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

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

BY: DENISE BENSON

Club: Gypsy Co-op, 817 Queen West

Years in operation: 1995–2006

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Upstairs was The Hooch, renovated and expanded in 1997.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Collection of Glide Wednesdays flyers. Courtesy of Denise Benson.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At the New Kicks weekly. Photo by Zach Slootsky.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Article originally published August 10, 2012 by The Grid online (thegridto.com).

The legendary Spadina venue has just been sold for a reported $3 million, with its new owners promising to return the club to its late-‘70s glory days. But in this edition of her nightlife-history series, Denise Benson looks back at the people and parties that kept this Toronto landmark alive during its leanest years.

BY: DENISE BENSON

Club: The El Mocambo Tavern, 464 Spadina Ave.

Years in operation: 1946-present. Here, I focus specifically on the era spanning 1989-2001.

History: Arguably Toronto’s most illustrious live music venue, Spadina’s historic El Mocambo Tavern has meant many things to many people over the past 66 years: soul and blues hub, revered rock and roots venue, queer-punk hotbed. The building itself is said to date back to 1850, and to have acted as a haven for escaped slaves in a part of the city that was long home to a sizable African-Canadian community.

The El Mocambo, complete with infamous palm-tree sign, opened in the 1940s as a two-floor live music venue, and was granted one of Toronto’s earliest liquor licences. While it’s never been fancy, the El Mo boasts an incredible rock, soul, jazz, and blues pedigree. Charles Mingus, Muddy Waters, Willie Dixon, Jimi Hendrix, Stevie Ray Vaughan, The Guess Who, Elvis Costello, Lou Reed, U2, Blondie, and The Ramones all played there, as did a certain British band that performed two nights under the pseudonym of The Cockroaches.

“The Rolling Stones’ shows in 1977 put The El Mocambo on the ‘world stage,’” says longtime local music booker Enzo Petrungaro, who co-owned the venue from 1989 to 1992.

“It was probably the most talked-about club in the world during the days that followed, not only because of the scandals—the Prime Minister’s newly separated wife seen running around with the band, and Keith Richards’ subsequent bust at the hotel—but it was the first time in many years that The Stones played such an intimate venue. And they were stellar performances!”

Stones fans know that the shows resulted in side three of the band’s Love You Live album. In the years that followed, the El Mo was at times considered a coveted, A-list club and, at other points, a shoddy spot to be avoided—a perception largely contingent on who owned it at the time.

Look past the club’s “glory years” of 1972 through the mid-’80s—when owners Michael Baird and Tom Kristenbrun worked mainly with in-house booker David Bluestein—and you’ll find a long list of subsequent owners and operators, some lasting less than a year.

In light of the recent sale of both the El Mocambo Tavern’s building and business to Sam Grosso (owner of Cadillac Lounge) and Marco Petrucci (of 99 Sudbury), we examine a crucial turning point in the club’s history: the period of 1989 through 2001.

These transformative, albeit tumultuous, 12 years begin with the El Mo’s purchase by Petrungaro and end with its sale to Abbas Jahangiri. In between, there were successful stretches, many colourful characters, and a number of sudden closures.

Why 1989-2001 were important years at The El Mocambo: Encouraged by earlier El Mo owner Shaun Pilot, Enzo Petrungaro and a silent partner bought into the business at a point when the crowds weren’t coming. They began with widespread renovations.

“We immediately moved the stage [from the east side] back to the middle of the room upstairs, then gutted and rebuilt the dressing rooms, washrooms, kitchen and offices,” recalls Petrungaro. “We tore down and rebuilt all the bars, complete with new draft lines and pumps, installed new flooring, central air conditioning, exposed all of the bricks, and thoroughly cleaned and painted the entire space.

“We also built the staircase to the second floor at the back because the original one was condemned. This is where the bands would load-in their equipment. The renovations were extensive, expensive, and very necessary. Once we opened, the music was all that mattered.”

As a talent booker, Petrungaro didn’t limit the El Mocambo to specific sounds. He credits Pilot and industry veteran Joe Bamford with helping to fill the calendar in his early days, with local promoters and bands soon taking interest.

“We installed a great-sounding PA system upstairs, and a similar, scaled-down version for the ground floor. In spite of all the challenges and complaints with the building—the load-ins were a struggle, there were too many stairs to get to a dressing room with no private washroom, and you had to walk through the crowd to get to the stage—artists still loved performing there. The stage sounded great, the room sounded great, and the seating virtually enveloped the stage, creating a very unique and intimate experience not only for fans, but also for the artists.”

Petrungaro booked a number of respected artists in for weekly residencies, with acts like Danny Marks, Paul James, and Jack de Keyzer repping on the rock and blues front, while the-then-unknown Barenaked Ladies hosted their Barenaked Circus. Popular Front would also transform into The Lowest of the Low during their El Mo run. Arlene Bishop, Ron Sexsmith, Johnny Lovesin, and Alix Anthony all hosted residencies too, and an all-ages Saturday matinee-cum-jamboree with Melody Ranch proved popular.

This three-year period could be thought of as a second set of “glory days,” as Petrungaro and his partner made a viable go of it. Back then, up ‘n’ comers like Amanda Marshall, The Holly Cole Trio, Bourbon Tabernacle Choir, and Leslie Spit Treeo were booked regularly, alongside touring acts that ranged from blues/soul artists Rory Gallagher and James Cotton to folkies Fairport Convention and Sylvia Tyson, from alt-rockers The Feelies and Dead Milkmen to iconic industrial act KMFDM.

Sean D’Andrade with Buddy Guy (right) at the El Mo, circa 1992. Photo courtesy of D’Andrade.

Petrungaro has a number of El Mocambo shows from this era that he still considers personal favourites, among them “Pere Ubu; Buddy Guy, because afterwards he said it was one of his favourite stages to play in the world; Dr. John, because my late brother Sam was a huge fan and got to meet him and walk him to the stage; and Gonzalo Rubalcaba with Charlie Haden and Jack DeJohnette, because it was a super show from an extreme super-group. The Tom Robinson Band put on a great show, but it was also memorable because Rob Halford came in after his Judas Priest show at Maple Leaf Gardens and sat to watch from my table.”

Although they raised The El Mocambo’s profile and popularity, Petrungaro and his partner handed over the keys in 1992 when the building’s landlord requested a big rent increase. Petrungaro went on to book The Opera House for five years and has been the General Manager and booker at The Phoenix since 1997.

“In my opinion, Enzo and [his partner] were the last ‘great’ owners of the venue—it’s been a free-for-all since they closed,” states local concert-industry veteran Jeff Cohen. Cohen himself worked as an El Mo booker twice before going on to co-own Horseshoe Tavern, Lee’s Palace, Collective Concerts, and other businesses.

“When I was hired by Tom, the next owner [Editor's note: not to be confused with Tom Kristenbrun], in 1993 or so, my interest was to revive the venue to where they’d had it,” Cohen says. “I got the best of the local alterna-bands, like The Rheostatics, Bourbon Tabernacle Choir, The Waltons, and Furnaceface to play there weekends, and filled the mid-week with touring blues and roots music acts. On the first floor, we went no-cover and developed local acts like Headstones, Days of You, and The Mahones.

“I had the venue rocking during my first tenure as the talent buyer but, after two years, Tom fired me, saying he felt he could book it as well as me. Eight months later, the club went bankrupt.”

Cohen did another stint of booking for a new set of owners at The El Mocambo in 1996, but remained for less than a year before heading to the Horseshoe.

Musician William New also worked to keep the El Mo afloat during the turmoil of the mid-1990s. The Groovy Religion vocalist and main man behind three-decade-strong indie showcase Elvis Monday had already booked clubs including the original Drake Hotel and The Edgewater before coming to amp up the El Mocambo for five years, beginning in 1993.

His job was to fill both floors of the club seven nights per week, an impossible task as owners came and went.

“During the time that I was booking, I worked for five different situations of ownership, including a couple of landlord-in-possessions,” explains New. “What would happen is someone would disappear in the middle of the night; I’d come to work and there would be a padlock on the door. Then the landlord would want to keep it open while he would look for a buyer so he would get in touch with me and say, ‘Just keep going. Business as usual.’

First there was the Tom to whom Jeff Cohen referred.

“He told me his name was Tom Ancaster, but that was just the name he worked under,” offers New, who also says that Ancaster simply “disappeared.” [Note: in a comment posted November 26, 2012, in response to the original publication of this article, Ancaster states that his tenure at the El Mo ran from September 1991 to January 1995. He also disputes Cohen's claim that he was fired. See Ancaster's full comment below.]

Next, New recalls that a group of El Mocambo staff members, including soundman Courtney Ross, ran the club for the better part of a year, from 1995 into 1996, before the landlord repossessed and later sold the club to Lamin Dibba and Jim Eng.

New worked for them all, booking in various weeklies over the years, including his own Elvis Monday; John Borra and Frank Nevada’s acoustic Tune Saloon on Tuesdays; the infamous Tribute Wednesdays; and Sedated Sundays, a psychedelic night helmed by Steve Bromstein of Poppyseed & Love Explosion Orchestra.

“I was trying to do an indie-rock and alternative kind of thing, just because that’s all I knew,” says New of his programming focus. “I didn’t know what cover bands or R&B bands were good, despite the fact that the El Mocambo had a long history of doing those types of things. I just booked it as an extension of what I’d been doing at The Drake and Edgewater, and with my Elvis Mondays at various venues. More or less punk rock and edgy alternative stuff.”

New fondly recalls shows by the likes of Pete Best (The Beatles’ original drummer), Steve Hackett (ex-Genesis), and Alex Chilton. His years of Mondays were also celebrated with the 1994 release of Elvis Mondays Vol. 1 on Kinetic Records. Elvis Monday later returned to The Drake Hotel (post-2004 renovation), where they continue to this day.

By June of 1998, The El Mocambo was once again run down and losing patrons. To reverse its fortunes, owners Lamin Dibba and Jim Eng hired passionate, polarizing ex-Montrealer Dan Burke to book their club.

“When I first came to Toronto in November 1977 and listened to CFNY, Q-107 and CHUM FM, I’d always hear, ‘Tonight, under the Neon Palm!’” Burke begins. “When I started booking the club, it was on the doorstep of the glue factory. No concert promoters put shows there. The Neon Palm was an unlit, rusted eyesore. The plug was pretty close to being pulled on what I thought was a fabulous cultural landmark.”

Never known to shy away from a dingy rock bar or a challenge, Burke dug in. He’d spent the year before booking the short-lived Club Shanghai down the street, and had proved to be prescient in his taste. Burke promoted some of the first Toronto appearances by bands including The White Stripes, The Brian Jonestown Massacre, and Montreal’s Tricky Woo.

“I’d quickly learned that, as a new player in the field, I had to tap into acts, labels, and booking agents that weren’t already sewn up by established competitors,” Burke writes in an email interview. “So that’s what I did—and very deeply so—once I was at The El Mocambo. Whatever was cutting-edge—The Toilet Boys from N.Y.C., stoner rock acts from Man’s Ruin Records, nerd heroes like Wesley Willis, electroclash ensembles like Chicks on Speed, Japan’s Zoobombs and The 5,6,7,8s, Montreal’s The Dears—I got the best of them, and made the El Mocambo an important international club again.”

The Deadly Snakes, The Sadies (sometimes with R&B legend Andre Williams), Danko Jones, Sum 41, and Peaches were among the local favourites booked by Burke. He was also responsible for repeat visits by Japanese noise rockers Zoobombs, who recorded their album, Bomb You Live, at the El Mo in April 2000, and released it on Toronto’s Teenage USA label in 2001.

“Being a show promoter is like gambling,” says Burke. “When you win, sometimes you also get to see a great show. When you lose, sometimes you get to see a great show. It’s the greatest job in the world if you can keep going.”

Who else played/worked there: It would be impossible to list all of the key bands, DJs, bookers, and promoters who played a role in The El Mocambo’s story from 1989-2001. Along with rock and roots music, there were goth and glam shows, hip-hop showcases, and even the occasional rave. Punk band The Sinisters played numerous Halloween shows. Hip-hop supergroup Gravediggaz made its Toronto debut at the El Mo in 1994, while Canadian hip-hop icons including Choclair, Rascalz, and Kardinal Offishall introduced their “Northern Touch” collaboration in the same room a few years later.

Video: Aldo Erdic

The seeds of Hot Stepper Productions’ long-running soul-funk monthly, Bump N’ Hustle, can even be traced to 464 Spadina. BNH mastermind Carlos Mondesir got his event-production career started there in 1995 after soundman Courtney Ross “roped me into” promoting the weekly Soul Sundays.

Working with DJ Curtis Smith and tutored by Ross, Mondesir learned to book bands and produce live shows.

Flyer courtesy of Carlos Mondesir.

“It made me a far more versatile promoter, coming from a DJ-focused club world,” says Mondesir, who brought performers including k-os, Jacksoul, Medeski Martin & Wood, Arcee and Fatski, Blaxam, Jukejoint, and Camille Douglas to the El Mo’s upstairs stage.

“There was an obvious history of soul and blues at the club, but we were into an updated soul style fused with new beats. My first gigs with DJs like Paul E. Lopes, Mike Tull, Jason Palma, Vancouver’s Luke McKeehan, and Atlanta’s DJ Injex were all there, too.”

But there are two DJ-driven events that will forever be synonymous with The El Mocambo in the late 1990s through to 2001: Davy Love’s Blow Up and Will Munro’s Vaseline (later renamed Vazaleen after threats of legal action from the namesake skin-care manufacturer).

DJ/promoter Davy Love’s incredibly popular Saturday weekly was “all about British pop music from the 1960s through 2000s,” says the man himself. ”We played indie, underground, massive sellers, and the way-out stuff, too.”

Davy Love at the El Mo. Photo courtesy of Davy Love.

Blow Up ran for more than 10 years at almost as many venues, including two stints at the El Mo. His first was in 1996; he would move the night, which drew more than 500 well-dressed, fiercely loyal followers each week, back to the venue in 1998 because he liked its new owners and vibe.

“Lamin and Jim are two of the nicest, most honest, straight-shooting guys I’ve ever dealt with in clubland,” shares Love, who also encouraged Dan Burke to come work for them.

The crowd at Blow Up. Photo courtesy of Davy Love.

“I also loved the venue, and its down-and-dirty history. I saw many shows there when I was a teenager. The El Mo will always be the greatest rock ‘n’ roll landmark in this city; it was the perfect place for Blow Up to thrive. It had just the right amount of seediness and rock ‘n’ roll-ness that appealed to both the pretty, rich kids who were out to rebel against their parents and the downtown working kids/art students who spent all their cash from their minimum-wage jobs on Saturday nights.”

Love was joined by DJs Duncan Rands, Adam Gorley, Johnny Culbert, and the duo of Trevor Young and Darrell Joseph a.k.a Bangers & Mash (“which was which, we never knew”). Bands, including Stars, performed live before the party got underway. Welsh band Super Furry Animals guest DJed, partied through the night (“It went on till the cleaners came in at 10 a.m. the next day”), and later asked Love to remix their 2003 single “Hello Sunshine.”

The celebs who frequented Blow Up were not limited to musicians.

“We had Will Ferrell and Janeane Garofalo dancing and drinking it up one night, and Dave Foley came many times,” spills Love. “So many famous faces were through Blow Up at the El Mo, but it was never a big deal to anyone. They were just having fun like everyone else.”

After all, the main attraction was Blow Up’s music, which blasted out of a powerful system set up for live music.

“The sound system was amazing,” Love extols. “It was a massive stack of speakers that boomed throughout the room. You could actually feel the music hit you, it was so loud.”

Meanwhile, artist Will Munro, along with a wonderfully motley crew of queers, would gather downstairs, monthly on Fridays, for Vaseline.

Dan Burke, who’d been tipped off to Munro by members of The Deadly Snakes (“they were the cornerstone of my local band alliances,” he says), gave Munro the chance to launch his queer-rock extravaganza in January of 2000.

“Will sure knew what he was doing!” exclaims Burke of the DJ/activist who lost his battle with brain cancer in May of 201o. “The first Vaseline drew over 200 people, and it soared from there. It was a fabulous experience working with Will. He was like the United Nations of gay people. What a diverse crowd.”

The Vaseline crew (clockwise from left): Tawny LeSabre, Will Munro, Bennett Jones Philips, Zoe Dodd, and John Caffery. Photo courtesy of Caffery.

“Vaseline was our fantasy event that actually materialized,” says Miss Barbrafisch, the metal-loving DJ who was a Vaseline resident from the start. “It was rockers, punks, metalheads, and misfits, weirdos of all stripes and genders. It was inherently informed by the identity politics of the ’90s, but without the anger. Vaseline was positivity and perversion and great music and great people. Once a month, the outsiders had a clubhouse.

“Vaseline was magical during the El Mo years,” she continues. “The entire historicity of the venue as a distinctly rock venue was a constant reminder that we didn’t need to compromise our musical perspectives.”

“Compromise” is a word that will never be associated with Vaseline.

“Peaches played the first Vaseline ‘Shame’ party,” recalls Kids on TV’s John Caffery, who first graced stages as a go-go dancer there, shaking it up alongside Coco LaCreme at Munro’s behest. “Peaches also played beats when Will pulled a rainbow flag out of his ass.”

That same June 200o Vaseline also featured guest DJ Miss Guy, of Toilet Boys fame. Other early guests included Vaginal Davis, Kembra Pfahler of The Voluptuous Horror of Karen Black, and Cherie Currie, a former member of The Runaways who played live in June 2001, backed by a band of Toronto musicians.

Caffery—who was also game to be involved in Vaseline “stage antics like Bobbing for Butt Plugs, Cock Sucking contests, and Drag Queen Roller Derby”—feels passionately about this night that proved so popular it outgrew the El Mo’s small downstairs room, moved upstairs, and would later go on to pack Lee’s Palace.

“Vaseline was transformative for me, and created this massive shift in the way I perceived Toronto nightlife and the queer and trans community,” he says. “I started to think of clubs as a place to be creative, fuck shit up, and challenge public norms rather than simply a place to drink with friends. It also broke down a lot of the silos I saw within the community, with the bears, punks, leather women, and goths all partying together.”

Blow Up, Vaseline, and Dan Burke’s overall programming shifted the public perception of The El Mocambo. It may have been physically worn, but new audiences meant the club was solvent again.

“By 1999, we were making money,” states Burke. “In 2000 and 2001, we were a highly viable enterprise financially.”

Burke—with the help of Love, Munro, William New and countless bands who played benefit shows—even managed to raise the $22,000 required to fix the El Mo’s landmark palm sign in 1999. It was later damaged.

Blow Up marquee at the El Mo. Photo courtesy of Davy Love.

What happened to it: As has been well documented, 464 Spadina Ave. was sold to Abbas Jahangiri in 2001. His vision put the brakes on the Burke-led rebirth. Burke went out with a two-floor show on November 4, 2001. He also put up a fight and was famously handcuffed and evicted by police afterwards. Burke has long since booked for The Silver Dollar and, occasionally, at The Velvet Underground.

In his 11 years of owning the El Mo, Jahangiri both nurtured and took away. Though plans to transform the upstairs into a dance studio never fully materialized, his renovations reduced the floor—once The El Mocambo’s heart—to a shadow of its former self.

Still, thanks largely to the booking efforts of Yvonne Matsell—who worked under Jahangiri’s direction for the past decade—the club did stay afloat while featuring shows in the refurbished ground-floor room by the likes of Julie Doiron, Patrick Wolf, Holy Fuck, La Roux, and People Under the Stairs. DJs were also more welcome than ever, with dozens of dance parties bringing house, funk, techno, drum ‘n’ bass and more to the two floors. Jahangiri recently decided to sell the building in order to devote his time to missionary work.

New co-owner Grosso has already made it clear that his El Mocambo will return to the rock and roots-music focus of earlier decades. He has referenced The Rolling Stones repeatedly in interviews while expressing sentiments like “we want to bring great rock ‘n’ roll back to the city.”

Grosso also raised many eyebrows by stating flatly that he won’t feature hip-hop. It’s an odd, and questionable, sentiment at a point when the influence of hip-hop is so pervasive across all contemporary music.

“I think Sam has a preference to roots-geared genres,” offers Matsell by email. “After all, he has made the Cadillac Lounge into a successful venue that gears itself to those tastes. He does know that there is some really good hip-hop out there, so perhaps his comment was more off the cuff. Time will tell.”

Matsell, who continues as the El Mo’s main talent booker, tells me that the current priorities are fixing the neon sign, adding air conditioning and proper heating, renovating the bathrooms, and more.

“The upstairs room will be changed to look like when the El Mocambo was having its heydays in the ’70s.”

The reno process is being documented by posts to The Original El Mocambo Tavern Facebook group, where band listings are also found. The El Mo is currently open for shows Thursday through Saturday. Expect a re-launch party come spring.

Although Matsell emphasizes that “I will still book local and upcoming artists; that has always been a mandate in all the years I have been booking clubs,” there is concern that Grosso may just be dwelling a little too heavily on the El Mo’s past.

“I wish Sam the very best,” offers Jeff Cohen. “His other venues are wonderful, but what that venue needs is to reach out to local promoters and book the best new bands in North America, not talk about who played there some 40 years ago. No venue today can survive without being focused on new music, lest it be an oldies club or a generic folk or blues club.”

“I would tell Sam and his partner to embrace the history of the building, but don’t dwell on it,” echoes Enzo Petrungaro. “Make some of your own!”

“Don’t limit your options—you may not have as many as you’d like,” says Mondesir.

That said, one El Mocambo alumnus is eager to return. Davy Love, now owner of The Bristol Yard restaurant, will host his 18th-annual Blow Up Holiday Party there on Dec. 15.

“I booked it the very same day I heard that Sam bought it,” he says.

Addendum: In September 2014, Grosso announced that the El Mocambo had been sold and that the club would close as a live music venue for good. On November 6, the date that the El Mo had been set to shutter its doors, a surprise announcement was made: investment maverick and Dragons’ Den star Michael Wekerle had purchased the building with the intent to keep the El Mocambo alive.  He plans to renovate, and hire an experienced team to help launch the club’s new chapter.

Thank-you to Miss Barbrafisch, Carlos Mondesir, Dan Burke, Davy Love, Enzo Petrungaro, Jeff Cohen, John Caffery, William New, and Yvonne Matsell for contributing. Thanks also to Amy Hersenhoren, Dave Munro, Jonathan Ramos, and Stuart Berman.

The post Then & Now: The El Mocambo, 1989 – 2001 appeared first on Then and Now: Toronto Nightlife History.

Article originally published March 15, 2012 by The Grid online (TheGridTO.com).

Denise Benson looks back at the massive, corporate-owned Yorkville spot that helped create Toronto’s big-ticket nightclub experience in the early 1980s.

BY: DENISE BENSON

Club: The Copa, 21 Scollard

Years in operation: 1984 – 1992  [Original article stated 1983 - 1992]

History: Yorkville dance club and concert venue The Copa made its mark as one of the largest and busiest nightclubs to emerge in early 1980s Toronto. Opened in August 1984, the hotspot was located on the south side of Scollard, in a mixed commercial and residential area.

Its owners, the Chrysalis Group, were no strangers to Yorkville, having already opened trendy restaurants Bemelmans and the Bellair Café nearby. Chrysalis, in particular its CEO Tom Kristenbrun, would also go on to open Toby’s Goodeats and Bistro 990, but Chrysalis Group would make their mark with music as well as food.

“They were rocker guys, tavern guys with long hair from North Bay who came into town with some money and bought The Ports of Call on Yonge Street, the El Mocambo on Spadina and the Jarvis House Tavern,” recalls Arnie Kliger, former owner of Stages Nightclub on Yonge Street, who also worked as assistant manager at The Copa during its first year of operation.

“They were beer and wings guys who had a dream of opening a restaurant after having the bars,” says Kliger.

Chrysalis, while still known as Consortina Inc., made their mark on 1970s Toronto with The El Mo, The Ports and 101 Jarvis, but by the early ‘80s they were hosting celebrities, society types and Toronto Film Festival parties at their Yorkville venues. Opening a mega-club was a logical new feather in their corporate cap.

The Copa may have been corporate-owned, but to place it in context, it was large (legal capacity 1100) and licensed, where most other dance clubs of the time were either unlicensed (Twilight Zone, Club Z, Focus), or licensed and located in hotels or other touristy spots, as with the CN Tower’s Sparkles disco.

The Copa, as observed from the balcony. Photo by Julie Levene, courtesy of Barry Harris.

Why it was important: In this environment, The Copa emerged all shiny and new. Chrysalis spared no expense, installing an incredible and intricate sound system, computerized lighting and lasers, and banks of television monitors on which music videos played. The DJ booth was custom-built and massive, there was a raised stage area in the middle of the narrow, rectangular-shaped room, and an overhanging balcony ran the club’s entire length.

While opinions vary as to whether this balcony added to the party by offering a primo view of the action below or dissipated the club’s energy by its placement, the young, fashionable, heavily uptown crowd packed the place. The Copa, with its 39 bartenders, VIP room and super VIP room (behind closed doors, with its own bathroom and bar), was ready to serve. In order to meet the food-to-liquor-ratio laws of the day, The Copa also had a full-time chef who cooked up the club’s infamous buffet. Opinions on the quality of the food also vary wildly, but numerous Toronto clubbers have told me they went to The Copa in part to eat a full meal.

Open Wednesday through Sunday, the club featured DJs most nights, augmented by live concerts. The Copa—along with The Diamond and, later, RPM—put Toronto on the map as far as licensed venues go, but its music format was a lot more commercial than many dance clubs of the era, especially on Fridays and Saturdays.

Early resident DJs included Terry ‘TK’ Kelly (who later established himself as the DJ at RPM) and Jeff Allan, a dance music DJ who was also an announcer at rock station Q107. Now a morning show host at Kitchener’s 570 News, Allan created extended dance mixes of rock songs during his Copa days, including this one of Glass Tiger’s “Don’t Forget Me When I’m Gone.”

Although bars at that time had to stop serving alcohol at 11 p.m. on Sundays, they were consistently among The Copa’s busiest and most musically adventurous nights. Early on, Sundays were alternative nights DJed by CFNY’s Chris Sheppard and hosted by the station’s equally infamous personalities Earl Jive and Beverly Hills.

When that crew departed to work at RPM—opened by a group that included Martin Arts, The Copa’s original general manager—Sundays morphed into one of Toronto’s first house music weeklies in a licensed club. DJ Barry Harris was hired in the spring of 1986, and thoroughly transformed Sundays during his year-and-a-half residency.

“I originally slid in quite comfortably by playing Ministry, The Cult, Beastie Boys and other CFNYish music, which I enjoyed,” recalls Harris, who had previously DJed at 101 Jarvis. “It was great playing Sunday nights as it was known as ‘alternative night’ and not commercial.

“As the alternative crowd started to discover RPM a few months later, my Sunday night music became more influenced by the Twilight Zone and [CKLN’s pioneering Sunday afternoon program] Dave’s Dance Music. Host Dave Ahmad recommended The Copa to his audience each Sunday and by fall of 1986, the crowd had completely changed. We continued to maintain an average of 1100-1300 people, but it morphed naturally into a house night. House music was really starting to explode in 1986, and soon the crowd would stop dancing and stare me down if I played rock or something like Ministry. They reacted more positively to freestyle artists like The Cover Girls.”

The line at the front door of The Copa. Photo by Julie Levene, courtesy of Barry Harris.

Harris also took on The Copa’s Saturdays for a few months in the summer of 1987, but found the crowd too mainstream for his liking.

“Sunday nights were the best, and my favourite night to play,” he says. “It was a DJ’s dream gig as the audience was magical. They really knew their music and were hungry to hear the latest house. Really, the night kind of became ‘The Twilight Zone part two’ of a weekend; if you wanted more of that sound and spirit, then you came to The Copa on a Sunday. I think the night introduced house music to a lot of people who might not have went to the Zone.”

The Copa and Twilight Zone had another key element in common: fierce, crystal clear sound designed by New York’s Richard Long, known for his systems at clubs including Paradise Garage.

“That system felt very powerful, almost overwhelming at times actually,” Harris recalls. “With an Urei mixer and three floating turntables as well, it could be quite a rush from a DJ’s point of view. The Copa was a large, rectangular warehouse space, but Richard Long thought of everything, including digital delay for speakers placed further away from the stage.”

The Copa DJ booth, with coat check below. Photo by Julie Levene, courtesy of Barry Harris.

Barry Harris with Jimmy Sommerville in The Copa’s massive DJ booth. Photo by Julie Levene, courtesy of Harris.

Harris left The Copa in October 1987 to become the main resident DJ at Charles Khabouth’s Stilife, and later had a massively successful production career, recording as Top Kat, part of Kon Kan and, most notably, Thunderpuss, the duo who crafted smash dance club remixes for pop stars including Whitney Houston, Madonna, and Britney Spears.

The Copa had, by then, also become a house haven on Wednesday nights, thanks to influential promoter Wanda Marcotte and DJ Jason ‘Deko’ Steele. The two had been a core part of The Diamond’s success—Steele was its star resident DJ for five years before defecting to The Copa—but jumped ship after a falling out (Marcotte) and frustration over pay (Steele).

“Wanda was one of my favourite people ever and the reason I went to The Copa,” says Steele. “She was this fucking obnoxious lesbian dressed in black from head to toe, she smoked profusely, wore French braids, and had the most gorgeous lover, Irena Joannides. It wouldn’t be fair at all to do a story about that time and not cover Wanda. She was everything. Wanda was largely responsible for a third or more of the scene, in terms of the progression of house, new wave and the Queen Street art fag kind of crowd in the 1970s. She was an absolute cornerstone who, sadly, died of ovarian cancer about a decade ago.”

Together, they transformed The Copa’s Wednesdays. The crowds went from a few to fifteen hundred as house was added to Deko’s already eclectic mix.

“Really, nobody but Barry Harris and I were playing house music in big, licensed clubs back then,” says Steele. “But I didn’t just play house. I’d also play “Go See the Doctor” by Kool Moe Dee, old Aretha Franklin, some great old disco tracks—basically the roots of house.”

For a period, Steele entertained The Copa’s crowds several nights a week.

“My signature was that I didn’t have one particular sound,” he recalls. “I made sure that everything was played in a night, from the pop stuff you had to play to some edgier stuff. I’d literally play Bob Marley, go into U2, and then into something completely different.”

Unhappy with The Copa’s vibe and weekend crowd, Steele returned to The Diamond within seven months. There he was greeted by bigger pay and great fanfare.

Photo by Julie Levene, courtesy of Barry Harris.

Who else played / worked there: The diverse DJ Dante held down weekends for much of 1987. That same year, Dave Ahmad, host of Dave’s Dance Music and a resident DJ at Club Z, took over Sundays for a period. Unlike Steele, he was a fan of the club.

“The Copa was the big cheese back in the day,” says Ahmad. “It was definitely the ‘beautiful people’ spot, with a hip, fashionable crowd who knew their music. Everyone would come through on a Sunday—lots of DJs, flight crews, young professionals, people from The Zone.

“The Copa was absolutely influential,” Ahmad emphasizes. “They showed that big dance clubs with multi-format nights could work. You could go The Copa on any given night and hear something that you had not heard before. It was a commercial bar, but the music mix was smart.”

CKLN host Dave Ahmad. Photo: Keith Beaty/Toronto Star.

Sundays returned to an alternative music format circa 1990, when DJ Iain McPherson, then still calling himself DJ EN, was brought on board by promotions manager Max Blandford, formerly of Nuts & Bolts.

“Sundays became ‘Piccadilly Circus: A Human Zoo,’ a delightfully irreverent night that did quite well for a while,” McPherson says. “There were ‘go-go humans’ in cages, hard-core clothes, and I played emerging underground electronic sounds, like New Beat and early Acid House. It was a far cry from the mainstream dance music that The Copa was known for at the time. We even had in live acts, including Karen Finley and Skinny Puppy.”

The Copa is largely remembered for hosting an impressive array of live shows, with 1980s appearances by the likes of Fela Kuti, Tina Turner, Herbie Hancock, Ray Charles, Berlin, Chaka Khan, Beastie Boys, A Flock of Seagulls, X, Erasure and Ministry.

Reggae greats including Burning Spear, Dennis Brown and Freddie McGregor performed, courtesy of late, great promoter Lance Ingleton and his LIP Entertainment. Jermaine Stewart performed in December of 1986, and received a gift from Santa. The Cult played in 1987; vocalist Ian Astbury notoriously smashed an overhead neon light with his mic stand. A bootleg recording of The Cult’s set from this night can still be found online.

“The biggest thing I remember about The Copa is that there was a constant diversity of crowds,” summarizes Boris Khaimovich, a Copa doorman who also worked as head of security and assistant manager between 1987-1989.

“We went from doing reggae nights to fetish nights. We did everything from black-tie events to hosting a Skinny Puppy concert two days later. The Copa was a club that was able to morph into whatever was needed, and even though it was corporate, the managers were given a fair amount of leeway to make decisions.”

The Copa’s large staff was filled with talented people who made their mark at that club and beyond. Many interviewees give special mention to The Copa’s main lighting woman, Andrée Emond, who worked in early dance music record shops and provided a visual aesthetic for numerous dance clubs. National Velvet vocalist Maria Del Mar was a Copa cigarette girl (yep, people could smoke and buy cigarettes at clubs back then). Promotions manager Max Blandford now promotes and markets large events and venues in Miami.

“I tried to give somebody a brief history of the Toronto nightclub scene the other day and it all kind of led back to The Copa,” says Khaimovich, who himself went on to manage Toronto clubs including Go-Go and Limelight. He now owns Maple Crescent Farm in Northumberland County.

Copa lighting technicialn Andree Emond. Photo courtesy of Barry Harris.

What happened to it: While The Copa had its heyday in the ’80s, it continued to operate until the early ’90s. Online research indicates that the club closed in 1992, while some of those I spoke with thought 1991 to be more accurate. What is clear is that The Copa was inundated with noise complaints throughout its existence and, in fact, was made an example of by Toronto city councillors when they voted to create the Entertainment District through a series of new zoning laws (read more about this here).

21 Scollard became The Barracuda in 1992. The sports bar and dance club famous for its cheap beer, indoor beach volleyball court and car on the roof closed in 1996. The property was heavily renovated in the early 2000s and is now a seven-storey condo, attached to the building at 18 Yorkville.

Thank you to contributors Arnie Kliger, Barry Harris, Boris Khaimovich, David Ahmad, Iain McPherson, Jason Steele, and to Carlos Mondesir, David Heymes, Don Berns, Julie Levene (R.I.P.), Mitch Winthrop, Shawn Squires.

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

Article originally published February 29, 2012 by The Grid online (TheGridTO.com).

Denise Benson looks back at the all-ages venue that first introduced many of today’s top nightlife-industry players to the Toronto dance scene—and also served as a breeding ground for infamous ‘80s street gang The Untouchables.

BY: DENISE BENSON

Club: Club Focus, 14 Hagerman

Years in operation: 1986-1989

History: Club Focus was housed in a nondescript, two-storey building that would have been constructed during the decades (1870-1960) when Toronto’s original Chinatown was centered near the corner of Elizabeth and Louisa. The one-block-stretch that runs parallel to the north end of City Hall, from Elizabeth to Bay, was later renamed Hagerman.

In the 1950s, many buildings in this still-industrial area—with the original City Hall and Eaton’s Annex main store nearby—were obtained by the city for the construction of Nathan Phillips Square and a new City Hall, which opened in 1965 and spurred nearby development. The Eaton Centre was built two blocks away, on the east side of Bay, in the late ’70s.

While Focus opened upstairs at 14 Hagerman as an unlicensed, all-ages dance club near the close of 1986, the site had already been a social hub. As Hagerman Hall, it had hosted community dances (including those of pioneering gay organization Community Homophile Association of Toronto, a.k.a. CHAT, in the very early ’70s) and a karate club; the space was known as Club Kongos in the early/mid ’80s.

Club Focus owner Warren Webley was already well known by Toronto’s music-loving youth for his Sunshine Sound enterprise. Webley and family provided sound gear for school and community dances, while the Sunshine Sound Crew of DJs—including JC, Tony Duncan and Brother A.J.—could often be found behind the decks.

Despite his club’s spitting-distance proximity to Nathan Phillip Squares, Webley erected massive walls of sound in Focus and gave Toronto’s teens a place to soak up new experiences on weekends. Once they made it past security, through the long line and up the stairs (where they paid a $5-7 cover to Webley’s wife), hundreds of kids danced late into the night on a sizable, dimly lit checkered floor. There was also a raised stage by the mirrored back wall, a lounge area with video games and a screen on which hockey games and skateboard videos were projected. Bars of neon illuminated the slightly elevated DJ booth. The most popular drink at the concession stand, by far, was Sarasoda, a carbonated cooler that contained 0.5% alcohol, which made it cool among the kids.

 Why it was important: Club Focus was a teenage epicentre, complete with all of the energy and drama one might expect, when you consider the many subcultures gathered. (And given that most teens at the time didn’t carry cameras around at all hours, no photos of the club could be sourced for this article.) Unlike other unlicensed—and, by definition—all-ages clubs that had come before, like Twilight Zone and Voodoo, Focus drew a high-school crowd generally aged 14-18. It was also a heavily inner-city scene, as suburbs like Mississauga had their own all-ages hotspots. Only RPM’s all-ages Sundays offered a similar downtown experience for young dancers.

“Because of its location near the Eaton Centre, and the city’s central skateboarding site at the time—Trinity Square, behind the Eaton Centre—Club Focus was an instantly popular skater hangout,” recalls Hal Wong, a Focus regular now known as DJ Hali of the Box of Kittens crew. “The club was unkempt and a bit divey; it was sort of like a dark, grimy, unsupervised high-school dance, complete with the occasional slow song, like ‘Somebody’ by Depeche Mode. And it was frequented by two main types of people: preps and skaters, and later on by mods also.”

Hal Wong (left) and friends, circa 1987. Photo courtesy of him.

Wong, a serious skater kid who began attending Focus in the spring of 1987 at age 16, describes some of the fashion staples on the new-wave nights he went to: skater tees and shorts, rugby and polo shirts, tightly tapered workpants, Vuarnet sunglasses, and Swatch watches, with a whole lot of Polo cologne in the air. It was racially mixed, but largely middle-class. Depending on the night you went, Focus was packed with mods, rude boys and skinheads, too.

Music was the main draw. In the beginning, Club Focus was the musical domain of Sunshine Sound Crew’s Tony Duncan who, by then, had formed his own KAOS crew with young DJs Jamie Delaney and Steve Webster. The trio played everything from The Beatles, Stones, and Kinks to Beastie Boys, Run-DMC and new wave faves like Depeche Mode, New Order, The Smiths and The Cure. Fridays initially featured heavier doses of reggae and ska, attracting the rude boys and skins, while Saturdays’ new wave emphasis appealed to the skaters and preps with floppy hair.

Warren Webley’s son Devon later became a Focus star DJ. In his late teens, Devon came up playing school dances and then DJed Fridays at St. Joseph Street all-ages Club Z, which his father had bought from Charles Khabouth in 1987. Devon then moved to Fridays at Focus; by 1988, he mixed the music both nights, blending new wave, reggae, ska, hip-hop and house.

“New wave was kicking at the time,” recalls Devon Webley. “The shocking surprise for a lot of people was that it was a black guy knowing and playing the alternative music, not to mention blending it at the same time. I also had a lot of house music and mixed that in.”

As Webley added seminal house tracks like “Work it 2 the Bone” and “House Nation” to his blends, the crowds grew even larger and people stayed later into the night.

“The music that was played at Focus, it was the happening sounds of the time,” says Webley. “Whether it was house or new wave or ska, the beat had to be there. And the sound system was the big thing. Whatever music was played, that bass was coming through your body. You might hear some of the same music at other places, but it wasn’t the same experience.

“Also, I have to say, that if you couldn’t dance and came to Focus, you knew how to dance after that.”

Focus attracted a deeply loyal crowd of regulars, many of whom attended every weekend for months or even years.

Paul Seguro was a DJ who Warren Webley recruited from intimate, Bloor-and-Ossington all-ages spot, Blondie’s. He was already a Focus fan and attendee, so he was thrilled to take over Fridays in ’88, when Devon Webley moved back to Club Z for those nights. Seguro also mixed the likes of The English Beat and The Specials with reggae, house and new wave.

“It was all about the music,” emphasizes Seguro, “played on a great soundsystem in a good downtown space. Some nights, I’d guess there were 500 people packed in there like sardines. The floor would bounce! In the summer, Warren would turn on a big wall fan. It being a sauna in there on a summer’s night, the air outside was actually cooler, so people would rush in front of that fan to cool off.”

Many of the young people who sweated it out on the Focus floor would, like Hal Wong, become deeply involved in underground dance music and nightlife. Focus was a breeding ground for future generations of DJs, promoters and venue owners.

Matthew Casselman, a.k.a. DJ Matt C, aged 14. Photo courtesy of his mom.

Matt Casselman a.k.a. DJ Matt C, later a co-owner of Industry nightclub, was one of them. As a 13-year-old from Scarborough, he told his parents he was working his bus-boy job at the Royal Canadian Legion while often heading instead to Focus and Club Z.

Some of the friends he rolled with included Wayne McNaught (a.k.a. DJ Wayne Wonder), Chris Sherwood (later co-owner of The Adelaide Street Pub), Roger Moore (now an actor—no, not that one) and scenester Makepeace Charles, who became a surgeon.

“Focus was very cool; the kids were really, really trendy,” Casselman gushes. “We were young and full of testosterone, so trying to pick up girls was a main attraction, too. There was a lot of grinding going on. It was a very sexually charged club.

“Also, Devon Webley was an amazing DJ; he had a massive influence on my DJ style,” adds Casselman, who started playing dances at age 13. “Devon and Warren used to go to New York to buy records, so he had a lot of music that most people didn’t. I remember when Inner City’s “Big Fun” came out in ‘88, that New Year’s Eve, it was the first song Devon played at midnight, and it tore the place apart.

“Another thing I really remember about Focus is that if the crowd didn’t like a song that was being played, they would sit down on the floor cross-legged,” Casselman chuckles. “That was a trendy thing to do.”

Flyer for a 1989 all-ages event, which included original Focus DJ crew KAOS. Courtesy of Hal Wong.

Who else played/worked there: Although others, including CFNY hosts like Skot Turner, would grace the Club Focus DJ booth on occasion, the men mentioned above were the club’s main musical draws, along with MCs including Brother Different and Butch Lee.

But at Focus, the bouncers also played a key role. Walking hip-hop encyclopedia Johnbronski worked there for a stretch. A security guy named Garth is mentioned repeatedly, remembered for his ability to hold the masses behind an established, but invisible, line on the sidewalk. Apparently a cousin of famous Canadian sprinter Ben Johnson, Garth was also known to select those who would get in on the busiest of nights.

It was crucial that Focus’ doormen could control the teenage masses.

“Focus was not always good times and alcohol-free bubbly drinks,” explains Hal Wong. “In the late ’80s, there was still a lot of lawlessness and crime in the downtown core. Stories of muggings, or being rolled, by skinheads simply for wearing Doc Marten shoes were very common. So were street fights.”

In fact, Wong tells me of a massive, hour-long street brawl between skinheads and skaters that occurred in front of Focus in October of 1987. Cops barricaded the area, but allowed the fight to continue as they threw individuals into police vans. Tensions between skaters and skins remained high, and Focus was prime turf, especially as members of infamous Toronto street gang The Untouchables were also known to frequent the club.

“Focus was the epicentre of all that gang shit at the time,” says Marc Kyriacou, a former bouncer who worked at the top of Focus’ stairs for two years. “We had our fair share of going home with bumps and bruises.”

Now an architect, designer and part of the Uniq Entertainment Group that owns venues including Cobra, Brant House, Maro, The Ballroom and Jacob’s Steakhouse (the latter of which is housed where Roxy Blu once was, Kyriacou tells a chilling tale.

“I remember the first night we got a metal detector,” he begins. “At Focus, once people entered the downstairs door, they were stuck on that staircase until they came up. If you went back outside, you had to go back to the end of the line.

“At the end of that night, when we walked down the staircase, we must have found a hundred knives, sticks and stuff. People hadn’t known about the detector so they pulled stuff out of their pocket and dropped it the ground. We were tripping over things.”

That said, despite its sometimes-violent history, Focus remains close to the hearts of many.

“Focus will always be important to me,” says Wong. “It was the first actual nightclub I experienced, and also the first place I discovered a lot of seminal underground dance music. Hearing songs like ‘Jack Your Body,’ ‘This Brutal House‘ and ‘House Nation’ will forever remind me of those early days. So Club Focus, with warts and all, is like that first sweet love of mine.”

“I can remember every inch of that club to this day,” says Seguro, who now builds homes and, for the purpose of this article, drafted the floor plan below from memory. “It was probably one of the best years of my life. If I could time travel, I would go to a Saturday night at Hagerman. It was home.”

Club Focus floor plan, as drawn by Paul Seguro.

What happened to it: By most accounts, Club Focus closed on Hagerman as its lease expired and the City of Toronto reclaimed the property for development. 14 Hagerman was demolished and a private parking lot currently stands in its place.

The parking lot at 14 Hagerman. Photo by Denise Benson.

As mentioned, Warren Webley also owned Club Z at 11A St. Joseph Street. There was a stabbing there in 1989, and Webley briefly closed the location as a result of the murder.

It then re-opened as the new home of Club Focus, with DJs including Paul Seguro, Devon Webley and younger brother Michael Webley. This closed after less than two years, and the Webleys moved Club Focus to Oakwood and Vaughan, into a spot known as The Cave. Even with a roller rink upstairs and banquet hall downstairs, it never caught on.

Warren Webley then opened a Sunshine Sound and Lighting shop at Christie and St. Clair. Today, there are locations on Eglinton West and in Scarborough, with the east-end location run by Michael Webley.

Devon stepped away from DJing and acted as executive producer for a few releases on Focus Records, including X’onia’s “By The Way.” Today, he’s a happy family man and TTC bus driver.

Thank you to all who contributed research to this piece, also including Adina Shore, Jp Navidad, Johnbronski, Michael Webley. Thanks also to those who searched for Focus photos, flyers or memorabilia. Please let us know if you have photos!

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