested themselves of everything in Toronto except the Boom and the Bop,” says Shaw. “They sent a promoter named Martin X up from New York to breathe some new life into the joint, and he recruited me.”

Though the Ballingers were no longer onsite, one major factor did not change.

“I used to tell my staff that we sold sex, and everything else was just dressing,” states Shaw. “Sex. That’s what people came for, to let the hair down, party and maybe meet Mr./Ms. Right or Right Now.

“We got people all hot and bothered and sent them home together. Often, they couldn’t wait to get home, and got nasty with the staff on the spot. There was sex behind the bar, in the DJ booth—the DJ booth was like a fucking porn set, ridiculous—in the office, the coat check, the VIP, even on the freakin’ fire escape. It was like a working in Led Zeppelin’s hotel room.”

Krafty Brown, who worked at three additional Ballinger clubs before DJing at Limelight, tells a simple story that corroborates the above.

“My son was conceived at a Big Bop Christmas party. He is a 24-year-old working DJ/tech in Toronto.” (Brown himself now resides in Ottawa where he DJs, produces, and plays music.)

Not only did the Ballingers change the corner of Queen and Bathurst with their Big Bop, they changed people’s lives.

“I think we put a lot of fun and clean play into that area,” offers Lon Ballinger. “As the years went by, it gentrified.”

Outside the Bop. Photo courtesy of Joe Santaguida.

What happened to it: The Big Bop began to suffer after the brothers Ballinger moved to New York in 1992, where they operated Webster Hall.

“When I found Webster Hall, I told my brothers that the Big Bop was heading to NYC,” says Lon Ballinger. “We took a lot of our Canadian experiences with us, and all the little tricks we had used to lure people into our Toronto clubs worked so easily in NYC. Avery joined us when we opened, and he helped us rock NYC to the rafters as well.”

From October 1992 to July 1993, Tanner flew between cities to spin. Joe Santaguida DJed at the Bop when Tanner was not there, and became the full-time first-floor resident after Tanner re-located.

Santaguida’s blend of classic rock, soul and R&B kept the crowds coming for quite some time, but by 1993 only weekends were regularly packed. Pool tables were added to the club, Wednesdays were closed, and Thursdays were re-formatted.

“We opened a new night called Rock 175, where all floors went rock,” says Shaw, before adding that “Avery was the heart and soul of the Bop. Joey and Tex did a good job of following his act, but the Bop never had the heat it did when Avery was there.” (Shaw later bartended at Bemelmen’s, and now works in remote expedition travel.)

The Bop’s slowdown had at least as much to do with a major shift in Toronto’s club scene, as the multi-floor format the Ballingers had pioneered was put in play at many clubs located in the then-burgeoning Entertainment District.

People flocked to newer venues like Joker, Whiskey Saigon, and Limelight, which was managed by Boris Khaimovich. (He later was a partner in System Soundbar, and now works the door at Rock ‘n’ Horse Saloon in addition to operating his Maple Crescent Farm.)

Joe Santaguida during his DJ days at the Bop. Photo courtesy of him.

In 1994, the Big Bop began its decline in earnest.

“The Ballingers had moved on, and were neglecting the Bop,” says Santaguida, who quit in late 1993, but continues to speak fondly of the club. “Their focus and resources were 100 per cent on Webster Hall, and they just let the Bop run its course. I remember going back in 1994 to check out the club a couple of times, and it had changed dramatically. All of it—the music, people, and pace had slowed down.” (Santaguida is now a stay-at-home dad, raising two kids with his wife, who he met at the Bop more than 20 years ago.)

The Big Bop went into receivership in 1994, and sputtered its way through the next year-and-a-half to two years. Though he would not confirm the exact closing date, Lon Ballinger did offer some details.

“My brothers and I suffered a complete financial meltdown. We lost everything we owned in the real-estate collapse that took place in 1989 in Canada. We were builders as well as fine club operators. We lost 10 buildings; one of them was the Big Bop. This was a very painful time for us.

“I thank the people of Toronto for the great times we had, and for always supporting our clubs. I have so many good memories of Toronto.”

The Ballinger brothers, along with their 10 sons, now run multiple venues in New York, including multi-room lounge and live-music venue Slake and The City Beer Hall in Albany.

After more than 40 years of entertaining, Lon Ballinger says, “We want to put on our tombstones, ‘They made ‘em dance.’”

“The Ballingers are remarkable people, and a fascinating story,” says Tanner, a resident DJ at Webster Hall until his return to Toronto in 2012.

I ask him the secret of his success in working with the notoriously hot-blooded brothers for 25 years.

“Patience, and a cast iron liver.”

The history of the Big Bop does not end there, however. In part two of this story, we’ll examine its rebirth in the late-’90s as a live music venue.

Thank you to participants Avery Tanner, Boris Khaimovich, Gregory Hewitt, Ian Michael Shaw, James Vandervoort, Joe Santaguida, Krafty Brown, and Lon Ballinger, as well as to Ira S. Cohen and Sue Waller.

The post Then & Now: The Big Bop, part 1 appeared first on Then and Now: Toronto Nightlife History.

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 November 12, 2013 by The Grid online (thegridto.com).

It was a dark, dingy death-trap. But in the early 2000s, there was no better place to party than in this Kensington basement.

BY: DENISE BENSON

Club: Club 56, 56C Kensington Ave.

Years in operation: 2001-2004

History: In the early 2000s, Kensington Market was not much of a destination for dancing. Market nightlife mainly consisted of punk and reggae shows, the occasional low-key lounge or restaurant, impromptu gatherings in the park, and boozecans. Streets tended to be quiet by night and busy by day, when people flooded in to buy vegetables and second-hand clothes.

Squeezed between random storefronts and a TD bank machine, 56C Kensington was easy to miss. Its glass-door entrance was set in from the sidewalk, and was frequently covered in posters. Layers of paint hinted at the location’s past lives, including as an after-hours and, before that, a Vietnamese karaoke bar.

By 2001, a man named Laszlo or Leslye (the English translation) owned the basement bar that came to be known as Club 56. At first, his clientele consisted largely of friends, many of them fellow Hungarians and other Eastern Europeans. It was a social club of sorts.

That same year, a DJ and promoter named Mike Wallace was searching for a new spot to throw his parties. He and Rob Judges—two Scarborough-raised music lovers who’d been friends since grade four—had made names for themselves through a party called Skeme. From 1995 to ’97, the duo scoped underused spaces, bouncing from legion halls to Ethiopian restaurants, Kensington’s Lion Bar and Top o’ the Market and, most successfully, to Spadina’s Club Shanghai.

“We got big by basically being the only party at the time to play Britpop alongside hip-hop, with lots of ’60s nuggets thrown in,” says Judges. “We’d go Wu-Tang into Supergrass into Chambers Brothers, and it worked.”

Mike Wallace in Club 56 entranceway. Photo courtesy of him.

Wallace moved to London, England in 1997. By the time he returned, in summer of 2000, Judges lived in Tokyo. That December, Wallace started his own soul and indie-rock party, dubbed Evil Genius, at Manhattan Club on Balmuto.

“By the summer 2001, I’d been throwing Evil Genius for six months, and was on the lookout for a new venue,” writes Wallace by email. “Walking around the Market, I saw the outside door for Club 56 and was intrigued, but every time I went by, the door was locked. Then, one day in September, I found it open, went downstairs into the club and thought, ‘Yes, totally—this is the place.’

“It was well laid-out, with good integration and separation of bar, lounge, and dancefloor areas. With a low ceiling and lots of mirrors, it would be easy to make any crowd look big. 56 had a sort of jungle-grotto theme, vaguely tropical, gone to seed; plastic foliage dripping from the decaying ceiling, along with various cables and wires and other infrastructure. It looked like it was just about to fall apart, and gave off a sense of impending peril. It looked like an exciting place to party.”

Wallace spoke with a bartender named Charlie, the owner’s friend, who told him the bar was available for parties.

Leslye and Charlie. Photo courtesy of Mike Wallace.

“I called Leslye that night and left a message. A couple of days later, he called around 10 p.m., said he’d like to meet, and asked where I lived. I told him Yonge and Carlton, and he said to meet him downstairs, outside, in 15 minutes. I stood in front of my building, and a silver Mercedes glided to a stop. The window slid down, and there was Leslye in the driver’s seat. ‘You want to do a party?’ ‘Yeah.’ ‘When?’ ‘Three weeks from Friday.’ ‘Okay, see you then.’ We shook hands, and he drove off into the night.”

The first Evil Genius at Club 56 went off in October of 2001.

“The party was packed, and everyone loved the place right away,” recalls Wallace. “Leslye and Charlie were wonderful hosts—generous, welcoming, laid back, super cool.”

Though he would never be privy to either man’s surname (“they were friendly guys, but cagey; we didn’t get into a lot of getting-to-know-each-other”), Wallace had found his new party spot. Other adventurous promoters would soon follow his lead.

Partygoers at Hot Times, at Club 56. Photo courtesy of Mike Wallace.

Why it was important: By the early 2000s, Toronto club-goers were restless. Our once-mighty rave scene was imploding, but its influence and energy still widely felt. Venues in the Entertainment District were heavily skewed to commercial music and faux-luxury—turn-offs for many. A lot of people who’d grown up listening to a range of sounds had become bored by sonically specialized nights. There would soon be a gritty, sweaty, and artfully rebellious response as huge events and swank superclubs were eschewed in favour of warehouse parties and raw, intimate spaces. Club 56 quickly became a hotspot.

“56 was by no means a beautiful place; it was, however, not without its charm,” says DJ Dougie Boom, who would get his start at the venue in 2002. “Its low ceiling and bunkered-down quality had the seediness of an after-hours, which appealed to the kids, but had the familiarity of a suburban basement, which made it more accessible, in some respects. Geographically, it was also appealing, being slightly off the beaten path, but situated between College and Queen.

“You would walk through the glass door and slink down the stairs. The walls in the staircase were covered with mirrors and coloured light bulbs, like a funhouse or an old arcade, but, more probably, were just remnants of its 1970s incarnation as a bar. Once you hit ground level, you usually had to wait to pay and get past security through these narrow doors. The room was small, maybe 80-person capacity legally, and was rather dark.”

The club itself was basically a square, with a corner dancefloor on the right, and a small bar and lounge, complete with grotty black leather couches, on the left. The colour scheme was black, blue, and purple—made more intense by multiple black lights, many of which shone on fish tanks scattered around the space. Walls were wood panel painted black on bottom, with mirrors on top. Most of the floor was ceramic tile, with a linoleum dancefloor. The washrooms frequently flooded.

“56 was a great club for dancing,” says Wallace. “The checkboard linoleum was perfect for sliding. I liked the seediness of it. The down-the-stairs entrance was like going down the rabbit hole. It felt tight, cramped; you knew you’d get touched. Club 56 was ridiculous in the best way, with the fish tanks and plastic grape bunches. People were always at ease there.”

“It was a mouth-wateringly perfect place to throw a party,” adds Judges.

Many promoters and DJs felt the same way. Club 56 would become ground zero for a creative, somewhat anarchic approach to party-throwing, where visuals meant as much as the open-format music mix.

This edition of Then & Now is, in fact, as much about individual events held at 56 as it is about the club itself.

Flyer for the first Evil Genius party courtesy of Mike Wallace.

Evil Genius was ahead of the curve, practically sending a flare out in the night sky; its parties were packed with enthusiastic indie kids who got down to Wallace’s blend of hip-hop, funk, soul and classic rock.

“The Evil Genius flyers used to say ‘Legendary Music from All Eras,’” Wallace recalls. “There were no constraints; anything went.”

He cites signature tracks like Nelly’s “Country Grammar,” April Wine’s version of “Could Have Been a Lady,” Beatnuts’ “Hellraiser,” “Don’t Bring Me Down” by E.L.O., “Exploration” by Karminsky Experience, and Sweet’s “Fox on the Run.”

Evil Genius was an anchor monthly at Club 56 until July 2002. By then, Judges had returned from Japan, and the two dreamed up a new collaborative party, called Hot Times! It launched that September, and was packed from day one. The signature flyers created by Judges were definitely part of the Hot Times! appeal.

“Our flyers asked, ‘Why party?’ and we deliberately spelled things wrong,” explains Judges. “It was never rude, but always sort of deliberately provocative or off—a flash of nipple, a smoking child, scientific-research animals.”

Hot Times! flyers courtesy of Mike Wallace and Rob Judges.

As with the pair’s earlier Skeme parties, Hot Times! zoomed in on hip-hop and rock, but Judges’ music collection had expanded greatly.

“I had brought back tons of music from Japan—mostly Japanese reissues of obscure funk, soul, and rock. But we loved our new stuff, too. Hot Times! was about good music, period.”

His eclectic list of top picks includes “Better Change Your Mind” by Nigeria’s William Onyeabor, Kool G Rap and RZA’s “Cakes,” “Barely Legal” by The Strokes, “Electronic Renaissance” by Belle & Sebastian, The Dave Pike Set’s “Mathar,” and “Hard Times” by Human League.

“That was major. The crowd would sing along to it as ‘Hot Times!,’ which was always my favourite part of the night.

“The DJ booth was built over a fish tank, but you would barely notice it because there were wires and cables everywhere,” Judges continues. “I had no idea what was connected to what, and it always felt like a miracle that the sound ever worked. Our rule of thumb was just ‘Don’t touch anything.’ Seriously, those cables were like the Da Vinci code.”

“The soundsystem was makeshift—lots of scotch tape, lots of improvisation,” Wallace confirms. “The dynamics might not have been optimal, but it always worked and it was always loud.”

Wallace also lovingly details the club’s main visual elements. “The several aquariums scattered about the room each had a few hardy fish. They looked amazing. There was also a single moving colour light, and a small disco ball, with one dim spotlight. Because the ceiling was low, people always hit the disco ball, so the lights were off-kilter, drunken.

“I have no idea how Leslye came to own Club 56, but I do know he loved owning it,” adds Wallace, who also did a run of old-school country nights, called Country Stranger, at 56.

“What I remember most is how he’d always talk about his plans for the future, how he wanted to buy the place next door, tear down the wall, make Club 56 twice as big, and put a huge shark tank behind the bar.”

Rob Judges (left) and Mike Wallace. Photo courtesy of Wallace.

Wallace and Judges would continue Hot Times! together until January of 2003. When Wallace left to restart Evil Genius and to focus on his band, Snowy Owl, another Scarborough friend, Adam Bronstorph, stepped in to DJ alongside Judges.

Both Evil Genius and Hot Times! were consistently rammed. Owner Leslye was both flexible with capacity, and very open to booking other idiosyncratic DJ events.

“Leslye was a businessman all the way,” says Judges. “It always came down to cash for him, but he knew that meant delivering customer satisfaction. He and Charlie were always cool with our crowds, and were never stressed, even when we’d have 50 people on the street trying to get in, and cops showing up. Leslye was just unflappable.”

“Leslye was always in control,” Wallace agrees. “But I think he was bemused by the parties, by the people who went to them, and the people who threw them.”

Lara McMahon, who bartended at Club 56 for roughly a year, offers this take on her former boss: “I think Les had the original intention of opening a fancier style lounge that would cater to an Eastern Bloc crowd, but found that money was in the DJ parties. The crowd there was hip before there were hipsters. They were young, and had money to burn until the morning. On more than a few occasions, Les would lock the door and serve until the sun came up.”

By fate rather than design, Club 56 became a breeding ground for a new wave of hybrid sounds and crowds. Events that happened there connected crowds and communities that were once divided.

The late Will Munro’s Peroxide parties are another great example. By January 2002, when the artist and DJ kicked off his electro-centric monthly, he already had a huge hit in the form of alt-queer event Vazaleen, by then held at Lee’s Palace. Peroxide was a chance for him to showcase the electronic sounds he loved in a much more intimate venue.

The party attracted a wide range of queers, artists, electro-heads, and others with open ears and minds. One regular was future DJ Jaime Sin. Though she did not yet know Munro—they would DJ and plan events together years later—Sin made a point of attending his nights.

“I remember Will passing me a baggie one night, and whispering, ‘drugs!,’” relates Sin. (Munro was straight-edge and avoided drugs.) “It was actually a Peroxide flyer—some kind of electronic part contained in a baggie with the name and date of the party stickered on. Amazing.”

“Will had a knack for making the invitations to his events like works of art that made you not want to miss a night,” echoes artist and curator Luis Jacob, a friend and frequent collaborator of Munro’s.

“For Peroxide, Will rummaged through the bins of Active Surplus on Queen so that the invites had a kind of ‘obsolete technology’ feel to them. At various times, he’d use floppy disks, resistors, and other bits and pieces of gadgetry. The fonts he’d use also had a cold ’80s new wave feel to them, which would match perfectly the cold, arpeggiated electro coming out in the early 2000s. The club itself had a late ’80s feel, so the flyers, music, and physical venue all came together to create this dark, hard, and cool vibe.”

Will Munro’s floppy disk flyer for Peroxide. Courtesy of Sarah Wayne.

Jacob was a regular at Peroxide and would later do parties at Club 56 dubbed Rhythm Box (named in relation to a standout scene from 1982 cult film Liquid Sky). Jacob DJed as Didi7  and—along with Prince Jiffar and The Robotic Kid—played a mix of house, acid, and techno a la Green Velvet’s “Land of the Lost” and A Number Of Names’ “Sharevari.”

“At 56, you really felt that you had arrived at an end-of-the-world party, decorated by mirrored walls, and populated by exotic fish glowing in the dark,” Jacob recounts. “People used to nervously joke that if there ever was a fire, we would all meet a certain death since there was no way everyone would make it through the stairs to safety.

“What I remember most is the heat. I distinctly recall one summer night—though the place was equally hot in the winter—coming outside to get some air. I had been dancing, wearing a green fishnet sleeveless top. I took off my shirt, wrung it, and sweat just gushed out. I couldn’t believe that something made of such little cloth could contain so much liquid. That’s Peroxide at 56 for you!”

Sin shares a related memory.

“When 56 got full, the mirrors would get covered in condensation, and if it got really busy the ceiling would start to drip. At one Peroxide party, there was this amazing-looking girl wearing like, neon socks and clear, platform stripper heels, and I remember thinking, ‘Oh my god, that’s brave!’ because those floors were damn slippery.”

Will Munro-designed Peroxide poster. Courtesy of Jaime Sin.

Club 56 was an unabashedly raw space, but the creativity served up made it exciting.

“I liked the dinginess and the slightly down-and-out quality 56 had,” says Luca Lucarini, also known as DJ Captain Easychord. “Basically it was a shithole, in the best way possible.”

Lucarini was a Kensington Market resident who’d already been to the club plenty by the time he and friend Tom Khan started the Expensive Shit party there in 2002. Khan was a big soul and Afro-funk fan (the party got its name from Fela Kuti’s legendary 1975 album) while Lucarini also loved indie and experimental sounds.

After a bunch of parties, Rob Gordon would step up as Lucarini’s DJ partner. Gordon was a high-school friend, a drummer (he would play in bands including Les Mouches, From Fiction, and Pony da Look), and, in 2000, he’d started to mix his dad’s soul seven-inches with indie rock at bars on College and beyond. After a chance encounter in 2002, when Lucarini flyered Gordon and invited him to an Expensive Shit party that night, the two re-connected.

“We had a long talk and agreed it was time to break from some prevailing form,” Gordon recalls. “The dancefloor fillers from the mod and indie scene had become impotent. We craved something futuristic, yet without the overtly futuristic aesthetic of techno, which was amazing, but certainly nothing new at that time. Toronto nightlife had already begun its organic transformation in this very direction, and we were just another couple of people feeling its traction. Many others felt the same pull, and were already doing something about it. Strangely, they were all doing it at Club 56. I started to attend all the parties at that club, and it really seemed everybody wanted to create the same kind of experience; they just had a more personal flavour to their selections or their approach to mixing.”

Expensive Shit became known for well-programmed sounds that ranged from riot grrrl to Krautrock, Dat Politics to dancehall, DFA to Dizzee Rascal, and other grime, soul, mash-ups and indie rock, often recorded by their many friends connected to Blocks Recording Club. Another friend, Dan Brown, created the psychedelic projections while Peter Venuto’s LED “Trash Lights” synched to the beat as they lit up four different garbage-can lids. Additional sound gear, especially subs for added bass, was rented for the parties.

“The 56 sound system was always budget, and very often actually busted,” Gordon recalls. “This supplied a kind of natural punk vibe to everything that went down there. Italo disco and New York no wave came out of the speakers sounding the same.”

“I remember when we could come in and do soundchecks, Laszlo would always insist on blasting trance, and quite often he would try and take over on the decks mid-party,” adds Lucarini, who also acknowledges that the owner’s “laissez-faire attitude toward capacity was a major part in our party’s success.”

So was live music.

“Everybody at that time was either in a band, or going to check out literally anything [promoter] Mikey Apples would bring to town, so it became regular practice to have a band play before the party would start,” states Gordon. “Drums were banned, probably by me, and there were tonnes of great shows right in front of the DJ booth. Steve Kado famously recorded a version of [OutKast's] ‘Hey Ya,’ and performed it before it was even released. I also have fond memories of d’omain d’or performing their anemic Jesus song, and Oh No the Modulator smashing a pile of vintage computers.”

Mikey Apples both attended and promoted parties at Club 56. He also produced many pioneering events, booking bands with “a punk approach to night music” into a variety of venues in the early 2000s.

“There was a great energy around that scene at the time, not just related to 56,” recounts Apples. “There was the Manhattan Club, up behind the old Uptown cinema, a random Chinese restaurant, a gallery—we were always on the hunt for a new one-off spot. It made it an adventure.

“I wanted to contribute to that momentum, and started doing semi-regular parties at 56. At the same time, I was doing more hybrid concert-party things at Xpace on Augusta, and other raw spaces like Cinecycle.” (He booked bands like The Gossip, Les Georges Leningrad, Numbers, and Ninja High School, and also presented some of the earliest ticketed shows at The Boat, including Glass Candy, Aidswolf, Ariel Pink’s debut Toronto show, and Crystal Castles’ second-ever performance.)

“Dance music was finding its way into something new, and these parties were a mix of what little cool new stuff we could find mixed with old, overlooked gems that fit,” says Apples, pointing to big tunes of the time like The Rapture’s “House of Jealous Lovers,” and LCD Soundsystem’s “Losing My Edge” as examples.

“Most of us that played at Club 56, or during that time, were very good at blending the eras and creating a vibe. It was very exploratory. All of us also put a lot of heart and soul into the experience, like with lots of small details in the promo. Will [Munro]‘s stuff was extraordinary.

“The visual element, the incredible, tangible, often hand-made promo—this stuff was priority numero uno, not numbers or money,” Apples emphasizes. “It felt very pure, very honest and heartfelt.”

Will Munro-designed Peroxide posters. Courtesy of Jaime Sin. 

“When Will Munro took Peroxide to 56, that was like getting the ultimate seal of approval,” says Wallace. “Will was the coolest cat in the city by far. I also remember when Expensive Shit started there; it felt like a generational handshake. They were the new kids to us old kids. I loved their night—a fantastic party. Everything that happened at Club 56 was awesome. It was just that kind of space.”

“Ultimately, Club 56 was a temple of tolerance that allowed young creative energy to explode with reckless abandon,” enthuses Expensive Shit’s Gordon. “I remember it being so unbearably sweaty that everybody started stripping. I remember everybody making out, people hooking up right on the couches, fuelled by a creatively hyper, totally ambiguous sense of sexuality. The energy of every party was so high that it was too much for the little club.”

“The energy on some of the nights in that little basement was pretty spellbinding,” concurs Apples. “Everyone just went for it, with all this great off-the-beaten-path music that had never been put together and presented as something to dance to, at least to the particular generation in attendance. They couldn’t properly fit the amount of people that used to ram in there. It was a very small space, but that’s what lent the place the energy it had. Like atoms smashing together.”

At Hot Times! Photo courtesy of Mike Wallace.

Who else played/worked there: There was a vitality to Club 56 that far outweighed its size; the community that frequented it was ever-expanding, largely through word-of-mouth.

“It was right before everyone used the internet to find out about or communicate everything,” reminds Sin. “Spots did not get blown up so quickly, like they do now.”

Club 56 attracted the curious, the creative, and those who just wanted to do their own thing.

It’s where Darcy “Diggy” Scott got his start as a promoter, before he would work under the name of D-Money. He had attended Peroxide and other nights at 56 before he and friend Steven Artimew started to do events there in the summer of 2002. By early 2003, they went monthly, and named their party Fuck Faces.

“It was aggro dance-party fare,” Scott explains. “There was lots of hair-metal mixed with house, ghettotech stuff, and hip-hop. We were definitely less about a groove, and more about a party. At the time, open format nights were a new idea, for us, and what we brought to the table were DJs with technical skills. There were a couple of open-format monthlies at the time, but the DJs were more musical curators.”

Fuck Faces featured gifted DJs including Andrew Allsgood, Fase, Barbi, Cryo, and Andrew Ross, as well as a newbie named Dig Doug. The man now known as Dougie Boom says the mix of raunchy dance music played at Fuck Faces mirrored the time and place.

“If you were our age or demographic, you probably grew up on rock and new wave in the ’80s, listened to Wu-Tang Clan in the ’90s, and then got into club music in the later ’90s,” explains Boom. “So there was that musical past, but then we mixed in electro, booty, Miami Bass, and ghetto-house as well. It required a certain amount of conviction.”

56 was a perfect fit for the crew.

“It was a spot that we could do whatever we wanted in,” says Scott bluntly.

Asked about his key memories of the space, Scott mentions “The ‘Very Cheap Special.’ It was this glass dome that sat on the bar top, and it had like three-month-old sandwiches in it. It was disgusting.

“56 also routinely ran out of booze, forcing us to call everyone’s favourite after-hours booze delivery company in order to keep the party going.”

“The parties were just banging,” says Boom. “At the end of the night, the floor would be a mess: condensation; cigarette butts, and glass. If we had had computers for DJing at the time, they probably wouldn’t have survived.”

Fuck Faces would continue at 56 into 2004, but outgrew it, and moved on to The Boat, Sneaky Dee’s and, finally, Wrongbar (where it ended in 2010).

“Club 56 was a small step in the long run for Fuck Faces, but it probably wouldn’t have happened otherwise,” says Boom, who now DJs all over the city and is producing music.

He and Scott are also two of the driving forces behind Neighbourhood Watch, a party series that will also fund releases by Toronto-based artists.

Scott’s D-Money promotions grew to become Underdog, which now presents a variety of concerts and parties, including the intrepid Galapagos series. Scott also produces, and records with XI as Ambalance.

A lot of Toronto musicians hung at Club 56—Wallace mentions that “Crystal Castles’ Claudio, Death From Above 1979’s Jesse and Sebastian, Sam Roberts Band members, and many others” partied at Evil Genius and Hot Times!

Jesse Keeler of Death From Above 1979/MSTRKRFT (right), with friend Dennis Chow.
Photo: Mike Wallace.

56 was well-loved for a variety of distinctive parties, which also included deep-funk, rhythm and blues, and garage-rock night Doing It to Death, with DJs Wes Allen and Dan Vila; hip-hop party Let The Hustlers Play with DJs Islamabad and Big Jacks; and superheavyREGGAE, with selectors Jeremiah and Friendlyness, hornsman I-Sax, and a variety of guests.

“The nights that stood out most to me were the superheavyREGGAE parties,” says Franzisca Barczyk, who bartended briefly at Club 56, while a U of T student. “They were always really packed, loud, and there was always a real variety of people.

“Club 56 felt like it was a hidden party spot with a variety of random people,” she adds. “The crowds were completely mixed. Some nights were more student-y. The vibe was always about music and dancing.”

Barczyk got the bartending job offer from Leslye, as did friend Francesca Bungaro-Yemec, when they attended an OCAD party at Club 56 one night in 2002. Francesca had previously tended bar at Babylon on Church Street.

“The first night I was at 56, some crazy drunk girl flushed her cellphone down the toilet, and the mess it made convinced me to never use the washroom,” Bungaro-Yemec recalls. “I would occasionally provide an extra roll of toilet paper over the bar, but that was as close as I got. The back room was also a place I never dared to venture; rumours of ghosts or something sordid kept me out.”

Other familiar faces from Club 56 include Dave Wallace, Mike’s brother, who did door at both Evil Genius and Hot Times!

“He would always do an inspection of the club before a party,” says Wallace. “He’d check the fire extinguisher, try the emergency exit, and pull out the exposed nails that littered the club. ‘This place is a death trap, Mikey,’ he’d say. But we never had any hassle at the door.”

56, ramshackle as it was, would serve as inspiration for many Toronto clubs to come.

“Club 56 showed people that when it came to nightlife, anyone could do it and anything was possible,” states Wallace. “It was a punk-rock space, no matter what music was playing.”

Judges credits Wallace not only for “discovering” 56, but also being one of the first to scout Market spots like The Boat and Top o’ the Market for parties.

“And so, people were not only hearing these open-format type nights, they were getting to see the inside of places they didn’t even realize were there,” Judges says. “Perhaps these nights, and 56, helped open people’s minds up to the idea that a party could happen anywhere, and that with a little creativity and love for what you do, a scuzzy, local dive could be the coolest place in Toronto to be at on a certain night. It was pure DIY, all the way.”

Rob Judges DJs at Hot Times! Photo courtesy of Mike Wallace.

What happened to it: Just like the fish seemed to disappear one-by-one from the Club 56 aquariums, most of its popular dance parties gradually moved to larger venues.

“Our own friends couldn’t even get in to Hot Times!,” says Judges, who left 56 in 2003. “There just physically wasn’t any more room for people, and the crowds on the street outside became a total heatscore.”

Hot Times! moved to Ras Dashen, The Gladstone, Silver Dollar, and the El Mocambo before wrapping in March 2005 at the then newly-opened Supermarket in Kensington. (A visual artist, Judges moved back to Tokyo in 2005 and launched a version of Hot Times! It has since morphed into collaborative party Hindu Love.)

Mikey Apples had stopped doing events at 56 by the time he and Jaime Sin launched Shack Up! Thursdays at Queen and Bathurst dive The Queenshead in 2004. Shack Up! helped that pub become a beacon of cool as they hosted the likes of James Murphy, Juan Maclean, Arthur Baker, and MSTRKRFT. (Apples has since acted as a manager for bands including Crystal Castles, Parallels, and Trust, and is now owner of Bambi’s. Sin would go on to collaborate with Will Munro on parties Seventh Heaven and Love Saves the Day. She now works in fashion direction.)

It was easy to see the Club 56 influence on scruffy spots like The Queenshead and 751, but it’s also evident that the club’s crowds and musical mix served as inspiration for larger venues like The Social and Wrongbar.

Wallace, who’d left Club 56 in 2002 and went on to do Evil Genius and other events at spots including The Boat and El Amigo, sees another angle.

“When The Drake opened [in February 2004], I began to notice a backlash against the open format, no dress-code, cheap-drinks ethos of Club 56. People wanted to be flashy again, exclusive again, show off a little and put up a velvet rope. I was sad for the development, but understood the cycle. It just meant we’d made an impression, and gave them something to react to.” (Wallace now lives with his family in New York City, where he’s a “stay-at-home dad to two great kids.”)

As for Club 56 itself, no one I spoke with was certain why it closed. There had been liquor-license suspensions, but a variety of theories exist as to why the venue’s doors were suddenly locked and slapped with a bailiff’s notice.

“There were a lot of rumours about the managers of the bar, but who knows what the real story was,” offers Luis Jacob. “I heard they never paid any rent, and just disappeared one day when they realized their luck had run out.” (Jacob’s own artistic career is flourishing. He also wrote an essay about Will Munro—who succumbed to brain cancer in 2010—that appears in the art-retrospective book Will Munro: History, Glamour, Magic. Munro’s life story is told in Army of Lovers, a newly published oral history written by The Grid’s own Sarah Liss.)

As for Club 56 owner Leslye himself, many say they’ve heard he was killed, but this cannot be confirmed.

“Rumour has it that Les got into a fight with his roommate, and was murdered getting out of the shower, but I never verified if that was a ‘Kensington urban legend,’” says McMahon, who bartended at Top o’ the Market after Club 56. “When you work for 13 years on-and-off in the Market, you hear a lot of them.” (She is now an assistant director and extras-casting assistant working in film and television.)

56C Kensington in November 2013. The sign for Syp remains. Photo by Denise Benson.

What is known is that 56 Kensington closed at the end of May 2004, and became known as Syp Lounge in January 2005. Peroxide and Expensive Shit continued there for a bit.

“It was good for a few parties, but it just wasn’t the same,” says Lucarini. “We had to bring in our own sound, and the fish tanks were gone. The new owner was also less daring when it came to flirting with over-capacity. I was moving to England that year anyway, so it felt like the right time to wind it down. We had a final [Expensive Shit] sendoff at The Boat.” (Lucarini is now a documentary filmmaker who contributes to the operation of Kensington’s Double Double Land alongside Dan Vila.)

Although its sign is still there, Syp Lounge was short-lived.

“Both Will Munro and, independently, Luca and I tried to take it over when it became available, but with no luck,” says Gordon. (In more recent years, he helped start Double Double Land, and now plays drums for Owen Pallett, has an electronic band called New Feelings, and works at Bambi’s.)

The building at 54-56 Kensington Avenue was recently advertised for sale, but that listing was put on hold last month. Given the ever-changing nature of Kensington Market, its future cannot be predicted.

Postscript: In response to the original Club 56 article published by The Grid, Club 56 staff member Nick Desando sent an email to confirm that owner “Leslie (Laszlo) was indeed killed. He died December 16, 2005. Leslie was a good friend. We, the staff at Club 56, often honour his memory.”

Thank you to participants Darcy Scott, Dougie Boom, Francesca Bungaro-Yemec, Franzisca Barczyk, Jaime Sin, Lara McMahon, Luca Lucarini, Luis Jacob, Mikey Apples, Mike Wallace, Rob Gordon, Rob Judges, as well as to Denise Balkissoon, Randreac, and Sarah Wayne.

The post Then & Now: 56 Kensington a.k.a. Club 56 appeared first on Then and Now: Toronto Nightlife History.

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

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

BY: DENISE BENSON

Club: BamBoo, 312 Queen St. W.

Years in operation: 1983-2002

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

BamBoo menu cover. Image courtesy of Patti Habib.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

BY: DENISE BENSON

Club: Boa Café, 25 Bellair

Years in operation: 1989-1998

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

At the story’s centre lies Rony Hitti.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Boa Café layout.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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