Wrong

by JOHNSON CUMMINS

Before I start blathering on about just how fuggin’ godlike Nomeansno were at la Sala Rossa on Friday, June 26, and again the following afternoon at Divan Orange, let me just invite you young’ns up in ol’ Johnson’s warm and comfy lap for a lil’ history lesson.

At the beginning of 1985, I was in a hardcore band in Toronto and we thought we were the tits of the T.O.H.C. scene. We could all end a song at the same time and not only that, we excelled in our knowledge of tuning, which instantly separated us from a lot of the bands of the day. Most importantly, we could play really fucking fast. We were playing at a punk rock bar called the Bridge (aka Ildikos) in Toronto’s Annex area, supporting some band called Nomeansno, who were on their first cross-country trek in support of their EP You Kill Me. We finished our soundcheck, patted each other on the back, talked about how fucking rad we were and waited for this “headline” band to finally show up. After blowing soundcheck by two hours, these very old, decrepit and bespectacled men appeared, lugging amps up the steep stairs and apologizing profusely about their tardiness due to a blown tire or something. Being the young bucks we were, brimming with piss and vinegar, we just stared at them blankly and thought we really were going to take these old fucks to school. I mean, how old were these guys? I remember my band turning to me and scolding me with, “Why did you book a gig with a shitty boogie rock band?”

The “old farts” asked if they could do a quick soundcheck. We gathered our borrowed guitars on the dancefloor and perched ourselves on top of our Peavey 15-watt solid state practice amps like wolves staring at a herd of feeble sheep, waiting for the sun to drop.

Well, you know what happened next. The band launched into the then-unrecorded opening bass chords to “Sex Mad” and, within 30 seconds, completely obliterated everything we knew about music, musicianship, passion, innovation—ah, fuck it, just go down the whole damn checklist. As soon as they’d finished and we’d picked our jaws up off Ildikos’s floor, I poured a heap of quarters into the payphone, telling everybody I knew they had to come and see this band of old guys who were completely re-inventing punk rock. Twenty people showed up.

I have since seen the band too many times to count, and each time, they reduce me to that acne-ridden punk sitting on a borrowed Peavey amp. For 30 years, Nomeansno have been the best Canadian band stomping the pines, and with their pair of two-hour shows last week, they proved once again that they are still untouchable. Filling the set list with gems like “Bodybag,” “The Day Everything Became Nothing,” “Oh No Bruno,” “Self Pity,” “Humans,” “Heaven Is the Dust Beneath My Shoes,” “The Hawk Kills the Punk,” “Rags ’n Bones,” “Hello/Goodbye,” “Everyday I Start to Ooze” and moreover, they proved to be just as inspired and inspiring as they’ve ever been while reminding us that everything we know is still wrong.

TO ALL OF THE SUONI ORGANIZERS AND VOLUNTEERS,
DON’T LET THE BEDBUGS BITE…JONATHAN.CUMMINS@GMAIL.COM