Article originally published January 14, 2013 by The Grid online (thegridto.com).

In the 1980s, Toronto’s lesbian scene was underground—quite literally, as it was often relegated to out-of-sight basement venues. Here, Denise Benson revisits the club that changed all that.

BY: DENISE BENSON

Club: Chez Moi, 30 Hayden

Years in operation: 1984-1989

History: Though it may be difficult for younger dykes socializing in today’s Toronto to imagine, it wasn’t so long ago that queer women in this city had few options for meeting, dancing, and creating community.

From the late 1970s into the ’80s, there were occasional “Women’s Dances” (rarely was there a trendy title to be found) at venues including The Masonic Temple, The Party Centre, and The 519 Community Centre, as well as union halls, church basements and, well, basements in general. Lesbian bars were often dark, small, and far from central, although some—like The Blue Jay, Kit Kat Club, Deco’s, Fly By Night, Cameo, and The Warehouse—are still talked about lovingly in some lesbian circles. There were also mixed queer venues, like The Carriage House on Jarvis, The Quest on Yonge, and Katrina’s on St. Joseph, where gay women were very welcome.

By the time Chez Moi opened in 1984, there was a dearth of social spots for lesbians, despite the explosion of gay men’s bars on Yonge, Church, and surrounding streets. In fact, The Chez itself wasn’t even a dedicated spot for women when it first opened.

Located a block south of Bloor and about halfway between Yonge and Church, Chez Moi was owned by the Korenowsky family. It opened as Korenowsky’s in 1942, and, for decades, operated as a tavern serving food and drinks alongside live music. Over the years, Korenowsky’s was frequented by jazz fans, postal workers, students and business crowds alike.

“My recollection is that Chez Moi was not a gay bar until the owner, Mr. Korenowsky, passed away,” recalls Rose Amato, a Chez customer who would later become close with the Korenowskys, and managed the bar for eight months. “When Mr. K was alive, they ran it as a straight jazz bar and tavern. It became gay once their son Russell started to manage it.”

Russell Korenowsky Sr. passed away in September of 1983. The venue would open as Chez Moi late in 1984.

While it’s said the ghost of Russell Korenowsky Sr. remained in the building—Amato tells me she and others would still smell his cigars in the office—it’s also understood that Mr. K would not have approved of his family running a gay establishment. Most of the people I spoke with mention that Russell Jr.—a.k.a. Rusty, a gay man himself—convinced his mother Lynn to give the gay crowd a go.

Dancefloor at the Chez. Photo courtesy of Dallas Noftall.

Bonnie Meyer—a rock and R&B musician who performed with a variety of projects during The Chez’ history, including in its pre-gay days of 1984—credits Sharon Flannigan for stoking the concept of a new women’s hangout. Flannigan, who passed away from cancer early last year, was well-known in the community for having organized lesbian events, including at her east-end Saturday dancehall, dubbed Flannigan’s.

“Sharon went to Mrs. Korenowsky when it was still a straight bar, back when they did businessmen’s luncheons and then served drinks and burgers and all that through the rest of the day,” recalls Meyer. “It wasn’t that busy, so they were likely losing money.

“Sharon said, ‘If you give this bar to me over the next three weekends, I’ll pack the place.’ They said, ‘Go ahead,’ and she did exactly that. She got out her phone book and called everybody.”

“Russell did try to appeal to the gay male dance crowd, but it didn’t take,” adds longtime Chez DJ Elaine Doy. “They then hired a friend of mine, Linda Sharpe, to court the lesbian crowd, and it took off!”

Open daily, Chez Moi was always somewhat fluid. It was a sizable space, with a great outdoor patio and a daytime menu that attracted mixed lunchtime and post-work crowds. Patrons appeared more obviously gay as night fell.

“It was kind of weird,” relates DJ Julie Ley (pronounced “Lee”), who came to play Wednesdays through Sundays at The Chez in 1985, after years of entertaining at The CN Tower’s Sparkles disco, followed by a brief stint at cozy lesbian bar Togethers. “All kinds of people would go for a beer after work. By a certain point, the straight people would leave, the gay people would come in, and we’d rock the room.”

Elaine Doy on the decks at Chez Moi. Photo courtesy of Dallas Noftall.

Why it was important: “Back in those days, lesbian clubs were low-budget, discreet, out-of-the-way holes in the ground,” says Doy, a mobile DJ who played weddings and special events until landing a gig at Chez Moi during its transition. “They always gave you the feeling that you were sneaking around doing something wrong! That’s one of the reasons why The Chez was so exciting: Even though it was tucked away on a side street, it was at Yonge and Bloor—a respectable neighbourhood. It was a legitimate bar, and on the ground floor yet.

“While other bars were offering us Thursdays or Sundays just to make a buck on a slow night, we could go to The Chez anytime. It brought us out as a community—we had arrived!”

Though far from fancy, hi-tech, or huge by today’s club standards, The Chez held hundreds of people between its main floor and lower level, which was initially open only for pool, but later renovated to accommodate the club’s growing line-ups. It was a nightclub with a tavern feel, its rectangular main room filled with lots of dark, heavy wood, including the long, prominent bar and the chairs and tables in The Chez’ raised seating area. The elevated DJ booth was off to the room’s left corner, with a wooden dancefloor in front. Massive mirrors were everywhere, as were ledges for beverages.

“The Chez had a pub feel to it, but included an awesome-sized dancefloor, excellent sound and lights, and a good booth,” says Doy, who DJed at the club until August 1985, and returned in the spring of 1989 until The Chez’ close. “You could see the entire club from that booth.”

“I thought it was an incredible space,” agrees Ley. “I think Chez Moi was our first real, big gay women’s nightclub. It was only after The Chez that people started opening bigger clubs, and trying to do better. That’s where places like The Rose [547 Parliament, later operated as Pope Joan] came in. The Chez really made a name for women’s bars because they were the grand beginning.”

In addition to the tiny Togethers (upstairs on Church) and The Chez, lesbians going out in mid-’80s-Toronto also had the intimate Felines on Richmond, which catered to a professional crowd, and Cameo, on Eastern. True to form, Cameo was in a basement, in an industrial area, and, according to Doy, featured décor that included Christmas lights and a ceiling covered in tinfoil. Cameo lost a lot of its crowd to Chez Moi.

Still, the Cameo was often a hot spot, particularly when mobile disc-jockey Rosie Demitro became resident on weekends. Soon, she was approached by a Chez manager named Clayton (surname unknown), and began spinning there on Sundays—all in addition to her day job as a courier with Purolator.

The entertaining, personable Demitro was an immediate hit with Chez Moi crowds, and was convinced to bring her mixing and microphone skills to Hayden Street Fridays through Sundays. At the time, two DJs worked The Chez booth; Julie Ley was soon hired, and paired with friend Demitro.

“After a couple of months of that, I told Clayton I wanted to bartend to make more money,” Demitro offers during a phone chat. “He decided to try putting a woman behind the bar, and, oh my gosh, did I ever make good money!

“I was out at 18, and was 31 when I worked there, so I knew about lesbianism. I had wisdom, let’s put it that way,” she laughs. “I listened a lot.”

Consistently, Chez Moi DJs were entertainers, crowd pleasers, and part of the Chez community.

“I was always a show DJ,” says Ley. ”I loved to play my tambourine, sing along, and get the whistle out.”

Ley was also infamous for her on-the-fly collabs with saxophonist Carrie Chesnutt. The well-known Toronto musician gigged with a variety of jazz and R&B bands all over the city. She performed early on at Chez Moi with her group Chesnutt and Graham, and often joined The Silverleaf Jazz Band during their Sunday-afternoon shows. Following these gigs, Chesnutt jammed upstairs with Ley.

“Carrie and I would have such a laugh,” Ley recalls. “I’d spin specific tracks, and then she’d walk into the room playing her sax, I would play my tambourine and rap, and the crowd would go wild for it.

“We were a little off the wall, and people loved it. We’d do something we called ‘The Peanut Butter Song.’ I started doing this rap about peanut butter that had to do with smooth or extra smooth. The next thing I knew, I started to get different jars of peanut butter placed all along my DJ booth. It was a naughty song, let’s put it that way.”

Dallas Noftall with friend and fellow Chez DJ Allan White. Photo courtesy of Noftall.

Equally vivacious was DJ Dallas Noftall. She arrived in Toronto from Newfoundland in July of 1986, and could soon be found on The Chez dancefloor “every night.” Noftall knew most Chez customers by name before she was asked to give DJing a go in the spring of 1987. She had become good friends with manager Russell Korenowsky Jr. through her then-girlfriend, Linda Hajekerou, also a music enthusiast.

“Rusty asked me to DJ downstairs, in the Stardust Lounge—it was called ‘the dungeon’ by staff and regulars—which was where people went as a holding area for the inside line-up,” Noftall begins.

“I had never DJed before, and was terrified. I started on a Friday night, while a gal named Gilda DJed upstairs, and it went well. Then, on the Saturday, she fell out of the booth and broke her arm, so management insisted that I head up to the main bar and get the tables spinning. The rest is history.”

Initially, Noftall was a resident alongside Chez mainstay Ley. Later, she’d spin five or more nights weekly, with overlapping residents including Doy, Mark Bandura, and “mentor and friend” Allan White.

“We were all pretty close, and all came to party there on our nights off,” shares Noftall. “We had our own styles and niches, so people knew which night to come to get their particular type of fix. I played disco, funk, house, and some slow stuff.”

Noftall’s list of her favourite Chez Moi classics includes Prince’s “Erotic City,” Whitney Houston’s “So Emotional,” Thelma Houston’s “Don’t Leave Me This Way,” Company B’s “Fascinated,” and Nice & Wild’s “Diamond Girl,” along with the likes of Divine, New Order, and Erasure.

Doy mentions songs including Madonna’s “Into the Groove,” Phyllis Nelson’s “Move Closer,” and “my signature last song, ‘Over the Rainbow‘ by Sam Harris.”

Ley, who cites Kool & The Gang’s “Celebration” and Sugarhill Gang’s “Rapper’s Delight” as two faves of the time, appreciates the free rein DJs were given at Chez Moi.

“I was never programmed or told what to play. I could enjoy myself and make people happy. It was a place where politics stopped at the door, and people could come in to relax and party. The Chez was a really accepting place. We had a lot of freedom there.”

DJs Dallas Noftall and Julie Ley. Photo courtesy of Noftall.

Chez Moi was hugely popular in its day. On weekends, there would often be line-ups all the way to Church Street. It was the first lesbian bar I ever went to, in late 1986, and I still remember exactly how it felt to line up alone outside, have my name put on a list to be called out when there was enough space to be invited upstairs, and then to walk into a room filled with women and heat. Some women danced shirtless while others cruised so openly my budding-newbie-dyke mind was blown.

“The women were absolutely on the prowl,” chuckles Demitro. “They were looking for girls, let me tell you. If you were sexy, you’d be picked up, like, bam!”

Weeknights were a lot more laid back while Sundays were the favourite among regulars, especially in summer when baseball season was in full swing. People packed the patio, came out in droves for the afternoons of live music, and supported fundraisers for causes ranging from The Chez Moi baseball team to cancer survivors and AIDS awareness. The Chez was a community hub where anything could happen.

Chez Moi dancefloor. Photo courtesy of Dallas Noftall.

“I remember a crazy talent night we did over a period of two months,” says DJ Mark Bandura. “Anyone could come in and perform anything. It was hilarious, and it packed the joint. I vividly recall a woman with a beaver puppet singing—very strange.”

Sarnia native Bandura DJed at The Chez from roughly 1985 to 1987, while a student. He’d spin on both floors, bouncing between pop hits, dance remixes, and select alternative cuts. To this day, I’m grateful to him for playing my requests for Siouxsie and the Banshees, The Cure, Depeche Mode, and lots of music I couldn’t hear in other lesbian bars. (I began to produce my own queer club nights in 1987.)

Bandura’s presence also helped make clear that The Chez was an inclusive club.

“I started there because one of my best friends from Sarnia was a lesbian, and we wanted a place to hang out together,” he writes. “The crowd was mostly lesbian but, as it got busier, it became a place where lesbians and their gay male friends were comfortable together. There haven’t been many clubs like that.”

The welcoming vibe was fairly widespread. Rose Amato—who coached The Chez Moi ball team for years, and was convinced by Mrs. K to act as club manager—illustrates the point.

“I think once the old-timers—who were coming during the week, and to watch jazz on Sundays—realized that the gay people didn’t care if they were there or not, it became more and more comfortable. It was like, ‘You accept us, we accept you. You don’t judge us, then you won’t receive judgment.’”

Chesnutt, who lived two blocks away and could frequently be found at The Chez, also recalls that the clientele was “a little of everything. I remember a businessman-looking guy I talked to one day. He had a rhinestone necklace that I complimented him on. He then took it off, gave it to me, and proudly confessed he was wearing pink leotards under his suit. Then he showed me. Cute!”

“I’m in my 50s now,” adds Amato. “And I’d have to say that The Chez was definitely one of the best bars ever for women. It opened its doors to everyone and, unless you were a problem, like a drunk who created havoc or someone who hit on women when they didn’t want to be hit on, you were never asked to leave.”

That said, in the mid-to-late 1980s, homophobia was still rampant. “Sexual orientation” may have been added to the Ontario Human Rights Code as a prohibited ground for discrimination in 1986, but our issues were rarely discussed in mainstream media, and a large percentage of people still felt they had to live closeted lives. Welcoming or not, The Chez was beside an alleyway, and had a few parking lots nearby. It wasn’t uncommon for fights to be sparked outside by passersby uttering homophobic slurs.

“I remember a few things that made me say to Mrs. K that one of these nights I might not walk out of there alive,” admits Amato. “There was a night I cut off a straight gentleman who was drunk. He proceeded to go out and get in his Camaro, and he drove through our front doors, almost taking out our door person. That was scary.

“One Sunday, we had someone come in who said he had a gun and that he wanted ‘all the queers gone’ because it was a jazz bar and queers didn’t belong there. We got him out fast. One other night, a woman smashed a bottle on the dancefloor and went after someone. But in all the time I went or worked there, I only remember those incidents.”

Police harassment remained an issue as well. Following the bathhouse raids of 1981, Toronto’s gay and lesbian community remained rightfully wary of police presence in our bars.

DJ Elaine Doy. Photo courtesy of her.

Elaine Doy recalls a Saturday night experience at The Chez in 1985.

“The dancefloor was packed, and I was in the booth. A cop had lost his badge in a scuffle outside. He came in asking for it, and was directed to the DJ booth. I told him nothing had been turned in, but he decided to come into the booth and do an illegal search. So I resisted, with my knee in his groin, and was arrested right there, in the booth. The music stopped, I was led out, handcuffed, through the still-crowded dancefloor, amid jeers and boos.

“When my day in court came, I was flabbergasted at how many Chez patrons showed up to offer their support. It was a packed house. That’s what I loved about The Chez: Everybody stuck together. As it turned out, the case was thrown out of court and the officer in question was demoted.”

Many I speak with describe the Chez regulars as family. The largely working-class crowd was close-knit, but not close-minded.

“The Chez was unique in that the crowd was eclectic—and no cliques!” Doy exclaims. “Everybody got along. Sure, there were the odd drunken arguments but, for the most part, everybody was there to party.”

“The Chez was like Cheers, but gay and dancey and huge,” describes Dallas Noftall. “There were people from all walks of life, all income levels, and all facets of the LGBT community. The Chez was easy, fun and unpretentious. It demonstrated that we can all not only co-exist, but we can thrive when we enter into a place where the focus is not on shoes or hair or the car you drive, but instead the heart and soul of communities worldwide: music and camaraderie.”

Bartenders Joe, Rose, and Danny. Photo courtesy of Dallas Noftall.

Who else played/worked there: Live music has long played a key role in lesbian circles. The Chez’s Sunday afternoons were especially hopping during the years when the duo dubbed Thunder & Lightning (a.k.a. Bonnie Meyer and Carrie Chesnutt) performed.

“Bonnie had a standing Sunday afternoon gig, and was like a god to those gals in there,” says Chesnutt, who played sax to Meyer’s guitar and vocals, and continues to perform at an impressive range of venues.

“Those women were dedicated, amazing fans. I remember that they always brought presents, especially for Bonnie—she was like the reincarnation of Elvis. We got up to a lot of shenanigans back then.”

“Sunday afternoons there were the greatest,” exclaims Meyer, enthused enough at the memories to call me while on vacation in Hawaii.

A musician who’d played professionally for 14 years before she met Chesnutt in 1986, Meyer regales with tales of sex, drugs and rock ’n’ roll—or at least of limo rides, champagne and cocaine. (Hey, it was the ’80s.)

Now a retired counselor, healer, and hypnotherapist, the Vancouver-based Meyer continues to make and produce music, and remains appreciative of Chesnutt’s considerable chops.

“Carrie was so talented and provocative, and such an entertainer. The crowds would watch our every move. There was a lot of love, and a lot of energy.”

At The Chez, music lovers could also play spot-the-queer-celebrity. People like Carole Pope, Lorraine Segato, and even k.d. lang were known to hang out on occasion.

Demitro thinks back to a busy night in 1985 to spill the beans on lang, who’d already received national attention with 1984 album A Truly Western Experience.

“It was a big step up to the DJ booth—if you wore tight pants, you were gonna rip them, trust me,” begins Demitro as she describes putting on an extended 12-inch for a bathroom break.

“But when I came back, there was this woman in the booth, on the microphone. I got in there, took the mic from her and said, ‘Who do you think you are?’ She said, ‘Don’t you know? I’m k.d. lang.’ I said, ‘I don’t care. Get out!’ No one was allowed in that DJ booth or we would get in trouble from Mrs. K, so I didn’t care who she was.”

Manager Linda Hajekorou (left). Photo courtesy of Dallas Noftall.

It was the Chez Moi managers who had to enforce Mrs. Korenowsky’s rules. Son Russell filled that role until he was too sick to do so. (He passed away from HIV/AIDS-related illness in January, 1993.) Linda Hajekerou, a.k.a. Linda Who, acted as manager for a brief bit after him. (She passed away from cancer two years ago.) Other managers included Stephen Sweeten, thought to have moved to Vancouver; Rose Amato, interviewed here; and Sergio Apolloni, a popular community ambassador and activist.

Sergio Appolonio (left) with Jeff. Photo courtesy of Dallas Noftall.

“Sergio brought The Chez to life with drag performers, AIDS awareness events, and shows and games,” says Noftall. “He knew his stuff for PR, and never hid from a camera or the role of organizer. He was there until we closed our doors.” (Apolloni passed away from AIDS in 1991.)

There were, of course, also many Chez bartenders, bussers, service and security staff who captured customers’ hearts.

Demitro speaks of working with a favourite gay bartender, named Joe, for years while an older gent named Johnny often worked afternoons.

“We all loved Johnny, even though he was a bit cantankerous sometimes,” says Amato. “Johnny came with The Chez, from when it was straight. Johnny was the boss, and he told you so.”

A few folks also mention bartender Karen Ramsay, who went on to work at The Rose Café, as did DJs Ley, Bandura and, later, Noftall.

The Rose, which would go on to reign as Toronto’s longest-lasting lesbian bar for a decade-plus, pulled from The Chez, but generally drew a different crowd, and wasn’t as welcoming to gay men.

“Chez Moi was seen as a friendly place where people had fun,” summarizes Demitro. “I didn’t really like going to The Rose Café. There, if you didn’t have a nice car or a house, you were going to be over in a corner. The atmosphere was more materialistic. At The Chez, whether you worked as a cashier or a dentist; it wasn’t all about separate cliques. It was way more down-to-earth.”

“I just loved The Chez,” adds Amato, who’s been employed at Worker’s Health & Safety since 1990. “I think what I miss the most is that it was an easy bar to be in. The friendships and the camaraderie—you knew you could go there on a bad day, and there would always be a friend.”

Looking toward the main bar. Photo courtesy of Dallas Noftall.

What happened to it: Chez Moi closed suddenly in early fall of 1989.

“There had been rumours that it was going to close for six months,” recalls Demitro. “Then, one night, Dallas called me in hysterics, saying, ‘The Chez doors are locked.’” (Demitro and Noftall were girlfriends for five years.)

Though she didn’t see it coming, Elaine Doy, who stopped DJing in 1992 and now enjoys life as a painter and drummer, was the DJ on Chez Moi’s final night.

“When I went up to the office to get paid [that evening], it was strongly suggested that I get my records out,” says Doy. “I was so used to clubs opening and closing without notice that I assumed they were going to close. I got my records, and took a memento—one of those round, silver discs for seven-inch singles. I have it to this day!”

30 Hayden Street today.

Noftall, who went on to DJ at a slew of lesbian and gay clubs, is now a real-estate agent. She confirms that 30 Hayden was sold to developers, and that the property officially changed hands December 14, 1989. Part of it was incorporated into the Bloor-Yonge subway station. Today, the address is home to high-rise condo building Tiffany Terrace.

Noftall helps keep the vibe alive as she produces and DJs at more than 20 events annually, including Chez Moi reunions.

Thank you to participants Bonnie Meyer, Carrie Chesnutt, Elaine Doy, Julie Ley, Mark Bandura, Rose Amato, Rosie Demitro, and to Dallas Noftall who also helped a great deal by connecting me with others.

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

Article originally published November 2, 2012 by The Grid online (thegridto.com).

After punk exploded in the late ’70s, this infamous Gerrard Street new-wave mecca kept the fire burning into the ’80s—even if its many famous performers were in danger of getting doused by the overflowing upstairs toilets leaking onto the stage.

BY: DENISE BENSON

Club: The Edge, 70 Gerrard St. E.

Years in operation: 1979-1981

History: On the northeast corner of Gerrard and Church sits a modest three-floor building that has had—and housed—many lives. It is said to have once been the residence of Egerton (pronounced “Edge-erton”) Ryerson, a prominent Canadian educator who, in 1852, founded the Toronto Normal School at what is now Bond and Gould streets.

Ryerson University is named after him, as was Egerton’s Restaurant and Tavern, a student hangout and folk-music club that opened at 70 Gerrard St. E. in the early 1970s. Licensed as a “listening room” and required to sell food, Egerton’s was open seven days a week, sold cheap beer, and booked live performers like Stan Rogers.

“We lived in the shadow of The Riverboat [in Yorkville] and bigger clubs that had bigger stages and dance floors, like the El Mocambo, Midwich Cuckoo Tavern, and Jarvis House,” recalls Derek Andrews, a veteran Toronto live-music programmer who got his start in the industry as a dishwasher at Egerton’s in January 1974.

Andrews would continue at the location for almost eight years, working his way up to busboy, waiter, and general manager. He shares that Egerton’s had been owned by Warren Beamish, PC candidate for the Rosedale riding in 1974’s federal election, before it was acquired by Bernie Kamin and Harvey Hudes, partners in Mosport Park, among other projects. The pair brought in a young Ron Chapman as co-owner and managing operator.

Chapman and Andrews—who together would run the Nite Life management company which represented artists including songwriter Eddie “Hit Me With Your Best Shot” Schwartz, Paul Quarrington, and Ellen McIlwaine—would go on to book the likes of legendary funk drummer Bernard Purdie during Egerton’s later period.

But Chapman also had an eye on Toronto’s emerging underground. Late in 1978, he invited prescient concert promoters Gary Topp and Gary Cormier, together known as The Garys, to come book live music at Egerton’s.

Gary Topp (left) and Gary Cormier, as they appeared in the Toronto Star, circa 1980. Photo courtesy of Gary Topp.

The Garys were, by then, known for presenting live shows by eccentric singer-songwriters and cutting-edge jazz, blues, punk, and new-wave artists. Topp had programmed films—and occasional live bands, including the debut performances by both Rough Trade and Nash the Slash—at east-end movie theatre The Roxy. In 1976, Topp launched the New Yorker Theatre on Yonge (now the Panasonic), where artist David Andoff would introduce him to carpenter and fellow music head Cormier.

Partly influenced by screening Blank Generation, Amos Poe’s movie about early New York punk, Topp had decided he needed to build a stage at The New Yorker and bring in bands. Cormier and he were in sync, and joined forces to present The Ramones in September 1976, followed in ’77 by fellow New Yorkers the Dead Boys, U.K. punks The Vibrators, and locals including The Viletones and The Poles.

After rent was raised at The New Yorker, The Garys relocated to The Horseshoe Tavern where they built a stage, brought in sound and lighting, and booked bands beginning in March 1978.

“Our statement was that we were going to be Toronto’s first concert club,” says Topp.

They brought in a wide range of artists—from Sun Ra, Cecil Taylor and Etta James to Talking Heads, Johnny Thunders and a then unknown trio called The Police—before The Horseshoe’s owners opted to revert to a country format that December.

Enter Ron Chapman.

“Ron started coming down to The Horseshoe, and was there the night we did The Police,” recalls Cormier. “When everything kind of collapsed at The Horseshoe—when they said, ‘Take your fucking punk music and get out of here’—Ron said, ‘Come to Egerton’s.’

“Everybody thought it was a horrible idea because it was a little folk room. Although, if the truth be known, most of the shows that we did at The Horseshoe only drew 100 to 200 people. So I said, ‘Yeah, we’ll go to Egerton’s, and we’ll call it The Edge, and that’s that.’”

The Garys worked with Chapman and Andrews to quickly transform the Egerton’s space. It was painted black, the stage was moved, raised, and expanded, with sound and lighting upgrades also helping to create a proper concert space. The staircase that divided the long main room into two halves remained, as did a fireplace. Some walls were removed to increase capacity and (slightly) improve sightlines, but the venue’s wooden chairs and tables stayed put as per its dining licence. Food was served from 7:30 a.m. to 11 p.m. daily. The building’s second floor featured an office and washrooms with notoriously leaky toilets.

“The Edge didn’t really ‘open’ so much as enjoy a name change, with rebranding and a music-policy change,” explains Andrews. “The menu and staff were in fact the same initially. The reach was to catch the wave, so to speak, of young audiences coming out for live music.”

The venue’s official start date was December 31, 1978. Local favourites Martha and the Muffins brought in the New Year.

The Edge menu, courtesy of Gary Cormier.

Why it was important: “The two-and-a-half year life of The Edge was like a high speed train running through Toronto music culture,” says Andrews. “The club was an exploding black box inside a colonial historic building. Sometimes the vibe was chilled by free jazz, folk legends, or blues artists, but the dominant sound was a mix of crunchy post-punk and British new wave.”

By 1979, Toronto’s music and art scenes were exploding. The city had style, originality, and attitude to spare. There was as much camaraderie as competition among bands in the downtown scene, with people pushing one another to go further.

As a 200-capacity live music venue that was open every day and night of the week, The Edge played a unique role. There were not many venues in town devoted to emerging, often esoteric live bands—though punks had previously infiltrated venues like Turning Point, Crash ’n’ Burn, and the infamous Larry’s Hideaway on Carlton Street—and certainly not on such a regular basis.

“There were a lot of little places having bands, but I don’t think there were any venues like The Edge, which was bringing in major international artists alongside the locals,” says Gary Topp. “It was a concert hall in the guise of a club, and it became a hangout.

“Because it was also a restaurant, with food during the day, you could go in and watch as people soundchecked. It was also all-ages, because it was a restaurant, and we put a PA out on the patio so people could still hear sold-out shows.”

“The Edge really did feel like a new beginning,” says veteran musician and photographer Don Pyle, a regular at the club. “Punk had happened, and the venues had been appropriate for that. Now, things were becoming artier and more experimental. This seated and more comfortable venue, with food even, reflected some kind of maturing in the ‘scene.’”

Photos courtesy of Gary Topp.

At a time when there weren’t large booking agencies, like-minded concert promoters across the continent formed bonds to bring over the Brits and others.

“The Garys brought in the who’s who of emerging acts of the day—be it locals, first plays from the U.K., and of course a lot of acts from New York City, Ohio, and beyond,” says Ivar Hamilton, another Edge regular who also held sway as the Import Music Director at CFNY 102.1 FM during its most adventurous years. “They were ahead of the curve on nearly every level, and that made The Edge such an iconic venue for the short time it was in existence. They didn’t always do punk and new wave; there was a great mix of genres of music, plus poetry and film. You had to be there!”

“The Edge was our little clubhouse,” says Gary Cormier. “All we wanted to do was see these bands. There were a few things behind our thinking. It was like: ‘Take me to a place I haven’t been,’ ‘Show me something I haven’t seen,’ and ‘Let me hear something I haven’t heard before.’ Underlying that whole theme was—to the rest of the industry—something akin to ‘Come on. Is that the best you guys can do? Is that all you’ve got?’ It wasn’t necessarily a sense of one-upmanship or whatever, but clearly we were on a different path than everyone else. There was nothing that we were afraid to do, and we were not afraid to fail. We lost so much money sometimes, but we weren’t in it for the money.”

Adds Topp, “The scene was so small back then that it was actually like a club—like the Mickey Mouse Club. We were all punkateers.”

Wayne Brown of The Fits (right) and an Edge staff member stand outside the club in a “punk fashion” magazine spread. Photo courtesy of Gary Topp.

“It was smallish, but really electrifying,” says Steven Leckie, best known as lead singer of seminal Toronto punk band The Viletones, who performed frequently at the club. “Looking back, I think The Edge was at an absolute peak of things. I lived just up the road, at Church and Isabella, and went almost every single night. Bands that now have big-name recognition would play three or four nights out of every seven.”

“The Edge was cooler than shit,” Carole Pope tells me. “All my close friends went there. It was like being at a club in New York or London.”

As lead singer of hugely influential Toronto band Rough Trade, Pope performed all over the city and toured internationally, but The Edge remains especially close to her heart.

“I saw so many great bands there: Ultravox, The Slits, John Sex, Nico, B-52s. The Slits were all about shocking the audience. One of the chicks said, ‘I have my blood,’ sharing with us that she was on her period. Nico was all-mysterious, wrapped in her Velvet Underground aura. Ultravox was amazing; I loved everything they did.”

XTC at The Edge. Photo by Don Pyle.

Sun Ra at The Edge. Photo courtesy of Gary Topp.

“Within the first two to three months of The Edge, we did both XTC, and Ultravox with John Foxx, which was a completely different animal than without him, and they were just incredible shows,” Cormier recalls. “Every minute that those bands were on stage in that room were captivating, with the entire audience in sync. Those nights, you could go home without a nickel in your pocket and you thought you had the world by the tail.”

Topp is equally enthusiastic. “Everybody we booked was special to at least one, if not both of us. XTC played with Barry Andrews on keyboards, before he left. Sun Ra—the real Sun Ra, when he was alive—played, with half the band in the audience because there was no room on the stage. Nico played twice. One of the times, she was wandering around in the afternoon in the attic of the house and encountered a ghost. There were lots of punky shows—999, The Viletones. Wayne/Jayne County recorded Rock ‘N’ Roll Resurrection on New Year’s Eve in 1979. But of all the international artists, John Otway played the most, like five or six times.”

“The Edge was my favourite venue [in North America], followed by Max’s Kansas City in New York,” says eccentric British singer-songwriter Otway, billed as “rock and roll’s greatest failure” in new documentary Otway: The Movie. “The Edge was the gig in North America that felt very much like a U.K. venue. From the very first show there, we went down a storm. It was brilliant. The audiences, as I remember, got bigger and bigger each time we came over. It probably cost me a fortune because I believed if we could do this all over the continent we would crack America in no time.”

John Otway at The Edge. Photo courtesy of Gary Topp.

The Garys were notorious for booking oddball acts with cult status. Another was U.K. rockabilly outfit Crazy Cavan ‘n’ The Rhythm Rockers, the band responsible for altering Steven Leckie’s life and look.

“They were this working-class rockabilly band from Wales that managed to get around 50 teddy boys and girls to come with them on this North American jaunt,” says Leckie. “The next day, I changed my hair, I changed everything, and got really deep into U.K. rockabilly, which was way more glamorous than the American stuff.”

Poster courtesy of Gary Topp.

Surprisingly congenial for a guy once nicknamed Nazi Dog who earned a rep for cutting himself on stage and throwing himself into audiences, Leckie recalls that The Viletones in fact debuted their own stylistic and musical take on rockabilly at The Edge.

“It went over like Bob Dylan going electric,” he chuckles as we chat by phone. “It really went badly, but it gave the band a lot of longevity. Plus, it looked better and it seemed more primal. It was the sheer ego of it. I see rock ‘n’ roll as a glamour artform. For me, The Edge was really high glamour.”

The Viletones’ Steven Leckie goes rockabilly. Photo courtesy of him.

Especially glamorous, it seems, were the club’s second-floor bathrooms, mentioned by almost everyone I spoke with.

“The bathrooms were above the stage, and were often fucked up,” says Topp. “Sometimes, the toilets would flood and the water would pour down on the stage while bands were playing.

“The best time of all was one night while Jonathan Richman played there. It was a Sunday, he was solo, and the water was pouring down at the front of the stage. He had the luxury of just moving back, and I was doing lights, as I usually did. That night, with the water falling in front of Jonathan, it was kind of like the coloured lights on Niagara Falls at night.”

That said, The Garys did work hard to create a sense of glamour at the street level. Posters blanketed downtown, ads were placed, and they had good connections with a handful of Toronto music journalists. While CFNY had the most obvious and significant programming overlap with the club’s bookings, particularly during the Ivar Hamilton and David Marsden years, both CHUM-FM and Q-107 featured some adventurous programming back then as well. Q-107 host Bob Mackowycz Sr. was frequently at The Edge and played many of its visiting bands on his popular 6 O’Clock Rock Report. Gary Topp even hosted a weekly show on the Q dubbed The Edge of Morning, Sundays from 1-2 a.m., in 1980.

Poster courtesy of Don Pyle.

The Garys saw the club as a springboard for emergent local acts.

“We nurtured a lot of local groups who got signed from playing regularly at The Edge and from being promoted the same ways we would promote The Police or whoever,” says Topp.

He namechecks more than a dozen Toronto acts of the time, including The Mods, Drastic Measures, The Sharks, The Curse, Spoons, Battered Wives, The Demics, The Dishes, Johnny and the G-Rays, Blue Peter, and The B-Girls.

“The B-Girls should have been The Go-Gos or The Bangles,” says Topp. “They deserved it, but they lived in small-town Ontario—that is, Toronto—so people didn’t believe in them.”

Martha and the Muffins certainly benefitted, both from frequent bookings and by snagging Arthur Fogel as tour manager. Fogel was a young musician hired by Derek Andrews; he was first a bartender and then made night manager. He worked at The Edge for about two years, before leaving to work with the Muffins and then at Concert Productions International (CPI).

“The Edge somehow [caught] the spirit of the time,” says Fogel. “It was cutting edge yet down to earth. It was kind of like seeing great artists in your living room.”

“It was an exciting time, and The Edge was one of the best venues Rough Trade ever played at,” says Pope. “It was hip, and everyone wanted to play there. The audience was really into it and The Garys were great to work with. They were music aficionados who really got it. So many bands launched their careers there.”

“Rough Trade was one of my favourite regular bands at the club,” Andrews says. “They filled the place, and were a perfect fit for our aesthetic. I fondly remember my parents joining me on a birthday night when I had to work, and Rough Trade was playing. The band must have already had their ‘High School Confidential’ hit because my folks were impressed that they were at the club. When Carole Pope grabbed her crotch, my dad covered mom’s eyes. They liked the show, though!”

That was part of The Edge’s charm: Audiences were a mix of in-the-know Queen Street types, queer art-school kids, and people who came from all over Southern Ontario to see bands that often played nowhere else in the region.

Poster courtesy of Gary Topp.

Who else played/worked there: “Considering the level of talent that appeared consistently, The Edge was a special place to be,” says Ivar Hamilton, who’s worked in marketing and promotion at Universal Music for the past 24 years. He remembers many favourites.

“The first Canadian show by Magazine was simply fantastic! I saw Ultravox in the John Foxx era, numerous Pere Ubu appearances, The Police’s second Canadian show, Penetration, Shrapnel, many appearances by Chris Spedding and Jonathan Richman. 999 tore the roof off the place, Nash the Slash almost had a second home there, and I remember a very early Martha and the Muffins playing, too.”

Nash The Slash at The Edge. Photo courtesy of Gary Topp.

Don Pyle—who played The Edge as part of punk band Crash Kills Five before going on to form Shadowy Men on a Shadowy Planet with two of the three other band members—also caught dozens and dozens of shows. He photographed many of them, with the results included in his great 2011 book Trouble In the Camera Club.

Courtesy of Don Pyle.

“It was easy to go four nights a week,” says Pyle. “Bands I recall most vividly are The Dils, partly because I had helped book the shows and was a huge fan. XTC was really memorable because they were so great at that time, and it was still somewhat rare to see bands that had come from punk scenes with keyboards. Barry Andrews was so captivating to watch. Colin Newman [of Wire] played one of his first solo shows there, with light only coming from a film projected onto his band. Psychedelic Furs performed, without an album out in North America, and were totally amazing at that time. The Cramps played a few times, and were always incredible.”

The list of artists that performed at The Edge during its less-than-three-years is simply mind-blowing. Others who should be mentioned include Mink DeVille, John Cale, Alex Chilton, Squeeze, John Hammond, Joan Jett, Nona Hendryx, Echo and the Bunnymen, Simple Minds, The Teardrop Explodes, William Burroughs, X, and The Knack. (“They had all of these sponsored Marshall amps and they couldn’t get them to work—ridiculous,” chuckles Topp.) Joy Division was scheduled to perform May 25, 1980, but cancelled their North American tour when singer Ian Curtis committed suicide one week earlier.

John Cale at The Edge. Photo courtesy of Gary Topp.

A band that practically personified The Edge was Dick Duck & the Dorks. Singer Paul Ekness, like many of the band’s merry punksters, worked at the club and added to its family feel. John Otway would later bring them over to tour the U.K. and Scandinavia with him.

“There was a core of regulars that was relatively small, so everyone who was there often knew each other,” recalls Pyle. “Some people had been with The Garys since The New Yorker, like filmmaker Colin Brunton, who worked the door and box office, and a bouncer named Tank. The bands and the staff together created the atmosphere that was so different from most venues.“

Cook Catherine Lalande would cater The Garys’ shows through the years while bartender Chris Pegg went on to do lighting with them before forming his own company.

Derek Andrews also credits Edge staff including bookkeeper Jayne Martin, now a production manager; waitress Julia Sasso, now a leading choreographer; and Jordy Sharp, an ace busboy who would go on to buy The Brunswick House and hire Andrews to book Albert’s Hall.

“Jordy’s dad is Issy Sharp, of Four Seasons Hotels,” says Andrews. “Jordy was worth $600 million when he was clearing tables.”

“A good bunch of people worked hard, and had fun while making the club a great place to perform or to see a show,” summarizes Fogel, now CEO of Global Touring at Live Nation Entertainment. He’s organized tours for the likes of Bowie, The Police, Madonna, U2, and Lady Gaga. “The Edge holds its place as a great moment in time in the rich tradition of Toronto live music clubs.”

“The Edge years added important ingredients to the Toronto music menu,” adds Andrews. “It forever enhanced the credibility of Toronto as a music centre, and inspired thousands to believe that contemporary music culture deserved respect and attention. Gary Cormier and Gary Topp made that club a beacon, and deserve credit for the music alchemy it enjoyed.”

“It’s like I always say: When you break all the rules, everything is wrong, but it’s right,” says Cormier.

The Edge’s final flyers. Courtesy of Gary Topp.

What happened to it: Though nights at The Edge were generally busy, the momentum was hard to maintain. Daytime restaurant sales had also slowed, and related expenses were high.

“The morning and lunch business actually suffered as a result of the brisk night business,” says Andrews, who worked in the building until a few weeks after The Edge closed. “It was harder to create a pleasant atmosphere after 200 sweaty, smoking youth pounded the place.”

Andrews reveals that staff paycheques had begun to bounce in the final months of The Edge, and the club’s owners closed it abruptly.

“The building was bought by the Catholic Church, and turned into a home for troubled youth,” says Andrews, who went on to also program at The Horseshoe and Harbourfront Centre, and is now Music Curator and Artist Manager for Luminato. “We all thought that was ironic, given the previous use: troubled youth and all.”

The Edge closed on June 6, 1981 as British singer-songwriter Kevin Coyne played the last of a three-night stint, his only Canadian shows ever. The Garys had tried to book Coyne for years and, in fact, had taken a chance on The Police because guitarist Andy Summers also played with Coyne.

By that point, The Garys had already begun booking larger concert venues like The Music Hall, Palais Royale, and The Concert Hall. They continued to set the pace throughout the 1980s, also bringing bands to large clubs like The Diamond and RPM.

Cormier now teaches concert promotion at George Brown College, and programs shows for the Toronto Jazz Festival and elsewhere.

Topp also remains active—and selective—as a concert promoter. On November 12, he presents Lydia Lunch—who once performed at The Edge as part of no-wave group 8-Eyed Spy—at Wrongbar, alongside The Dave Howard Singers and Yamantaka // Sonic Titan.

Ron Chapman went on to manage bands, produce films, and now runs marketing and communications company Brandworks.

Steven Leckie is at work on three books, two of them “deep memoirs,” and the other a poetry collection he expects to be available by year’s end.

70 Gerrard St. E. is now the location of Mary’s Home Emergency Shelter for women.

70 Gerrard Street East today.

Thank you to Arthur Fogel, Carole Pope, David Barnard, Derek Andrews, Don Pyle, Gary Cormier, Gary Topp, Ivar Hamilton, John Otway, and Steven Leckie.

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