The Smugglers "Mutiny In Stereo" Record
w/ Supersnazz, the Riff Randells, the Human Hi-Lite Reel.
Fri March 12, the Brickyard,
We usually donít write up local shows unless theyíre of some magnitude or
a really special event, but so much weird bullshit happened at this one that
we thought it was definitely worth plunking it out on the olí Vic 20.
With our new record having come out on Tuesday March 9, this was in a
little quick to be doing a record release party (usually we like to wait a
month or two to give people a chance to see it, hear it, buy it whatever)
but when we heard that our dear Japanese friends Supersnazz would be in town
on March 12, we took the chance to make it happen and get a show together at
one of the only mid-sized venue in town, the Brickyard.
For those who havenít had the distinct pleasure of spending any time at
the Brickyard, let us describe this palace succinctly: itís advertised as
being "in Gastown" where as really itís a block out of Gastown, smack dab in
the middle of bustling skid row. The inside of the club resembles a sort of
dilapidated version of "Cheers", with a massive, circular bar in the very
centre of the room. The saving grace of the place is its promoter, Fireball
Steve, who does his best to legitimize this dump at all costs.
The Brickyard is also one of these bars that opens up early in the day
and serves human scourge cheap alcohol until itís time to charge a cover for
the university kids who come to see a rock show. That means that the bands
are basically loading in and sound checking to a bunch of seriously soused
derelicts. Fun times!
Dave actually likes this neighbourhood. He says "Iím really good looking
in that part of town. I feel like a star. I was once mistaken for Donnie
Osmond on that block".
As Supersnazz waited to try out our equipment, one regular, a massive,
obese, barefoot amputee in a broken down wheel chair cornered the Snazz and
spat out a string of tourettes-like verbal violence towards a bewildered
Shoe, drummer of Supersnazz who speaks very little English.
I (Grant) immediately came over and said "hey, this guy doesnít speak any
English so thereís no point talking to him".
"F-f-f-fuck that! This motherfucker understands every goddamn
motherfuckiní word I say, donít you?"
"No he DOESNíT. Iím telling you he doesnít understand what youíre
"F-f-f-fuck you! He fucking knows what Iím saying! You fucking understand
me, donít you?"
Shoe returned his venomous questioning with a completely confused,
somewhat frightened stare.
"See? He doesnít speak English so leave him alone! Make like Christopher
Reeves and wheel the fuck away from these people".
Amazingly, that did the trick.
A couple hours later the show began without any further interference from
the locals, with the Human Hi-Lite Reel playing an intriguing set and the
Riff Randells thoroughly rockiní the joint.
Supersnazz came on next and played an excellent show Ė a mix of great old
songs and scorching new ones, but it was during their show that further
trouble started in the audience. Nardwuar the Human Serviette is the
Smugglersí First Fan, the person who gave us our name, our first gig, and
put out our first record. Amazingly he still comes to see us play and
tonight was no different. As most Canadians know, Nard is now a MuchMusic TV
star, doing tonnes of great interview with celebrities. And while this
usually causes Nard to be noticed by many, many nice, supportive people,
some assholes, especially in Vancouver for some reason, occasionally try to
get the best of him.
On this night, our usually nice and friendly crowd was weirdÖ edgy. A
couple of our friends were on the way in when they overheard a herd of
odd-ball, extremely short punk men standing by the front door saying "Nardwuarís
in there! We should get him! Get him real good!"
Sure enough, while Nardwuar was standing minding his own business
watching Supersnazz, a bizarre dwarf-like creature with a tightly cropped
Mohawk approached Nardwuar and started barking bullshit in his ear. Nardwuar,
sensing something was seriously wrong with this individual, ignored him.
Then the little fella stepped directly in front of Nard, got as close to
Nardís face as his diminished stature would allow, and stuck his stubby
middle finger into Nardwuarís face (but made no actual contact). With that,
the midget turned quickly and went to rejoined his drunken buddies, ALSO all
pint-sized, back at the bar.
This being a Smugglers show, we had friends all over the place. Randy
from Mint was also at the bar and overheard the main little man say to his
munchkin buddies "I just punched Nardwuar!" when in fact he did nothing of
the sort. "Right on!"
Randy wasted no time hurrying back to Nard to see if he was alright and
if indeed he had been punched. When Nard heard about the boasting, he felt
he might as well leave in case real violence occurred. As he was making for
the door, the main midget again stormed towards Nardwuar, but was this time
was blocked by Randy, an ex-private school rugby player. All the while this
was going on, two eagle-eyed Smugglers, Beez and Nick, were keeping an eye
on the situation. When the midget ran into Randy, he dropped his full pint
glass with a smash. That was Beezí queue to move in as the other midgets
started to swarm. Beez grabbed the diminutive ring leader and suddenly the
guy turned meek as a lamb. But Beez knew something was up. The kidís pupils
were so large the whites of his eyes had disappeared. Beez declared sternly
"I am Beez! Do not mess around with me! Surely youíve heard the song? You
gotta go, pal, you canít fuck with our friends". And the guy replied quietly
"do I really have to go now?" Just then Nick arrived with the promoter,
Fireball Steve, and with one smooth move, Steve tossed every last dwarf out
onto the street for good. In the confusion, Randy managed to whisk Nardwuar
out the door and into an idling minivan, driven by Randyís sister and
As the Smugglers were preparing to set up and play our show, I went in to
the Brickyard "bathroom" for a pre-gig piss, only to find Supersnazz drummer
Shoe cornered against a urinal, being hassled AGAIN by some other drunken
"Whassamatter with you? Why donít you talk? ANSWER MY FUCKING QUESTION
"Hey! He does NOT speak English! He is a guest in this country, please
treat him as one".
"What the FUCK is amatter with him? Why donít he talk?"
"HE DOES NOT SPEAK ENGLISH YOU MORON, he is from a FOREIGN COUNTRY called
JAPAN, so leave him alone!!"
And with that I pulled up Shoeís pants and ushered him out of the can and
into the relative peace of the dressing room.
Our show went fairly swimmingly, besides the fact that I was personally
loose as a goose with any lyrics prior to 2000, but whatever, it had already
been a tough night. Slamming in the pit erupted, which is usually ok, we
donít care, unless it suddenly creates a massive hole on the dance floor,
occupied by like, three guys shoving each other back and forth. Thatís so
incredibly lame. Whatís worse is the people who partake in this usually
donít realize how lame it is. Girls donít like to get shoved violently from
behind while trying to dance to a band. I had to explain the concept of the
"equal opportunity dance floor" from the stage to a guy who looked like
Jesus and danced like Jet Li. He seemingly wasnít too impressed, unless
"fuck you you fucking fuck" is a compliment.
Nonetheless we pulled off the dance contest and awarded a trophy to a
feisty cougar named "Sue-Mama", who came complete with the prerequisite
puma-accessories: a bitch bag and fuck-me boots. She seemed happy enough.
Once the show had wrapped up, the dust and confetti settled and beach
balls all deflated or popped, we thought the action was pretty much over.
But oh no! As we attempted to load out our gear into the mayhem of the
street at 2:30AM, who was out there pissed drunk and pissed off but our
obese barefoot amputee in the wheelchair.
"ssssshey you fuggginí punkssssss, you fuggggggin címeeeeere and gimmmeee
"Sorry, no change, sorry".
"Chhhhhange? Fuck you! Gimme some money!"
Out of nowhere a lanky, skittish kid in a disgusting track suit came out
of the alley and said "Iíll show you what to do when this asshole is grumpy"
and with that he grabbed the handles of the wheelchair and proceeded to DUMP
THE AMPUTEE OUT OF THE WHEELCHAIR, forcing him to fall flat on his face onto
the wet sidewalk.
"AHHHHHHH!!!! You fuggggin motherfucker!"
And then, imagine our surprise when the massive son of a bitch reared up
like a drunken grizzly, got to his swollen feet, and started staggering
Itís a skid row miracle!!
We waited about two minutes to see if angels would start singing or if
the heavens would part to shine a light upon this leech, but alas, as he
started stumbling towards us from one side and a disgruntled-looking
Honduran gang approached from the other, we decided our night was done.
Key. Door. Ignition. All lock. Gas pedal. Screech. Home.
To all those who came to this show: thank you, you donít know how much we