Local favourites Me Mom & Morgentaler, together again for the very first time

by RUPERT BOTTENBERG

Sidebar: Where are they now?

A couple of years ago, I caught the No Doubt show at the Spectrum in the company of "Nasty" Gus Coriandoli (aka Gus Van Go), Adam "Baltimore Bix" Berger and John "John Jordan!" Jordan--all three ex-members of one-time Montreal supergroup Me Mom & Morgentaler.

I couldn't help but compare No Doubt's blend of pop, punk, ska, funk and theatrics with that of Me Mom, by then long since defunct. Looking at my companions' long, wearied faces, I could see that they caught it too.

It could have been them, had they stuck it out a little longer. Sure, they packed the Spectrum umpteen times, but this was their home turf, and they ruled supreme here. Sure, they had a solid out-of-town following, but, after 10 years of blood, sweat and tears, nothing like what No Doubt had pulled off in their few short months on a major label.

Stranded between ska's second and third wave, lost in a dark zone when grunge ruled the record racks, Me Mom went into eight-way meltdown just in time to miss the post-rock pop revival. As we await the band's brief reunification for the Jazz Fest, one can't help but wonder what could have been.

Coulda been contenders

"The entire year before we broke up," recalls singer/guitarist Corliandoli, "we were constantly going to the States, touring up and down the east coast and playing NYC to fairly good-sized crowds and 'showcases' for record industry types. All the crowds really dug us, but the suits were saying that there was no market for an eight-piece ska-swing-punk-pop outfit like ours. If we kept slugging it out we might have got to the same level as bands like the Bosstones, No Doubt or Rancid, but it was too little, too late. By that time we all started losing our minds, and we probably would have killed each other or gone on some shooting spree or something."

Bassist Matt Lipscombe is a bit more blunt about the matter. "It's like we're supposed to be mega-upset because we didn't become cocaine-sniffing, therapist-visiting, fancy-car-driving stars. Like that was the point of life or something. Actually, we set a goal when we started: TO BECOME THE #1 BAND IN THE MONTREAL SCENE. A goal that I think we definitely accomplished, so all this talk of failure is complete bullshit. We were a success. We took it as far as it could possibly go and that was it. Life goes on."

Still... "I can see the Gap ad now," snickers trumpeter Berger. "Swing, punk, mambo, ska, hip hop khakis!"

It was the worst of times...

Looking back on "those days," one can see why the band's days were indeed numbered. Even power trios get cabin fever on those long cross-Canadian hauls; imagine eight to a van. Says Gus: "We were in the middle of nowhere and a pee-stop was requested. We got to some truck stop and some of us got out. When we got back to the van, Sid saw that (replacement accordionist) Noah Greenberg was sitting in his seat. Well, Sid told him that this wasn't an official stop, but only an emergency pee-break, and that there would be no seat changing. Noah disagreed and, of course, they started pummelling each other."

Not that things were that much better out of the van. "My worst memory," says singer Kim Bingham, "was the slum basement of the fucking Sudbury Town Inn which doubled as band accommodations: an abandoned bar with grimy Trader Vic decor, gummy shag carpeting, smashed light bulbs and broken toilets." According to drummer Sid Zanforlin, this dump was in fact a disused whorehouse, giving the Morgentalers the gift of scabies for a good two months.

In fact, the band didn't even have to leave town for bad news. Just ask Jordan about "the notorious superhero show at the Spectrum, in December of '91, I think. We were trying to raise money for our upcoming recording, but we spent so much on useless props and stupid costumes for our ridiculously over-scripted spectacle that we managed to sell out the venue and come up with a profit of $78 and a very long and tedious show. I think that was when we realized we needed a manager who would beat the crap out of us if we ever tried to pull something like that ever again, but we never found one."

...it was the best of times

Not that the band doesn't have a few fond memories of life as an eight-headed monster. Half the band cite the Earth Day benefit ska blowout they flew down to San Francisco for in 1990 as fave Morgentaler Moment. Bad Manners and (portentously) No Doubt were on the bill but, more importantly, the Morgentalers encountered their heroes, the English Beat.

"Saxa," says Jordan, "the ancient Jamaican guy who plays tenor for the Beat, was the player of the first thing I ever tried to play on sax: the horn line from 'Mirror in the Bathroom.' He pulled the total mentor trip on me that old men are so good at and babbled tons of senseless wisdom at me which I absorbed wholeheartedly."

Berger's most cherished memory is far more romantic. "On the first night of our first Canadian tour, in Winnipeg, someone came up to me right after the show and said to me, 'Hey dude, this girl wants to marry you!' I walked up to her and said 'Hi, I heard you want to marry me!'" Fast-forward to today: "We've been married for almost three years."

The ghost of Martin Sheen

The Morgentaler legacy of futility follows the band's members to this day. "Strangers still ask me how the band is doing," remarks Jordan, "so I guess a lot of people don't know that we've broken up."

Berger, it seems, found the whole thing rather traumatic. "I still get random flashbacks. It's as if I was in 'Nam. It can be anything, anything can trigger it. Whenever I see a clown, I still get the shakes. Help me! Please help me!" Asked to offer advice for young upstarts, though, Berger suddenly becomes lucid, almost cosmic. "I got too wrapped up in every little thing. It all seems so hazy, so unclear. I never took the time to really, fully enjoy the moments. Being in a band, being young is so much fun. Remember that. Have fun, and don't become niggling nabobs of negativity. The universe is huge. It doesn't matter! It just doesn't matter!"

For his part, Coriandoli gives a more stern admonition. "Rock 'n' roll is a bitch whore goddess, and she cannot be resisted once she has you in her vision. Turn away, or forever will she dominate you." At the same time, he notes that the ghost of Me Mom only haunts him occasionally--"When the realization hits that the only way I could make some good money is by reuniting my old band."

Sidebar: Where are they now?

At Metropolis, Sunday, July 4, 9pm, $25.50