CYBORGS REVISITED: Gary Pig Gold sees a Simply Saucer
It was during the Spring of long ago 1977 that, in the hunt
for interviewees to be a part of The Pig Paper's gala Kinks
Kommemorative Issue, my photog and co-publisher Johnny Pig
(nee Pinto) recalled an encounter several months earlier at
an Ontario College of Art concert. There he had met and
taken part in a fascinating discussion with an intense young
man named Edgar Breau, who as that evening ended offered a
gracious invitation to continue ruminating upon all things
pop(ular culture) any old time we felt like visiting his
home turf in Canada's most musical of all cities, Hamilton.
John had been particularly struck by Edgar's remarkably keen
insights into Raymond Douglas Davies, so we arranged to talk
with him further on this very subject when it came time to
compile our Kinks Paper. Consequently, no sooner had
Government of Ontario Transit deposited us at the Hamilton
Bus Terminal that, as per Edgar's explicit instructions, we
found ourselves following the railroad tracks crosstown to
the only house still standing on Ferguson Avenue South.
Therein we duly took our seats at the kitchen table, only
to become suddenly overwhelmed by the sound of a band
rehearsing in the basement directly below. Yet no more
than a handful of bars had passed before we realized this
was a band making sounds we had never quite heard anywhere
ever before: An incongruously seamless blend of Modern Lovers,
Stooges-meet-Syd Barrett, Reg Presley, ELVIS Presley, Can,
Pink Fairies, Hawkwind, Sun Ra even, and of course those
aforementioned Kinks to boot. Now remember, this was still
very early 1977, and those initial Blondie and Ramones
long-players - to say nothing of Metal Machine Music --
had just barely crept into only the most discriminating
of Canadian record racks. Which made what we were hearing
that afternoon in Hamilton all the more disarming and,
courtesy of 21st Century retrospection, most utterly
visionary as well.
After a half hour or so the nice noise abruptly stopped, then
four sweat-soaked miscreants emerged from the depths to join
us 'round the Formica. There was Edgar, John whooped in instant
recognition, along with fellow guitarist Alex Pollington, a
Beatle-browed bassist named Kevin Christoff, and a Neal Smith
sound-and-even-look-alike drummist name of Don Cramer. aka
Simply Saucer, circa 1977.
As planned, we spent the remainder of that fateful day talking
Kinks with Edgar (when not talking Revolver with Kevin that is),
but traveled back home afterwards with a wholly other plot
developing: Trying to talk some of our Toronto friends into
giving this incredible band a gig or three. Fortunately for
us, but as it turned out kinda unfortunately for Edgar & Co.,
the subculture du jour known as Punk was just beginning to rear
its razored head; therefore it wasn't that difficult at all to
slip Simply Saucer onto very-late-night bills alongside the likes
of various Viletones and even fellow Hamiltonians Teenage Head.
In fact, when my own brave combo The Loved Ones rented a YWCA
to play with Saucer one gloriously Labatts-soaked eve, OUR
guitarist (ex- T. Header Steve "Sparky" Park) soon ended up
strumming instead within Edgar's motley fold, replacing the
strategically fleeing Mr. Pollington. Then very soon after
that precipitous turn of events The Pig Paper found itself
somehow permuting directly into our very next limited legal
partnership, Pig Records.
First signing? Need you even ask??
Now by now Edgar and I had talked often and at length on how
his band didn't really fit in with what was already becoming,
by 1978, a dangerously fashion 'n' fad-conscious music scene
(indeed, the dreaded milquetoast terminology "New Wave" was
already being recklessly tossed about to describe any band
which didn't subserviently subscribe to the A.O.R. M.O.)
As a result, from the absolute dozens of delightfully disparate
numbers within the Breau songbook, we decided upon the two
most Pop of the bunch with which to launch not only Simply
Saucer's "official" recording career, but our wee li'l label
too. Hence "She's A Dog" (a fervent fave at most every live
Saucershow) and "I Can Change My Mind," the latter ever-so-subtly
hinting at the utter raucousness and roll with which we planned
to fill subsequent singles and then eventually an entire SS LP
by decade's end.
I so vividly recall recording these two raw gems in one single
evening inside a white bungalow-slash-recording emporium known
as JB Sound somewhere atop the Hamilton mountain (the only other
local studio, none other than Daniel Lanois' Grant Avenue facility,
being well out of financial reach). Needless to say, as feared
our proud homeowner/audio engineer of the moment, one John Boyd,
instantly became so, um, non-plussed with our
Pistols-as-opposed-to-Eagles approach to the finer sonic arts that
he suddenly leapt up from behind the board, barged back upstairs
to "Hockey Night In Canada" (leaving only his college intern beside
me to somehow complete the session), and ordered us to just leave
the damn money by the back door on our way out, thankyezverymuch.
That's how I became a Record Producer, I think (eg: by the time we
got to the B-side I'd finally discovered the bass fader …which
explains why Kevin can barely be heard on "She's A Dog"; if I
haven't already apologized for this unavoidable error,
Mr. Christoff, I most certainly do now).
Quarter-inch tape of our lightning endeavor firmly in hand by the
midnight hour, all that remained was to throw ourselves a charity
corn roast, I kid you not, even higher up Hamilton Mountain that
Saturday, which handily paid to immediately press a thousand copies
of Pig Record Number 1. I then set to work in my parents' rec
room armed with scissors, Sharpies, envelopes and mailing labels
aplenty. Perhaps you can then imagine our common disbelief and
sheer joy when, within mere weeks of its 6 / 78 release, this
seven-inch labor of true semi-monophonic love actually rated as
Single Of The Week upon the hallowed pages of the Record Mirror
of London. You BET we were all shocked. And stunned.
Then what happened, you may well be asking? Well, the band
continued to perform in and around Toronto (tearing the ceiling -
LITERALLY - off the even-then-pretty-legendary Beverly Tavern that
October, and later sharing an historic stage farther up Queen
Street West with ultra-kindred spirits Pere Ubu), while several
other with-it zines continued to sing the band's praises high and
very wide ("Canada's last great hope!" opined no less than Flipside).
But I suppose it was all a classic case of quite too little and
somewhat too late; after all, the band had been beating their guitars
against the wall for nigh on eight long years already. So as the
Seventies unceremoniously limped into the Reagan decade, this
particular Saucer shot no closer towards what should have been at
least undeniable and everlasting international cult status.
Nevertheless, THIS here tall rock tale has a most happy ending you
see, as Edgar continues creating and even performing to this day,
remaining, I am SO pleased to report, every inch the round hole
against the music industry's multitude of square pegs he was that
afternoon all those years ago when John and I first dropped by his
Ferguson Avenue Village Green. Plus Pig Record 1 has now even
entered the digital age as Bonus Tracks tagging the Sonic Unyon
Recording Company's gala re-issue of Simply Saucer's remaining
period audio (said collection, originally unleashed circa 1989
on vintage Mole label vinyl, immediately became hailed as "the
best Canadian LP ever" over at Forced Exposure). Of course this
deluxe Cyborgs Revisited disc is, to say the very very least,
Required Listening, as lifelong fans the likes of Byron Coley,
Thurston Moore, not to mention original "She's A Dog" howlers
Steve Wynn and Cub Koda would most happily join me in telling
you all right here, right now. So if you haven't already, stop
by www.sonicunyon.com and get your very own without further
delay, okay?
Godspeed then, Edgar Breau and Saucers everywhere, and long may
you share your nice noise with us all.
