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Archeological, dig?

A trip back in “tyme” with teen-trash troglodytes the Gruesomes

by RUPERT BOTTENBERG

When I last interviewed Montrealers John Davis and Bobby Beaton as members of the Gruesomes (and not their recent frat-rock project the Feztones), it was for a Mirror cover story in May, 2000. Though I don’t recall anyone asking them to do so, the Gruesomes—Montreal’s “tyrants of teen trash,” now acknowledged among the bowlcuts-and-Beatle-boots set worldwide as avatars of the ’80s garage-rock revival—had elected to reunite and release a new album. When whiner/howler/strummer Beaton, bassist Davis, guitarist Jerry Alvarez and drummer John Knoll (who had replaced Eric Davis) clambered back on stage, they discovered that when you’re already an odious anachronism, time doesn’t move that fast. In fact, you could say their fan base had—wait for it—“grew some!”

Mirror: How did the reunion play out?

Bobby Beaton: It was really easy because we didn’t have to relearn any tunes—we remembered them all from having played them so often when we were teenagers. We just plugged in, played and got a big crowd.

John Davis: It went really well. When we started, the crowds were huge—we were playing the biggest shows we’d ever played in our lives.

BB: Suddenly the Gruesomes cred was huge—everyone had to prove what a big Gruesomes fan they were back in the day.

JD: Not only that, all those people had played the records for their younger brothers and sisters, and told them how cool the Gruesomes were. Finally, those brothers and sisters are of age. There were those two girls we met at a show in Amsterdam, they’d come to see us because their parents loved us.

BB: But after a while, we became just another rock ’n’ roll band playing garage-y, hooky-type music, of which there’s plenty nowadays. We took our place in line with everyone else doing that same style. So after a while, c’mon, jeez, gimme a break. Starting from scratch again? Forget it!

M: How long did you guys milk this reunion? I though your whole thing was, we’re not playing anywhere without plane tickets and champagne and rickshaw rides and shit.

BB: I wouldn’t use the term “milk.” Beating a dead horse, yes, but not milk.

JD: Four years, more or less.

BB: Furthermore, we didn’t even hustle or work to get those shows. We just sat back, people would phone us and we’d go play. But by the way, it was hard work! Those shows weren’t just gravy! We had to really work crowds, get people into it, the whole thing! Especially in Germany, we had to work like crazy to get people going—we weren’t coasting on some pre-established idea, “Oh yeah, here come the Gruesomes, let’s all go nuts because we know they’re great.”

JD: (to Beaton) We had to get you to turn up that energy—

BB: My God, I don’t have that energy anymore!

JD: (giggling)—that you don’t use in other parts of your life. Every city in Germany was like, “hah-dah, loudah, fastah!”

BB: At our age. Great.

Mushroom-heads and mirror moves

M: Back in the day, it was a real dress-up thing for you guys, the uniform—Bobby was real fashion leader at that point.

BB: Yeah, I’d like to point out that I was fashion follower, in that I was ripping off other people’s style and incorporating it into my own. But yeah, of course, schtick. We totally looked schtick.

M: That’s you guys. I’m talking about the crowd.

JD: We still get mushroom-heads at every gig.

BB: But even back then, they were maybe 10 per cent of the people who came to see us, and they usually didn’t even dance in the crowd. They’d be off to the side. I’d say that when we came back, we were playing to even more of those people, because they were pulled out of the woodwork to come see us based on—garage cred? I’m speculating. How many of the old helmet-heads did we actually see at the recent shows?

JD: Our shows were always 80 per cent Ontario jocks and 20 per cent weirdos (laughs). It’s probably about the same now.

M: Do you remember the very first time you were in the Mirror?

BB: Issue three, I think? It was this sorta stapled, tabloid-type thing on stiff paper, well printed but unambitiously laid out.

JD: Jenny Ross interviewed us and took our picture, and it was on the back page on one of the first few issues of the Mirror.

M: What were you doing at that point in time?

BB: We were trying to hustle our name so we could get gigs and get people to come see us. We couldn’t believe that something published would actually take our picture. So we dressed up and did our hair, and put on black turtlenecks, and looked super cool. Then she came with the camera and we had all these ideas for bad ’60s poses, and then it was in the Mirror. Couldn’t believe it.

M: So you didn’t have any records out at that point yet.

BB: Furthermore, we didn’t have a gig yet at that point! “Look out for this new, young band that is going to be playing at Station 10—”

JD: No, we must’ve played at le Steppe once by that time—

BB: Oh, maybe. You’re right.

JD: The early days was le Steppe, a few Station 10 gigs, couple of others and I think our third gig ever was in front of 2,000 people at the Concordia Jungle Bash, with W5 or whatever they were called, and probably My Dog Popper.

The now sounds

M: So what are you up to now? Are you doing the Feztones?

BB: Absolutely! We’re putting out a new record! Can I tell him?

JD: (glares menacingly at Beaton)

BB: No, come on, I’ll just make something up—and then we’ll have to do it! Off the record! Off the record!

JD: Yeah, well, we’ve got enough material for an album, we just have to take the time to go do it. And with two of our band members being in the Stills, who are always off touring, it’s difficult. They’re probably really in the Middle East, while we’re just making fun of it (laughs). No, I’m sure we have enough material, and we have someone in Germany who wants to put it out. This is how lazy you get when you get older—we have enough material, all the players to play on it, someone in Germany who’ll put out anything we make—

BB: And furthermore, a captive niche market to which they can sell it. So that’s everything.

JD: We just have to get off our asses and do it.

M: What about the others? What are they up to?

BB: Jerry has moved to Toronto, he’s married, and now plays his own music, which sounds a lot like Revolver by the Beatles—in Toronto. He gets the chance to gig and make records in Hogtown.

JD: He lives at Queen and Yonge.

BB: And if anybody’s in Toronto, drop on by Jerry Alvarez, no problem (snickers)—tell him John and Bobby sent you, he’ll play the old Gruesomes hits for you.

JD: And John lives in Ottawa, he works for the government. He’s married.

M: Is he doing music at all?

JD: Nope. Last time I saw him, he said he hadn’t touched a drum kit since our last gig (laughs)! I’m not sure if he even owns one. And the other Gruesome, Eric, my brother, he’s living up on St-Laurent. He’s got a kid now.

BB: He’s the King of Kensington—of the Plateau.