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 July 27, 2012 by The Grid online (thegridto.com).

As the Entertainment District grew more sophisticated in the 1990s, this proudly shabby and unpretentious nightclub drew crowds by the thousands each week to a sleepy stretch of Adelaide.

BY: DENISE BENSON

Club: Limelight, 250 Adelaide St. W.

Years in operation: 1993-2003

History: Before the Entertainment District became synonymous with dance clubs, the well-worn brick building at 250 Adelaide St. W. was home to businesses including a print shop and Old Favorites Books.

Located near the corner of Duncan, the building was spotted by businessman Zisi Konstantinou, who saw its potential as a club space. Richmond Street east of Spadina was already attracting large weekend crowds in the early 1990s, thanks to venues like Charles Khabouth’s pioneering Stilife and the Ballinger brothers’ hotspot Go-Go, which later became Whiskey Saigon. Adelaide east of Spadina was not yet a dancer’s destination.

Konstantinou’s next smart move was to hire Boris Khaimovich as general manager of his club-to-be. Khaimovich—who’d worked the door and managed at Toronto clubs including The Copa, Boom Boom Room, and Go-Go, brought his vision to the project—and was Limelight’s guiding light for eight of its 10 years.

Boris Khaimovich (left) and Zisi Konstantinou at Limelight. Photo © by Steven Lungley. All rights reserved.

“Zisi hadn’t owned a club before,” explains Khaimovich over the phone from his Port Hope home. “His dad had a strip club in Cambridge, but Zisi didn’t yet know much about the nightclub business. I came out of Ballinger organizations where you very much speak your mind because, if you don’t, you’ll just get eaten—because those guys see through bullshit.

“I came in to meet with Zisi about six weeks before the club opened. He told me what he wanted to do, and I said, ‘The concept you have just won’t work.’ Everybody who opens up a club for their first time thinks they’ve just reinvented the wheel. So their club is going to be for high-end crowds, with a dress code, with a $20 cover charge for people to come in. I said, ‘Let’s not do that. Let’s not be silly.’ My argument has always been that I’d rather take a little bit of money for a long time than take a lot of money in the short term.”

Khaimovich got it right. Limelight opened on March 10, 1993 and the crowds grew steadily over its first year. The club’s dress code was dropped during that time, cover charge and drinks were deliberately affordable, and staff was hired to reflect the fact that Limelight had no pretensions of being anything other than a fun, friendly social spot.

“I didn’t want to be a shooting star and just come and go quickly,” Khaimovich stresses. “I never wanted to be the coolest club—I’d seen what happened to Go-Go. The entire mentality behind Limelight was to be like a comfortable pair of jeans.”

Photo courtesy of James Vandervoort.

Why it was important: Limelight’s attitude-free “Give the customer what they want” approach brought tens of thousands annually through its huge metallic, garage-door façade.

“Those garage doors were fake,” chuckles Khaimovich about the famous entranceway. “Zisi bought everything at auctions so whatever he bought, we had to find a way to make it fit. He must have gotten a deal on galvanized siding so we put [the doors] up on the outside of the bottom two floors of the club. He found toilets at yard sales and auctions too, so we always had mismatched toilets.”

Aesthetically, Limelight was the antithesis of slick. The club’s two levels—initially there was a dancefloor level and balcony overlooking it—were painted with blues, reds and greens, and featured a whole lot of stools and wood banquettes upholstered in black vinyl. Enormous murals painted by artist Marc Sorozan were black-lit for a 3-D effect. Wearing black clothing at Limelight meant every bit of lint you carried would be revealed.

The club also boasted “the biggest mirror ball in the city at that time,” according to Khaimovich. It nicely complemented Limelight’s advanced, intelligent lighting system and thundering, crystal-clear sound.

Boxer Donovan Boucher (at back) and friends at opening night. Photo by Steven Lungley. All rights reserved.

Part of Limelight’s appeal was its size. With an initial legal capacity of 650 people—1,100 after the club expanded to three floors and added its popular rooftop patio—you could always find a spot to call your own, even as the crowds grew larger than the club could allow.

“During our peak years—say years three, four and five—we were the third volume beer seller in Ontario,” says Khaimovich. “The only places that were ahead of us were SkyDome and Maple Leaf Gardens.”

During these years, Limelight operated six nights per week, with a popular fetish party run monthly on Tuesdays by Boris and Madame X bringing the club’s total to an exhausting 28 open nights monthly. The programming was wildly eclectic, ranging from commercial weekends and meat-market university nights to rock, rave, retro. and gay weeklies.

Peter the Greek (left) with Craig Pettigrew (right) and friend.
Photo courtesy of Pettigrew.

Konstantinou brought in Peter Ivals a.k.a. Peter the Greek—a club and rave mainstay who also DJed within Greek-community party circles—to anchor the high-energy Saturday nights, which he did for Limelight’s entire duration. Khaimovich booked DJ James St. Bass, a known talent from Boom Boom Room, Go-Go, and OZ to hold down Friday nights.

“Of all the club residencies I ever had, Limelight was the most challenging to play,” the man also known as James Vandervoort tells me. “The owner was pretty picky about who he wanted in the club, so it was very geared to commercial dance music on weekends. At the time, that meant Euro-dance as well as popular house: think Snap!, Haddaway, Culture Beat, and Ace of Base. I didn’t care for this sound personally, but the crowd loved it.”

Vandervoort recalls playing favourites like Jam & Spoon’s “Right in the Night” alongside whatever disco, underground house, rock, rave, and Prince he could get away with.

“I was there to entertain, and make people dance,” says Vandervoort. “And I did. It was worth it for the sound system and the hard-partying people. The energy in Limelight could be extraordinary. Fridays were very successful; I would show up to open at 9 p.m. and the crowd would be lined up down the street.”

In addition to DJing Fridays for Limelight’s first two years, Vandervoort held down a number of other roles at the club. Conveniently, he lived in a studio space across the street—“so I’d get a busboy to help me carry crates home”—and could easily slip over to bartend or DJ on various nights, including the gay Wednesdays promoted by Eric Robertson during Limelight’s first year.

Limelight promo image courtesy of Eric Robertson.

“The format was different from a regular club night, and completely different for the gay scene,” recalls Robertson by email. “It was more like a weekly rave. All the best DJs wanted to play.”

It helped that Robertson had connections in both worlds. He’d go-go danced at popular boy weeklies in venues like Boom Boom, Go-Go, and The Phoenix, had thrown underground parties at spots including the Sears Warehouse, and worked with people including Don Berns a.k.a. Dr. Trance and Claudio from Pleasure Force and Atlantis to produce a range of raves.

His Wednesday weekly featured an impressive array of DJs, including St. Bass, Dr. Trance, Alx of London, Dino and Terry, David Cooper, Matt C, Mitch Winthrop, Barry Harris, John E, and Deko-ze.

“It was the mix of DJs that really made it work,” says Robertson. “The rave scene was peaking and the gay clubs were not very exciting. Ravers appreciated a nice club. Gays love a good sound system. Win-win. I loved the mix of the glow-stick kids and men with their shirts off!”

The night eventually gave way to PURE Wednesdays (more on this to come), but helped establish Limelight as far more than a typical commercial club. Also to that end, DJ Iain’s Childhood’s End Sundays—later re-branded as Primal Vision—was a signature night that ran for a full seven years.

Flyer courtesy of Erin O’Connor.

Iain McPherson is one of this city’s great pioneering forces in the meeting of alternative, industrial, and electronic sounds. Though he held down weekly residencies for the better part of two decades at clubs including Nuts & Bolts, The Copa, OZ, Catch 22, Lizard Lounge, and Empire Dancebar, McPherson never got stuck in a rut. He always looked forward and mixed beautifully between new wave, new beat, synth-pop, industrial, techno, Manchester indie-dance, hip-hop, and more. Sundays at Limelight was his final DJ residency, and the one at which he played most across-the-board.

“I was once told by a fellow DJ, Terry ‘TK’ Kelly, that I had been able to carve out a unique space for myself because I had one foot in the guitar world and another in that of the disco,” says McPherson. “Such diversity has become quite commonplace now, but I don’t think there were that many jocks doing so back then. Nights were either Top 40 or pretty heavily themed.

“Sundays at Limelight attracted one of the most diverse, open-minded crowds musically that I have experienced. They would happily get down to any of Ministry, White Zombie, Prodigy, The Orb, Primal Scream, Massive Attack, or Bjork. If we got them really wound-up, they would body surf to Metallica, and then I could pull a complete left turn and drop Tom Jones’ ‘It’s Not Unusual‘ or Leo Sayers’ ‘You Make Me Feel Like Dancing.’ They were so much fun to play for!”

Photo © by Steven Lungley. All rights reserved.

Sundays also grew from initial audiences of 100 to 1,500 or more on long weekends, thanks to the promotional efforts of James Kekanovich. Today’s promoters, who may just rely too heavily on Facebook and social media, should take note.

“As Iain’s promoter, over the years I distributed approximately one million invitations for Sundays at Limelight, with most of these extended on a face-to-face basis at concerts and raves,” says Kekanovich, also sharing a favourite Limelight memory.

“As Iain and I are Star Trek fans, an especially memorable moment was when Michael Dorn, otherwise know as Worf, attended a night. I was at the front door greeting people and he came up to ask if he could use the washroom. Of course, I let him in. Like commanding the Enterprise, Iain directed the night from the DJ booth, Worf was in the crowd, observing the Sunday-night dance rituals. Sunday nights at Limelight were an adventure, boldly going where no club night had gone before.”

Dancers at PURE Wednesdays. Photo courtesy of Jay Futronic.

Who else played/worked there: Limelight was an unlikely bridge over which many a maturing raver ventured into a licensed nightclub. Their transition was, in particular, eased by the highly successful PURE Wednesdays produced by DJs John E and Peter Ivals with DJ/promoter Craig Pettigrew. Beginning in the summer of 1996, PURE ran for four years, with fellow core residents including Myka, Bianchi, Mystical Influence, Sniper, and Big League Chu. House was heard on the main floor, classic house on the second while from the rooftop patio boomed jungle and breaks.

“I noticed the crowds getting older and wanted to bring that rave vibe into a club where you could have a few drinks and listen to great music,” says John E, who produced and played at many of this city’s largest raves as a co-founder of Pleasure Force and a heavily booked DJ. “At one point, it was PURE and Industry holding down the club scene. I think we opened the door for promoters to bring that music into the clubs.

“The start of PURE was slow, but the owner and manager were patient. We hit our stride during the second summer. It was off the hook, with line-ups down to the fire station.”

“The community really embraced us, and came out to not only listen to great music, but to socialize,” adds Pettigrew, who also handed out thousands of flyers in his day. “I think we had a great run largely because we never made the night about the guest DJs—we really focussed on what talent was in Toronto. ”

Adam Freeland DJs at PURE Wednesdays. Photo courtesy of Jay Futronic.

PURE talent was plentiful, with local guests including Nathan Barato, Kenny Glasgow, Jason Palma, Addy, Matt C, Nick Holder, Peter and Tyrone, The Stickmen, and Paranoid Jack.

That said, many global names also graced the night’s booths, with mention made of Adam Freeland, Donald Glaude, DJ Czech, John Acquaviva, DJ Dan, Hipp-E, and Anne Savage.

“We loved Lafleche from Sona Montreal—he always threw down some amazing music and was a crowd favorite,” says Pettigrew. “So many great people played, but I always loved it when John E would get the prime slot. He had an amazing way of playing tracks at the right time, and getting the crowd to explode.”

Limelight was successful for reasons beyond its music. At its heart was also a diverse staff, many of whom would go on to careers in the nightlife industry. Orin Bristol worked as head of security and then assistant manager before going on to run the show at System Soundbar and now works for INK Entertainment. Brothers Michel and Daniel Quintas were long-serving bartenders. (Quintas now owns Annex staple Insomnia Café.)

Bartender Dede Gilser is frequently mentioned, both for being “super friendly and drop-dead gorgeous,” as McPherson says.

Popular Limelight bartender Dede Gilser. Photo courtesy of her.

“I have a lot of great memories of Sunday nights when DJ Iain played, which is surprising due to the amount of JD I consumed at the time,” says Gilser, who worked at Limelight for five years.

“One of my favourite groups of regulars on Sundays featured one sweet kid who, with great regularity, would slam-dance himself into a nose bleed. I’d grab a fresh bar rag with some cool water and wash his face off. It was strangely endearing.

“Also, my very last night at Limelight was a Sunday. Unlike the normal scenario of customer weeping to the bartender, I wept like someone stabbed me.”

PURE Wednesdays flyers courtesy of Craig Pettigrew.

What happened to it: The spirit of Limelight slowly sunk as key people left over time. DJ Iain played his last gig ever on the final Sunday of 1999—cheered on by hundreds of regulars and fêted with a cake, speeches, and sparklers.

Khaimovich, who’d only ever taken two vacations during his eight years, departed in 2001, going on to co-own Insomnia Café with Quintas, consult for a number of downtown clubs and, eventually, open Maple Crescent Farm, where he lives with his children and wife, Kendra Batek.

“She was a shooter girl at Limelight,” says Khaimovich. “Fifteen years later, she’s my boss.”

Many say Limelight lost its spark after Khaimovich’s departure. Rob Marchand and then Arthur Geringas would become managers, but by then owner Konstantinou had turned his attention to other projects, including System Soundbar and the building in which it was housed, all of which he owned.

Limelight closed its doors on January 18, 2003. It was later developed into a club dubbed Afterlife. Today, it is the home of London Tap House where, ironically, Boris Khaimovich works the door on weekends.

James Vandervoort, who has a professional daytime career, has returned to DJing as James St. Bass on occasion.

John E also continues to DJ select dates. He’ll play as part of the Toronto Legends series, alongside Paul Walker, Goldfinger, and Keith Young, at Parlour (270 Adelaide St. W.) on Aug. 24.

Craig Pettigrew is a driving force at both GEM Events and the annual BPM Festival—of which he is a co-founder—in Playa del Carmen, Mexico. Pettigrew recently re-located to Los Angeles where he is set to open underground club Sound come September. His latest production, “No Crash,” sees release on Younan Music at month’s end.

Thank you to Boris Khaimovich, Craig Pettigrew, Dede Gilser, Eric Robertson, Iain McPherson, James Kekanovich, James Vandervoort, and John E Pallotta for sharing their memories. Thanks also to Erin O’Connor, Jay Futronic, and photographer Steven Lungley for the images.

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

Article originally published January 4, 2012 by The Grid online (TheGridTO.com).

In the latest instalment of her nightlife-history series, Denise Benson takes us back to College Street in the mid-90s, when a female-friendly hotbed for arts and culture opened up just as Little Italy was beginning to explode.

BY: DENISE BENSON

Club: 52 inc., 394 College Street

Years in operation: 1995 — 2000

History: On August 2nd 1995, two 23-year-old friends—Kate Cassidy and Amy Katz—opened a community-minded café, bar and boutique just one block away from their shared rental apartment at College and Borden. 52 inc., named as a nod to women forming fifty-two percent of the global population, was a complementary addition to a neighbourhood filled with diverse independent businesses.

By then, College Street west of Bathurst was beginning to explode with trendy lounges, restaurants and shops opened alongside Little Italy mainstays. But it was a different story for the strip of College that lies north of Kensington Market.

“It was a gritty stretch that was complete with small businesses: grocers, salsa clubs, a few clothing shops and some very busy diners, many of whom had been there a very long time,” recalls Cassidy. “There was nothing slick or ‘happening;’ it was just people going about their daily business. We wedged ourselves into that stretch and loved being a part of it.”

“We did all of our shopping for the bar on the block or in Kensington Market, and rarely needed to leave the neighbourhood for anything,” says Katz. “We were both working in restaurants, learned a lot from other spaces, had some serious mentors and opened with a lot of help. We wanted to create a place for the neighbourhood to come in and express itself.”

“We wanted a place where the coffee was always strong and good, a place where a woman would always feel comfortable sitting solo while having a drink at the bar, and a place where the music was never an afterthought,” Cassidy adds.

52 inc interior. Photo courtesy of Kate Cassidy.

The storefront building with beautiful, high ceilings housed a unique social space as the women of 52 inc. made the most of their one-thousand-square-feet. Designer Carina Rose worked with Katz and Cassidy to create a warm wooded space accented by tiles, lighting fixtures and other materials, including the infamous mermaid glass shower doors that divided the venue, repurposed from a demolished 1950s North Toronto bungalow home.

“For the first couple of years, the front area was a bar while the back area was a small store,” explains Katz. “We sold clothes from local designers, comic books from local artists, music and more. When we had DJs in, people danced under the dresses. After awhile, we got rid of the store.”

For lots of us living in the area—I rented on Brunswick north of College for 15 years—52 inc. was a huge boon with its thoughtful menu, welcoming vibe and novel nightlife. Open six days a week, with events on most evenings, 52 inc. meant many things to many people.

Why it was important: Cassidy and Katz were actively committed to feminist ideals, the promotion of local artists, and the desire to bring communities together. As a result, 52 inc. featured everything from live jazz to debates, discussions and DJs.

“Our ‘business model’ was to see what happened, and this generated a spontaneity that allowed us to witness many moments of beauty,” shares Katz. “We benefited from the commitment, skills and imagination found in the neighbourhood and in the city. 52 inc. was a window into what was already going on. The people who worked, performed and displayed their work there shaped the place.”

Visual artists and graphic designers including Fiona Smyth, Cecilia Berkovic, Suritah Wignall and Noel Nanton created work for 52 inc. Smyth also participated in an afternoon discussion with artist Sook-Yin Lee and former Toronto mayor Barbara Hall. Local clothing designers like Sim & Jones—who had a shop of their own just doors down—helped organize ‘subversive’ fashion shows. Sundays boasted popular open mic night Mocha Lounge’n where DJs Blanco, Son of S.O.U.L., K.I., K.Rafike and others were joined by spoken word artists such as Dwayne Morgan, Jemeni, El Machetero, Clifton Joseph and Hajile Kalaike. Kalaike later went on to host Sundays and continue the spoken word tradition. There were also book launches, art openings and activist talks.

Sook-Yin Lee and former Toronto mayor Barbara Hall. Photo courtesy of Kate Cassidy.

“The space was small and super dynamic,” says Cassidy. “There was a constant flow of ideas, people and movement. Most people came for a glass of wine, a cocktail and to consume, but 52 inc. often had a community centre vibe. It was thrilling to look around the room at times and see who had gathered—to watch connections be made between artists, hip-hop producers, clothing designers, filmmakers, neighbourhood moms, singers, writers, activists and others.”

52 inc. was also one of the first small bars in the area to feature DJs nightly. Paul E. Lopes was the first weekly resident, with other early musical contributors including Mike Tull, DJs Kola and Serious, Mike Klaps and John Kumahara.

“I really hit it off with Amy and Kate because we shared a similar outlook on music and culture,” says Lopes. “It felt like it was a new era, a new funky freedom community. It was a hangout spot for us. They brought artists, DJs and designers together in one small, low-rent space and it felt like home. Watching them serve their patrons equal parts brunch and attitude was fun too.”

“The door at 52 inc. was always open,” agrees Tull. “It was a place where many Toronto DJs honed their skills. I for one would go by every Thursday to test out the records I bought.”

Like Lopes, Tull played regularly both at the College Street location and many of the larger 52 inc. events held elsewhere.

“Kate and Amy were very down-to-earth in their approach to everything, something that is definitely lacking in the promotion game nowadays. The fact that they were women also gave their parties a different vibe.”

College Street in the mid-90s. Photo courtesy of Kate Cassidy.

Who else played there: “We were a small bar and thought big,” says Cassidy. “It’s amazing to think of what we squeezed into that place over the five years.”

That’s no braggadocio. Bands including LAL performed. On the DJ front, dozens and dozens played for a 52 inc. gathering at some point: Nick Holder, deejay nav, Jason Palma, John Kong, Groove Institute, Malik X, Moonstarr, Moodswing, and Noel Nanton are but some of the names. 52 inc. had very close ties with DJs from Toronto’s three community radio stations, with myself and fellow CKLN hosts like Nik Red, Karen Augustine, DJ Zahra, Ray Prasad and Verlia Stephens also mixing it up.

DJ Moodswing. Photo courtesty of Kate Cassidy.

“There was a lot of rare and beautiful music played,” summarizes Katz. “People spent a lot of time at the DJ booth, asking what was being played. There was a lot of experimenting going on.”

To that end, the women of 52 inc. expanded their reach by producing ambitious events at external venues, including warehouse spaces like The Mockingbird and Roxy Blu, where they were one of the first promoters to host regular events.

There, 52 inc. presented a sold-out show by Philly poet Ursula Rucker, spearheaded two massive grassroots fundraisers dubbed Shake:Body (both featured close to 30 DJs and performers), and hosted a series of epic DJ Battles complete with props, ropes and Paul E. Lopes as referee.

“Amy and Kate went all-out and rented movie props,” recalls Lopes. “They had a huge trophy, a giant banner, and hung a life-sized whole side of beef near the DJ booth, to look like Sly Stone training in Rocky. They handed out whistles and towels for the ‘big choons,’ and the crowds, who were like no other, went mad.”

“People always told us our parties were so different—friendly, inviting and fresh,” says Cassidy. “Everyone also knew that our parties reflected our name. More than half of the crowd on the dancefloor were women.”

DJ Jason Palma poses with the giant DJ Battle trophy. Photo courtesy Paul E. Lopes.

What happened to it: With the summer of 2000 approaching, Cassidy says, “our five-year lease was coming up, the landlord was challenging to deal with, and we were exhausted. It felt okay to have 52 inc. come to an end on a high note. We threw a huge party in August, everyone came through to say goodbye, and it felt right somehow. I think we were both also ready to have our own quiet social lives by that point.”

The Cloak and Dagger Pub opened soon after.

Katz has since worked as a community organizer in a variety of capacities. She currently works for a health centre and is concerned with the creation and preservation of community centres and public spaces.

Cassidy, mother to a 20-month-old daughter, will contribute music-programming ideas to friends soon set to open the Midfield Wine Bar and Tavern at Dundas and Gladstone.

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