Article originally published February 11, 2014 by The Grid online (thegridto.com).

In the face of King West’s rampant condo-ization and nightclub-ificaiton, this beloved, recently shuttered basement venue held it down for underground sounds—and continues to do so at a newly opened space in the Annex.

BY: DENISE BENSON

Club: Footwork, 425 Adelaide W.

Years in operation: 2005-2013

History: The story of one of this city’s most beloved, internationally recognized house and techno clubs begins with the unlikely pairing of two men raised on rock.

Hamilton native Joel Smye was a long-haired fan of bands like Pearl Jam and Rage Against the Machine until his parents sent him to Switzerland to complete high school. While there, he also got an education in rave. By 1997, he hit up massive Toronto parties each weekend, and taught himself to DJ. As Baby Joel, he would become known for his love of funky Chicago house.

Originally from Ottawa, Stephan Philion moved to Toronto 11 years ago, already experienced in the hospitality industry, and in throwing house parties, which were largely a means to accumulate sound and lighting gear. He had a lean toward Britpop and grunge until party promoter and friend Gairy Brown took Philion to Fly Nightclub, where he fell for dance music.

Smye and Philion met in the early 2000s, while waiters at Brassai. The two talked music. Philion got to hear Smye DJ, loved his take on house, and invited the DJ to check a club sound system that was just gathering dust at the time.

“I expected a couple of JBLs beside a TV or something like that,” admits Smye. “But, basically, the bass bins that would later be in Footwork were laid out flat across Steph’s bedroom floor. He had to crawl over them to get to his bed.

“We decided we should do something with them, so talked about doing a one-off at 99 Sudbury.”

Joel Syme (left) and Stephan Philion. Photo by John Mitchell (http://derinkuyu.ca/).

At the time, 99 was still operating as a film studio, with occasional late-night parties. Philion and Smye had success with theirs, and came to manage the studio’s bar on weekends from 2003 to 2005.

Smye DJed a lot, and the pair booked in underground house and techno DJs and promoters like Mike Gleeson, Mat Lunnen, Lee Osborne, and Fukhouse. They lost the space when 99 Sudbury landed a year-long film contract.

As luck would have it, two regulars at Brassai frequently asked the duo about their parties.

“I think it was the same week that we were out of 99 that they said, ‘You know, we have this space that’s right around the corner. We just changed the locks, everything is up to code, and the liquor permit is in place—you’d just have to come and make it your own,’” recalls Smye.

Previously, the basement at Adelaide and Brant had housed piano bar Cry Baby, and dance club The Matrix before that. Initially, it didn’t feel like the right space for Smye and Philion, especially with its many windows that looked onto Adelaide.

“Then we came up with the idea of flipping it around, and having the entrance be from the alley, while boarding up the windows to make that half the dancefloor area,” Smye recounts.

After a month-and-a-half and “a curbed rent so we could have the opportunity to start out as cheaply as possible,” the two opened Footwork Dancebar in May of 2005.

They launched in a rapidly changing area. Soulful-underground-house club Roxy Blu, located across the street on Brant, would close that July, replaced by an upscale restaurant. Trendy spots like Brant House and Century Room were new to the neighbourhood.

Footwork was different. Not only was it located in a nondescript office building, the entrance was down an unmarked alley on its south side. Equally disorienting on first visit was the short maze of a hallway you stepped into. Often jammed with people both entering the club and exiting to smoke, the hallway was soundproofed and painted black. Senses kicked into overdrive upon entering the pulsing main space. There was a lounge area and some seating, but Footwork was about two main things: music and dancing.

Photo courtesy of Jonathan Rosa.

Why it was important: “We were pretty green at the time, and didn’t really know what we were getting into,” Smye confesses. “Our initial concept wasn’t really to be a full-on nightclub; we had some club nights that we wanted to do, but our goal was modeled on something a little more like Element—a dance bar.”

Still, they worked to bring warehouse sounds and DJs to a licensed club, with mixed results.

“We had a bit of cockiness to us, I think, when we opened because we had done 99 Sudbury for a couple of years, and it was successful,” says Smye. “When we were there, it was really easy to get people to come out, for obvious reasons.

“We thought that would translate easily to a bar and club. What we found was that our crowd came at two in the morning, looking for something to drink. We had to explain that it was a legit operation. People were a bit confused for a while.”

Though the Activate crew had some success promoting Wednesdays, and occasional Thursdays were busy, Footwork soon opened on weekends only. While legal capacity was only 255 people, they rarely reached that.

“The first year was rocky,” shares Smye. “It was off-and-on, which left us scratching our heads a little.

“We really got our stride going when DJ Addy brought us a Friday weekly a bit before the start of year two. Addy brought with him a crowd, a sound and a group of DJs who we hadn’t really worked with before.”

Addy at Footwork. Photo by John Mitchell (http://derinkuyu.ca/).

DJing professionally since the late ’90s, Addy Ranh had held residencies at clubs including The Guvernment, System Soundbar, Film Lounge, Turbo, Tonic, and Mad Bar. He knew Joel from Hamilton clubs, and fell for Footwork on first visit.

“I loved its high ceiling, alleyway entrance, and great owners who truly understand the culture,” says Ranh, who’d proposed Domestic Fridays, with a focus on local talent.

Main residents included Addy, Deko-ze, Carlo Lio, The Junkies (then called Vinyl Junkies), Sydney Blu, Nathan Barato, and Joee Cons. Domestic was busy from the start.

“The launch was slammed, with 400 people inside, and 300 trying to get in,” says Ranh. “Traffic backed up on Brant Street. Security was overwhelmed. Chuck Liddell was there.”

Perhaps the former UFC champ was lured by Domestic’s tough sound.

“Fridays’ sound was clubbier,” Smye says. “Its DJs played at places like The Guvernment and Comfort Zone, and had more of that pumping, hard-house vibe, which is also kind of a Toronto sound.

“I give Addy a lot of credit for helping us to get cooking, and to find a good balance because Domestic Fridays allowed us to focus energy on developing our Saturday sound.”

“Footwork came around at the right time—when [so many] clubs were switching to mainstream hip-hop and Top 40,” credits Ranh, in turn. “We went from having seven house clubs to literally two, Guvernment and Footwork. Footwork kept the torch alive, and fed the culture.”

Carlo Lio (left) and Nathan Barato a.k.a. The Roaches at Footwork. Photo by John Mitchell.

To do so, Smye and Philion worked with a variety of promoters on Saturday nights. Each brought their own sonic specialty, like Fukhouse for techno, Vunk for progressive house, and Nine for funky Chicago house. After Nine folded, its main resident DJ Mike Gleeson launched Bounce with Justin Riva.

“The Bounce crew became, and still are, our go-to guys for Chicago house, and related stuff,” Smye says. “When Fukhouse disbanded, Platform took over that techno role.”

“Footwork really was one of the only places you could reliably go to hear great underground music, especially in its earlier days,” confirms Gleeson, who’d DJed in Hamilton before going on to do Hustlin’ parties with Mat Lunnen at venues including Boa Redux and 99 Sudbury. “That made Footwork a hub for underground electronic music, and also provided a much-needed base from which the scene could survive and grow. The musical diversity attracted all kinds of different people; you can’t have a strong scene without it.”

Like Gleeson, Michael Babb a.k.a. DJ/producer Deko-ze was one of the earliest DJs to play at Footwork, and was impressed.

“Excuse my crassness, but I got an erection when I first saw the DJ booth,” says the notoriously forthright Babb, a veteran of the country’s top clubs and raves.

“You could immediately tell it was a DJ, Joel, who had overseen its design. So many club owners don’t realize that us DJs can perform at our best when the booth is put together properly. It’s also refreshing and rare to find owners who want to promote good quality music rather than solely make money.”

As a result, the skilled and energetic Deko-ze would go on to spin his chunky sounds at Footwork throughout the club’s history, even hosting annual birthday and Christmas specials.

Stephan Philion. Photo by Sasha Niveole from Purple Tree Photography.

Philion and Smye, in fact, got a whole lot of things right at Footwork, including sound and lights. Lighting was simple, but effective while sound was rich and full. The system always sounded tuned.

“It was pretty much always the same system in there,” says Smye. “We added a couple of pieces over the years, but I think it was just that we had the right pieces and the right amount for the room. It was never about overkill; it was about having sound that was appropriate.”

The club’s size and floor plan also worked to its advantage on many fronts.

“Footwork had a strange layout, but a very positive and contagious floor energy,” describes Gleeson. “It was small enough to be intimate and, as a DJ, make a direct connection with the dancers, yet big enough to host amazing artists and events.”

Jonathan Rosa. Photo by John Mitchell (http://derinkuyu.ca/).

“From a DJ’s perspective, something about that hourglass shape made it easier to connect with and control the crowd’s energy and vibe,” agrees Jonathan Rosa a.k.a. Jon Jon, a resident at Footwork since 2007 who’s also been involved in the club’s marketing and promotions since 2009. “Even the international touring DJs, like Guy Gerber and Marco Carola, emphasized this.”

Footwork also gained a reputation for its audience.

“Footwork crowds knew their music,” explains Philion. “More than once, big DJs would tell us that they were nervous to play. A lot of that had to do with the proximity of the people, but also the feel in the room, the vibe, and the knowledge of their fans.”

Put simply, it felt good to be in a room where you could trust that most people there also wanted to get lost in the music.

Footwork crowd early in the club’s history. Photo courtesy of Jonathan Rosa.

Photo courtesy of Jonathan Rosa.

“Footwork was a music-focussed venue, from the programming to the people who came there to dance,” says Smye. “This created a vibe that was different from a lot of other clubs.

“The magic of dance music, I’ve always felt, is that point in the night where there’s all sorts of people mixed into the room and, ultimately, they all really click together. Given the size of Footwork, that seemed to happen pretty regularly.”

“It’s no secret that we have had a long list of great nightclubs here in Toronto, and I’ve pretty much been to and worked at them all at one point or another,” offers in-demand DJ/producer Carlo Lio. “But Footwork was all about the music from day one, and I feel people really noticed this. It was a place where everything just felt right, and that is never easy to find. Footwork really became a home for all of us, whether you were a partygoer, DJ or promoter.”

Footwork’s Domestic weekly was the globetrotting house and tech talent’s “first real residency in the city.” Even as his popularity soared, Lio continued to guest at the re-branded Fridays (Rehab and then Luv This City), open on some Saturdays, and produced parties including UNION, a hugely popular collaborative gig also featuring Footwork favourites Nathan Barato and The Junkies.

Union flyer courtesy of Jonathan Rosa.

“Footwork played a key role in my career,” Lio emphasizes. “It has moulded me to become the artist I am today. It’s given me the chance to play with some of the biggest DJs on the planet, and has taught me tonnes about the industry as a whole. The Footwork crowd itself was like a drug; playing for the right people who love the music just as much as you do is indescribable. It can never get old!”

Footwork’s commitment to Toronto electronic music talent has been key to the careers of many who now tour the world.

In addition to Lio, Barato, The Junkies, and Sydney Blu, people like Jamie Kidd, James Teej, My Favorite Robot, and Art Department come to mind.

“It was more by circumstance than design, but Footwork did become a breeding ground for a lot of talents who have seen success around the world,” allows Smye. “Take the No.19 crew, Nitin and Jonny White [also half of Art Department]. We kind of grew up together. They brought in DJs and would also be on the bill, but had a tough time doing events at times because that sound they were into wasn’t really taking off. They were friends, and we wanted to do more with them, but from a club perspective, we didn’t always find that their parties made the room happen. I give them credit; they could have easily had more nights with us if they’d sometimes picked up the pace a little, but they stuck with their sound, and obviously have done well with it.”

Nitin now tours regularly, and is at work on his debut album. Addy is also known as a producer, having released music on labels including Toolroom, Hot Fingers, and Younan Music. Rosa and fellow Footwork resident DJ Jeff Button are among the many other Footwork-affiliated names that have begun to rise.

“The Footwork guys have gone out of their way to champion some of Toronto’s strong local talent,” confirms Babb a.k.a. Deko-ze. “They’ve been teaching the new generation that there doesn’t need to be an international DJ to bring credibility to a night.”

With its small size, and dedicated following, Footwork was also well-positioned to present emergent sounds and artists. Saturdays, in particular, reflected shifts in underground house and tech. An example is following the No.19 lead to slowed beats, as Footwork did when they teamed up with Jazz Spinder to present the Modern Love Affair series.

“There was this new sound coming up – deeper, with a slower tempo—and a lot of the artists weren’t yet well known or well-received in Toronto, even though it was getting really big elsewhere in the world,” says Smye.

“We created a brand so that the parties would be more about that brand, and people would just trust us that the DJs would be quality. Toronto has a knack for getting stuck on the same old stuff sometimes, so we wanted to give ourselves some freedom to bring in new acts, and take some chances.”

Modern Love Affair flyer courtesy of Jonathan Rosa.

“Clubs these days get stuck with sounds or DJs, or only book what’s hot and drop what’s not,” adds Lio. “Footwork was the opposite; they evolved. Their ear was always to the ground; they moulded with the new underground music, supported rising talents, and were willing to give it all a shot. You can’t beat a mentality like that. This is one of those special clubs that DJs will take less of a fee to play at. It was, and is, an internationally renowned club.”

The club did gain a surprisingly large international rep given its relatively small size. Footwork even clocked in at number 36 in last year’s Top 100 Clubs list compiled by DJ Mag.

“That caught us off-guard, to be honest,” allows Smye. “I think what got a good buzz going around the world were the DJs coming in, and having such a great time playing there. If you ever stood in the Footwork DJ booth when the night was going off, it really was the best seat in the house. You had a great view, you were close to the crowd—it just had such an intimate feel, and a lot of the DJs we booked played at mega-clubs so they’d come to Footwork and it would bring them back, probably, to the feelings they had when the first got into playing.”

A packed Footwork crowd. Photo by John Mitchell (http://derinkuyu.ca/).

Who else played/worked there: Several hundred local and international DJs graced Footwork’s booth during the club’s eight-year-run. Everyone I speak with has favourite memories.

“Two standout DJs who played with us a lot in the early years, and have become good friends, are Lee Burridge and Green Velvet,” offers Smye. “We still work with both of them a lot.”

“Lee Burridge, hands down, every time,” agrees longtime clubber and head Footwork bartender Kellie Nelles. “He’s a killer DJ, an amazing spirit, and just fun all around. I won’t forget the time Lee DJed from the dancefloor.

“Also, Richie Hawtin on a Thursday—how much better could it get than hearing him at an intimate venue like Footwork? Of course, Green Velvet: I remember the night he played nearby, but came in to Footwork and sang happy birthday to himself.”

While Nelles also makes mention of Dubfire, Steve Bug, Jamie Jones, Derrick Carter, Lee Foss, and Stephan Bodzin, many people highlight Danny Howell’s Footwork debut.

“Danny was booked to play open till close, so from 10 p.m. to 5 a.m.,” Smye says. “We came up with the concept of doing a cocktail hour from 9-10 p.m., with no music on whatsoever. But Danny’s records got lost at the airport, and I was there trying to get him.

“By 10 o’clock, Footwork was at capacity. The anticipation had really built, the room was already getting sweaty, and the DJ hadn’t shown up yet. At about 10:20, the door opened, there was Danny, and the whole crowd started to chant his name. Danny is kind of a shy character, and was pretty overwhelmed by what he walked into—a room with no music, and getting to put his first record on for a packed club.”

Deadmau5 made his Toronto debut at Footwork in 2007, and returned as a surprise guest during Sydney Blu’s birthday years later. (Click through the photo gallery at the top of this article for scenes from these and other fondly remembered parties at Footwork.)

“Harry Romero was one of my favourite DJs to come through,” enthuses Deko-ze. “My spot was in the middle of the dancefloor for his entire set. When DJ Dan was in, it was always a zoo! I love seeing a crowd raging with crazy energy!”

“On big nights, the energy levels could get pretty crazy,” concurs Rosa. “I remember being in the backroom one night, and hearing the crowd go off; they sounded just like people going up and down on a roller coaster.”

That could have been in February 2007, on the night that AD/D presented Britain’s Switch, a.k.a. Solid Groove.

“Switch was a big one for me,” says an excited Philion. “That was a totally different type of music as well—it was fresh and new. I so remember that night; it was just relentless, track after track. The walls were throbbing. Every surface that people could stand on, they did.”

“Switch’s laptop kept shutting off in the middle of a track, and every time it stopped, that just made people go even crazier,” adds Gleeson. “I’ve never seen people dancing on the bar, and those narrow, six-inch-wide drink ledges before. Between that, and the slow torrent of condensation raining down from the ceiling because of the heat, I can’t recall a more intense night!

“And the second time we brought Sonny Fodera was also incredible. It was so packed so early, and so high in positive energy, with smiles all around.”

While other promoters, including HouseAddict, Boogie Inc., I/O Productions, Box of Kittens, and Embrace all presented multiple shows at Footwork, one promo crew especially stands out on the Saturday-night front.

Platform, a partnership of longtime promoter Alex Mastro and DJ/producer Jeremy Kesten, a.k.a. Jeremy K, presented more than a hundred techno and tech-house events at Footwork, beginning in 2007. Like the Footwork founders, Mastro and Kesten have ears tuned for high-quality sounds rising from the electronic-music underground.

“We did events more frequently, and gained some real momentum with Footwork, in the final few years,” says Mastro. “We created a strong bond with the owners, the patrons, and especially the DJs. When artists tell their agent, ‘This is the club I want to play because I know it will be an amazing show,’ it helps to secure better bookings.

“There were many memorable nights, and some that got totally crazy. Marco Carola played a year ago, the night after he played the Hurricane Sandy relief charity in New York put on by Leonardo Di Caprio. Footwork was at capacity by 9:15 p.m., before we normally even open.

“Also, there was the Guy Gerber show where someone pulled the fire alarm. Guy refused to stop playing. He played to an empty club for 20 minutes as the fire department sorted things out. Guy would not leave the decks, and the people didn’t leave outside the venue. When they were let back let in, the dancefloor went crazy.”

More recent Platform presentations included Mano Le Tough, Dixon, and Hot Since 82.

“Many times, you left Footwork feeling you had learned something about music, from one of the top acts on the planet,” says Kesten. “This is the magic of a venue like Footwork: It’s the experience that this music was made for.”

Parallel to this ran Footwork’s frequently mentioned community mindset.

“Footwork’s greatest aspect was its family-oriented environment,” asserts Lio. “We all know this is a cutthroat industry, and people will step on each other to get ahead. But it wasn’t like that with this crew. We all wanted to grow together, and wanted to see everyone do well. It was inspiring, to say the least.

“Our crowd was also very protective of the club,” says Philion. “If there was something not right happening, it would go down the chain, and the problem would be solved, whatever that was. We really wanted Footwork to be a respectful place—no bullshit, no hierarchy.”

Bartenders Veronika Sparkles and Dave Collier. Photo by John Mitchell.

“Our staff was key in that as well,” Smye acknowledges. “We had a pretty consistent crew; a lot of our core people were there for years.”

Nelles, who first worked at 99 Sudbury, bartended throughout Footwork’s history. She was joined early on by Jamie Miller and Erin Allaby.

“Erin was key,” says Smye. “Steph and I weren’t so organized in our early years, and she really took control of things.”

“Jon Rosa is our right-hand man,” adds Philion. “And he can throw a party single-handedly.”

Rosa himself points to Nelles, and Carl Barnes, Footwork’s head of security: “Both are super popular with our patrons; they go above and beyond in the kindness and customer service department.”

“Special mention to Carl for being nicest head bouncer ever,” Platform’s Mastro concurs. “Also, ’JQ,’ the soundtech, is the most wacky-yet-genius tech we have ever worked with. I would compare him to MacGyver. If something was broke, he could fix it with some glue from a Zig-Zag rolling paper, some electrical tape, and wood. He would build things in the blink of and eye, and we had no idea how this was even possible. He saved many situations.”

Carl Barnes (left) and Rafwat Shauki. Photo by Marko Kovacevic, courtesy of Jonathan Rosa.

What happened to it: In a twist that speaks both to Footwork’s success, and the health of Toronto’s electronic-music underground, the club closed last year largely because it got too busy. A new home became necessary.

“It outgrew its capacity,” says Gleeson. “With double or triple the number of people wanting to get in as were allowed, it was time.”

The King West crowd had found Footwork, as did new generations of clubbers. Many went to the club for the first time when it held afterparties related to the Digital Dreams and VELD Festivals.

“There was definitely an influx of new kids who were introduced to the music through [the mainstream success of] EDM, and found their way to us,” says Smye.

On a related note, Footwork partnered last summer with Platform and Embrace to produce the Electric Island picnic and concert series on Centre Island. (It returns this year.)

“Electric Island also helped Footwork,” says Philion. “When you get 5,000 people per event for four events, there will be some new energy as a result. We had a lot of new faces for the last four months. We gave about a month’s notice that we were closing, and heard a lot of ‘What? I’ve only being going here for two weeks!’”

The last year at Footwork was its busiest to date, so it did come as a shock when the closure was announced last September.

Smye, however, says he and Philion knew they wanted to start anew as far back as three years ago.

“We wanted to grow. We’d built ourselves up to a point, and there were other artists we wanted to bring in, but just couldn’t have at Footwork. Also, the neighbourhood had been changing around us. It was one thing after another. Just before we closed, another condo went up right beside us. You’d walk up the alley, and people’s bedrooms and balconies were right there. We were already actively looking, but that factored into it. Mostly, Steph and I were itching to do something new.”

Footwork closed with an incredible two months of programming, with guests including Lee Burridge, Chus+Ceballos, Marcel Dettman, Miss Honey Dijon, Benoit & Sergio, and Hot Since 82.

“Hot Since 82 played a killer, killer set on the second-to-last weekend,” says Nelles. “The vibe was off the hook; we really saw young and old come together during some of our final days. It truly makes me teary-eyed thinking of that night.”

The line-ups outside of Footwork during its final night. Photos by John Mitchell (http://derinkuyu.ca/).

The final weekend of Oct. 18-19 was fully devoted to local talent. Deko-ze played as part of the Last Dance, and greeted Footwork’s closure with a mix of sadness and optimism.

“To me, there are certain clubs that the underground scene will always reminisce about in reverential tones: Industry, Boa, System Soundbar, Turbo, and now Footwork,” says Babb. “I’m reminded of their integral influence whenever I travel; people always mention these clubs when talking about Toronto.” (Deko-ze travels regularly, releases on labels including Jungle Funk, which he co-owns with Jerome Robins, and is a resident at Fly, Guvernment, Comfort Zone, and now CODA.)

Also in October, it was announced that Footwork had purchased the club space at 794 Bathurst, formerly Annex Wreckroom. Their first party was Oct. 26.

“When we found the space, we pretty much had our calendar booked at Footwork, but had a buyer for that club lined up so it all came together,” explains Smye. “We decided that, rather than close down and do parties elsewhere, we would do them in the new space while we renovated during the week. It was a very interesting, gruelling few months of trying to renovate, and get the word out, while also trying not to say too much about what we’d be doing until it was the right time.”

“The last month at Footwork was especially epic,” adds Rosa, who, along with core staff like bartender Nelles and security head Barnes, moved to the new event space, now known to the world as CODA.

“It definitely felt like we left at our peak, but that’s the energy we want to channel straight into CODA. It’s definitely indicative of a scene not only maturing, but also flexin’.”

Joel (left) and Steph, then of Footwork and now of CODA. Photo by John Mitchell (http://derinkuyu.ca/).

CODA opened Jan. 18 with Art Department, and has featured impressive bookings each following week. Attendance has been high, and the reception positive.

With a capacity double that of Footwork, a stage that allows for live shows, and a new floor that adds some bounce for dancing bodies, CODA has the bases covered. Smye tells me they plan to program a variety of sounds, with live shows during the week and electronic music on weekends. Former Wreckroom head honcho Mark Atkinson was also hired as CODA’s General Manager.

Upcoming CODA events include Sydney Blu this Friday (Feb. 14), Yes Yes Y’all’s fifth anniversary (Feb. 21), Soul Clap (Feb. 22), beatboxer Beardyman (Feb. 27), and a Stones Throw special featuring Peanut Butter Wolf and JRocc (March 6).

No matter the music, it will be heard through a high-calibre soundsystems built and installed by PK Sound. Owner Paul Magnuson counts himself as a fan of Footwork.

“If you were to compare the two clubs, the major difference [in sound] would be power,” says Magnuson. “You’ll feel the system like never before, adding to the already intense experience Footwork provided. I really couldn’t compare this system to any other in North America; it’s very unique, even for us. The use of our large format line, and the placement of strategic delays, allows for a concert-like experience in a small room. Anyone attending events at CODA can expect to hear the music as it was intended by the composer or producer, with the all the power, depth, and clarity offered by modern acoustic technology. We’ve been really excited to unleash this system in Toronto, especially at CODA. Steph and Joel are incredibly passionate guys, and care about the people, the music, and the community. They’ve created something truly special.”

Adds Gleeson, “CODA is much bigger, and it might be difficult to retain that same intimate feel that Footwork had, but considering the structural changes they’ve made inside, I think it will be a big improvement.” (Gleeson continues on as a resident there, and recently released Your Love, a collaborative EP recorded with local funky-house duo Speedboats & Big Explosions.)

“It’s always sad to see a place this close to your heart close its doors, but everything does come to an end,” reasons Lio, who soon has releases coming out on Carl Cox’s Intec and Loco Dice’s Desolat in addition to remixing Audion for Spectral Sound.

“I am super happy for Steph and Joel, and the success of Footwork,” Lio adds. “They left on a high note, and I’m happy they didn’t skip a beat because we all know they have so much more to contribute to the Toronto underground. They are vital to this scene.”

The former Footwork space at 425 Adelaide St. W. will soon reopen as The Ace Lounge. Owner Jack (no last name provided) did not care to confirm any further details.

Addendum: inspired by this Then & Now story of Footwork, Toronto DJ Jeff Button and his DigDeep project compiled all of the live sets recorded at the club that they could find on Soundcloud. Enjoy many hours of listening below.

Thank you to participants Addy Ranh, Alex Mastro, Carlo Lio, Joel Smye, Jonathan Rosa, Kellie Nelles, Michael ‘Deko-ze’ Babb, Mike Gleeson, Paul Magnuson, Stephan Philion, and to John Mitchell, Sasha Niveole and Jeff Button.

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

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

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

BY: DENISE BENSON

Club: We’ave, 330 Dundas St. W.

Years in operation: 1997–2000

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

milk. flyer front courtesy of Izzy Shqueir.

milk. flyer back courtesy of Izzy Shqueir.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At one event, more than 800 people squeezed in.

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

Scenes from Social Work. Photos courtesy of Merri Schwartz.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Paddy Jane still holds the venue close to her heart.

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

Flyer courtesy of Sam “EfSharp” Fleming.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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