The Jr. Gone Wild Story As Remembered Partially By Mike McDonald

On the eve of my twentieth birthday, having nothing to do and no-one to hang out with, I went to RATT[2], a students pub at the U of A. I was a regular on weekends there, because in 1983 RATT was one of the hot venues in Edmonton. It still is, but back then it was a community hub, so to speak. I can't remember the band that was playing. I didn't see anyone I knew except Barry Peters. Barry was a local "scene medic". That is to say, he tried his heart out for a few years to make the Edmonton underground a fertile thing, but we were all way too young and wrapped up in ourselves as a scene to be able to grasp the importance of organization. Anyway, Barry and I hung out and went to a house party, and I think he dropped me off at my parent's (they were still married then) when we had the house in the Calder district. I wasn't living with them then, but they wanted me there for lunch because of my birthday and everything, and since they were halfway to St. Albert where I was going the next afternoon, crashing there made sense.

I had to go to St. Albert to jam with some guys. (I'd been out of the Malibu Kens for a few months or something, and was anxious to get in another band. This time I told everyone I wanted to play rhythm guitar. I didn't tell them that I figured I had Neil Young's shtick down pat and was going to solo painfully whenever possible whether anyone liked it or not). A previous occasion at RATT, Troc '59 (one of Moe Berg's "pre-TPOH" bands) was playing, and I ran into my drummer friend Kim Upright there who introduced me to a guy he was jamming with named Graham Brown (currently of Vancouver's Happy Man), a very good humored, nice, Neil Young fanatic like me. Unlike me, Graham was a wicked guitarist. He was going to be a pro hockey player until love and a broken leg put a stop to that. Love ended his hockey career, and his broken leg got him into the guitar really heavy. We got along great, and made a phone call date where we ascertained that we must play together and go for the "Rust Never Sleeps" deal. And so, an arrangement for Graham, Kim, myself, and their bass player Mark Brostrom to meet at Graham's place in St. Albert on the afternoon of June 26, 1983 was made.

That day, I woke up on my family's couch in the basement rec room. It was a happy birthday for me. I don't even think my brother Patrick and I argued at all. Mom and Dad, Katie and Pat, and me. That could've been the last happy togetherness I remember for my family (Mom and Dad divorced not long after, and my brother ended up committing suicide). Anyways, it was a good start to twelve and a half years of bad luck and a wicked ride.

I was a Modern Minds freak. The Modern Minds were the greatest rock band I've ever seen. The third gig I ever did was on a bill with them and The Modernettes from Vancouver at Riverdale Hall when the punk scene in Edmonton had about fifty true believers. What a day. My band then was my first one: Joey Did and the Necrophiliacs. We were a terrible punk band. However, we were interesting enough to compel the local Free the Weed folks that we should play the Smoke-In at Borden Park, which we did. Thus, our second gig involved going on after (and they're still around!) Tacoy Ryde who were doing some mellow, virtual reggae-ish type stuff. We managed to get through nearly five songs before we were booed off the stage. We loved it! Being booed off the stage by hippies didn't bug us. We were good punks. We also knew that night we were gonna do our first actual punk gig (our first gig was at our high school sometime before).

As we arrived inside the hall, I saw for the first time Gerald Woods, a.k.a. Smilin' Jerry Slag, a.k.a. Jerry Jerry[3], stumbling around pissed out of his mind swigging from a Mickey of rum or something really gross, singing Six Days On The Road[4] at the top of his lungs. When I saw him again later that night, he was passed out on the front steps of the hall as everyone filed in. "That's just Jerry."

I remember it being very hot, and I was so green I didn't even have the presence of mind to bring anything to drink on stage. I breathlessly requested any fluids about halfway through the set, and a couple songs later, a guy from The Modernettes' entourage named Dave Gregg (who was soon a guitarist in DOA) handed me a teacup of water, which Ed drank most of. We went over like gangbusters. The scene was too small to tolerate an exclusive attitude, and, oddly enough, we had our shit together better than most bands of our ilk (we had a set list, and we practiced somewhere[5] on a regular basis). My elation at being welcomed into the scene was microscopic compared to what was coming up next.

Within 45 minutes of the end of our set, life as I knew it ended. I think The Modern Minds' first song was Book Of Life[6] ("...read all about it in the Book of Life..." ).I was enthralled from the word go. Moe Berg seemed to embody every kid who'd ever been picked on. It was the kind of angst I felt, and he seemed to know what the proper words were. He played a vintage Rickenbacker using a dime as a pick!! He had glasses on. He was really skinny. He had a blond mop top. He wasn't too tall. When he opened his mouth to sing, his whole head disappeared. He carried himself like an underdog, but a good one. That first song removed any doubts I might have had about what I wanted to do with my life, and every song they played after was a confirmation. They did My Generation[7] at a million miles an hour. Bob Drysdale played the Entwhistle solo note for note even at that harrowing speed. The drummer was doing Keith Moon except tidier and a hell of a lot faster. He was solid, and confident. The first few times I talked to him he was a total asshole[8] to me. His name was Kim Upright.

Eventually, Kim became fairly closely associated with The Malibu Kens. He produced our single Be My Barbie[9], and took a shot at managing us. He quickly became disillusioned with that, and eventually reduced his involvement to photography, and encouraging my songwriting pursuits. We kept in touch pretty good though, and it was no surprise to see him at RATT the night he introduced me to Graham Brown.

I remember Graham always thought that everything was a good idea. He was one guy who could have fun with music, be angry about the van being stolen, cope with being burned by a clubowner simultaneously, and still go out on stage like he was 16 years old. He was thoroughly nice, but he wouldn't lie to you. He picked up on the kindred spiritedness that governed our relationship pretty quick. He was very patient with my guitar playing.

I never told him, but I kind of figured from the start that he was a master improvisationalist. He was very quick to deal with things. If we said to come in with new material, Graham would come in with a riff and fake his way through lyrics and everything, using our questions regarding arrangement[10] as his inspiration. Kim, Mark Brostrom, and I are positive that the song Shotguns, Cacti, and Vengeance[11] was the result of a clever improvisation on Graham's part, using our pleadings for musical enlightenment as his guide to completion of song.

Mark was very easy going. He had a blond Rickenbacker bass, and to my pleasure, he was playing it through the old Acoustic amp Bobby Drysdale played through with the Modern Minds. Mark wasn't the greatest, and he was being pulled by fate and a domineering girlfriend to join the ranks of the domesticated, but he was a good team player, and despite his other commitments, he was always there when we needed him. He would usually drive me home from St. Albert after practice, and he'll never know how grateful I am[12].

These are the elements I joined on June 26 1983. Graham's songs were easy, and I proved to be a quick study. As shitty as I was on guitar, I was aware of the melodic role it had to play in a song's context, and I had learned something about guitar interaction in The Malibu Kens. That and a good memory made me a quick study. We (rather, I) learned a whole bunch of their songs. We learned a couple of mine as well. The only one I remember is a "Gloria"-esque punky thing called Cops, Politicians, Etc....Etc.... The only title of Graham's I remember from that day is Subway Girl.

We played for quite awhile, if memory serves (yeah, right). We all thought it sounded pretty good. It sure was fun. As for me, I recognized the p.a. we were singing through from countless Modern Minds gigs. I had spent a few hours working really hard with Kim Upright, The Modern Minds' drummer. Mark was playing through The Modern Minds' bass amp. The tunes were even a little Modern Mindsie, though not anywhere near as good. I went home when we were done.

During this time I was working at Saveco with Kenny Chinn[13]. I was living in the old brick apartment building on the corner of 99 Ave. and 114 St. with Ronald Ramage. Ronald and I met through Blank Generation[14]. Ronald was older than me, and we became friends because he liked the way I handled my room mate Phil Larsen the night Ronald came over to our place to visit, and Phil wanted to argue with me. I didn't win, but I don't think Phil did that time either. At any rate, Ronald and I grew closer, and one day it timed out right that he needed a roomie when I needed a pad.

Time passed. I was rehearsing with the boys about once or twice a week. That put a strain on things, because up to that point Kim, Mark, and Graham were only getting together as a fun thing. Graham caught the bug. Kim and Mark were hesitant, but you could tell Kim was missing the old days. I wanted a gig no matter what. I knew that no- one was playing around town. SNFU was around, but not anywhere near as high profile as they were destined to be. Besides, we weren't doing anything in conflict with them. It was two different worlds. What both bands had in common was that we actually were the Edmonton underground scene for a little while.

I also needed to know that not all gigs were like Malibu Kens gigs (everybody hated the Kens, not just Graham Hicks[15]). I had finally started writing the music as well as the words to the songs (I just wordsmithed for the Kens usually), and I recall being possessed with an insatiable curiosity as to whether they were any good or not[16]. I figured the only way to find out was to take it to the people.

Ronald was a little caught up in music as well. His friends were guys like me and Moe Berg, and we were music all the time. Ronald had been writing some pretty weird songs on this ridiculous Casio thing, and had begun assembling a band. It was a pretty esoteric kind of thing, and he chose his players as much for character as ability, with availability being his general arbiter. His concept was called Ramage and the Belts, and it included Ed Dobek on drums, Moe Berg on guitar, and Rob Lennon on bass, with Ronald doing "vocals". Once he had them rehearsed somewhat, he booked a gig at Scandals, and asked me if my new nameless band would want to open. Of course I did.

I knew Graham would be in without even asking. Kim and Mark hemmed and hawed a bit. They acquiesced eventually. Kim was hesitant because he was naturally cautious, and Mark was hesitant because he never did crave the spotlight, and on top of all that he'd never done a gig before. By the end of that practice we were all pretty excited.

The barroom version goes: I ran immediately home and told Ronald yes. He said what name do I put on the poster? I said "Oh shit, I'll have to check, but I think it's Jr. Gone Wild. I'll let you know if it isn't!" Ronald thought it was a good name, and so did I.

For the first time in my life I'll reveal the true meaning of the name. Prepare to be disappointed. The phrase itself represents my perception of the punk rock ethic. When I was a teenage punk, me and mine rejected absolutely all the values we could remember from our parents and government[17], and were ostensibly gonna change everything. There was a little anarchy, a little hippie, and a whole lot of naïve ugly going on at those hall parties, and I felt right being among them. I found that my brethren walked a similar path, and so, Jr. Gone Wild[18] was what we were. In the press kit it says it came to me in a flash on Jasper Ave. and 109^th St., and that is truth. I made the name up years before I actually used it, so for a time it was a private motto of mine.

Graham liked the name, Mark was six of one, half dozen of the other, and if memory serves, Kim did the most hemming and hawing. Time was an issue though, and so it passed that we were called Jr. Gone Wild.

Scandal's. The Sheraton Caravan[19] right downtown. I can't remember how many nights the gig was, maybe two. The first night I'll never forget. I had borrowed Jerry's beautiful, yet incredibly heavy burgundy Les Paul[20], and at that point it was the nicest guitar I'd ever played. Anticipating the worst, I gaff taped a few picks to my mike stand. I just tore off a six inch strip, stuck the pointy ends of the picks on the sticky part, and stuck it on my stand where I could reach them quickly. Sure enough, I dropped a pick during the first song, so I confidently reached for another. It stuck a bit, and I started to panic. I tugged harder, and the whole strip of tape came off! Like a total ass I grabbed it with my other hand. I pulled my first hand off. It stuck to the other one. This went back and forth for quite a few seconds, which is a long time when you're green and playing your first gig with your new band and it's the first song, all the while you're singing, and desperately trying to get back to the horribly complicated business of playing guitar. Well, I finally shook it off and ended up the song without a pick. I was humiliated, but not many seemed to notice[21].

The rest of the night went extremely well, if you're to believe the review we got from Graham Hicks in the Edmonton Sun the next day. He thought we were just great. His love of The Modern Minds and Kim Upright were largely responsible for this, but he gave me top billing. It was a flattering review for sure, but I got the impression he was just saying "Man, this guy used to really suck!"

The next significant thing I remember was opening for Rank And File in Saskatoon. It was our first road trip. Graham, Mark, Kim, and Graham's roommates had rigged their van up so that a loveseat fit in the back, with plywood thrown across the gear so one or two could recline. It was very stylish and comfortable. The gig was in a huge circus tent that looked like it held two or three million people, and it was also full, and I happened to be very enamored of the music of Rank And File, and I was playing a rented guitar (my own guitar was a ghastly Les Paul copy. A Mann or a Raven, I think, and everybody in the band hated it), and the stage was the biggest I'd ever played on. All those elements converged on my fears like ravenous wolverines, and my self esteem was therefore shaky at best.

Our set was challenging for me. The sheer volume of people (half of whom were ignoring us) were putting out a weird vibe, and I hadn't really encountered that before. Still, we got through it with our dignity intact, and I proceeded to get really drunk and enjoy Rank And File.

I believe it was Kenny Chinn who came over to my place one day with a new record by a band called Rank And File. We were interested because Chip and Tony Kinman were in a band called The Dils with Zippy Pinhead on drums a few years before then. The "greatest hits"[22] at the turntables of those house parties we always went to generally included many spins of The Dils, and bands like The Avengers. I think their song we couldn't tire of was called The American In Me. Anyhow, The Dils had this great song called The Sound Of The Rain that even showed up years later on R+F's second album Long Gone Dead. Rank And File's unabashed acknowledgment of country and western music surprised me. I thought they were very brave. Clean Telecaster courage at it's polished steel finest. This was no mockery, this was an embrace. I thought "Wow". Until then I had been thinking about flirting with a country influence because of Neil Young, and I had been toying with the idea of trying to fuse that better with my punk side, but I was too chicken to go authentic with it due to my lack of skill, but mostly out of fear of rejection. Rank And File were the ones to tell me it was all okay. Opening up for them in Saskatoon was an honor I felt unworthy of at the time.

Of their show I remember the following: they had a side guy steel player with them who had something wrong with him. Drugs? Booze? Health? Who knows, this guy was out of it. He played like a motherfucker though, and it looked like he was gonna keel over any second. They were, in a word, amazing. I loved all their songs. I recall forgetting my sweater in the dressing room that we had had to vacate when R+F showed up. I didn't know what to expect. This was the closest thing to a huge rock show I had ever done, and I had absolutely no concept of the survival protocol backstage[23] at these things.

I figured " To hell with it" and just knocked on the door. Chip let me in. I apologized for disturbing them, but they were really nice and gave me a beer and asked me some questions about myself. You must understand that up till now no one had ever seemed to like anything I did, so when the boys in Rank And File told me they liked our set, I nearly fainted. It was highly memorable, and I hope they find all this out some day[24].

Now things get a little blurry. There have been literally hundreds of shows since then, and I just can't remember them all, and some I most certainly have deliberately blocked from conscious memory, for the sake of my self-esteem. What I do remember of those times I will relay to you now as best I can, but the chronology may be completely out of whack.

Okay, so I was living with Ronald, and getting JGW off the ground. Moe's band facecrime[25] was playing Garneau Hall, and I had been hired for the first time to do an acoustic solo set. You see, when I was in between bands, I spent a great deal of time playing on my own, and busking[26] the street and had begun to develop a bit of a repertoire of acoustic tunes. A hit at parties, that sort of thing. No one had done that in the underground before, and I can't remember why or how I got the gig, but it did happen. I suppose that may have been the moment I stepped out as a head honcho. Being in a one man act facilitated that somewhat. That night also, Lori Regenstrief[27] asked me if my performance was sarcastic (I had done some Dylan and stuff, and it was so different for our scene that no one was sure how to take it. I should mention here that I wasn't very good at it either). I assured her truthfully that I sincerely liked every song I played. Other things that night...let's see...I vaguely remember something about the guys in Down Syndrome[28] laughing at me or something as I was drunkenly trying to get out of the hall, and me spitting out something like "Wudder yoo lickin' at? Fit wirnt fummee, yoodn't beena band" or something like that. I recall much echoing laughter. I also remember going for a beer and the person serving me told me they thought The Malibu Kens' were just great, which was nice, except the compliment came maybe three months too late[29]. The irony didn't escape me, but neither did the fact I found myself truly enjoying a little local celebrity.

Al Ouelette[30] popped up around then. He managed us somewhat. He quit one night after Tom Billings[31] tossed home-made whiskey[32] in his face. He got us to do a demo I think, at his expense (thanks Al), with Barry Peters who by then had some 4 track gear. He had put out the It Came From Inner Space[33] compilation that I appeared on with The Malibu Kens. It was our final and crowning achievement. The Kens sucked as a band, but we could write, and I think we went out the way bands ought to[34]...with no hope of reforming. We did a couple shows with The Enigmas (from Vancouver), and through the friendship we forged there we managed to get out to Vancouver to open for them at The Savoy. Now the Savoy is known as The Gastown Music Hall. Back then The Savoy was new. So new, in fact, that we were technically the first band to play there! So let it be known on the record that JGW was the band that opened The Savoy back in '84. That very weekend our great van got stolen, and the thieves drove the shit out of it till it was no good. Thank God all the gear except for Mark's bass cabinet was in the club. That was the first time I rode a Greyhound home from a band trip.

Somewhere in that time we played in Calgary at a club called HC's[35] where we performed (very drunk, I might add. At least I was[36]. I killed a mickey of Southern Comfort before the show) to an audience of maybe five, if you include the bartender and soundman, who was the famous Hutch, who worked with most of the cool west coast punk bands of the era. The reason I mention this bust of a gig is that one of the people in the audience was a way underage kid named Steve Loree. I didn't see him for the first time until a couple years later.

We went back out to Vancouver again later on to record some stuff with Nick Jones[37]. Kim had some great contacts out there, and he was strongly drawn to that part of the world. Graham wanted to go as well. I can't recall what Mark thought. I got hyped up about moving there, too. Mike from The Enigmas assured me that Vancouver could accommodate another band, so we figured "What the hell!" and decided to move there. And Graham and Kim did just that. Turns out I just couldn't go. Something was keeping me in Edmonton. I'll confess that a big part of it was that I was scared shitless, and I still wasn't keen on re-locating after my traumatic childhood of moving around wherever the army told my Dad to go. At any rate, history proved (to me, anyway) that I chose a good destiny by remaining. When I told them I wasn't going to Vancouver, I also informed them of my intentions for Jr. Gone Wild. I decided to carry on. A part of me couldn't abandon the following we had worked so hard over the course of a year to build. So, after one year we had our first line-up change. After one year I was the only original member of the band...

Somewhere amid all that Jr. stuff, I put in about a year and a half hard time in The Sons Of Rhythm Orchestra. I was in at a good time for the band. I was there when Philo Lovejoy relinquished the bass position to Blake Cheetah[38]. I was the backing vocalist on Road Gore: The Band That Drank Too Much, their first album (back when vinyl records still existed). That I got in the band made sense. I hung around with Ed Dobek constantly, and he was their drummer by then (he started out as their bassist after Bobby Drysdale quit). They never started rehearsing until midnight, and there were always folks showing up to hang out. There was always lots of beer and things to smoke. Anyhow, since his practices didn't start until midnight, Ed would hang out with me at The Rosebowl downing as many schooners[39] as we could get. We inevitably always decided to make a day of it, and I'd tag along to practice. Sitting around watching them play was boring, so I started helping with b.g.'s for fun. Somewhere down the line a gig came up, and I was invited along by Jerry himself, I think. Anyhow, I played tambourine and sang for Jerry Jerry and the Sons of Rhythm Orchestra for a year and a half. I got kicked out for having a snappy comeback to a scathing judgment on my choice in sexual partners and where I prefer to engage in the accompanying congress these things generally entail. What I said is irrelevant, but it sure pissed Jerry off. It was when we were finishing Road Gore. I was busking one afternoon when Ed came up and told me that practice that night had been switched to a meeting instead. I asked what time the meeting was, and Ed said "You're not supposed to come." JGW practiced in the same place, so at our next rehearsal, I got to see the agenda of the Jerry Jerry meeting laying on the table. Item number one said "Get rid of MikeÉ" Oh, well.

I got the boot from The Dusty Chaps as well. They are a cool rockabilly/old style country acoustic outfit who became pretty popular in Edmonton around this time. I lost my spot in that band on account of my screaming ambition to become a rock star. I wanted to take the Chaps to Montreal where I knew we would kill, but that went directly against the life policy of certain members of the group. Since I had a vehicle with which to vent these urges, I was eventually phased out of The Dusty Chaps. I wish I was still in that band. I've traveled a bunch since then, and a stay at home band like the Chaps would be ideal for me.

Anyhow, I also was playing solo, and I had a goofy band called the Top Hats with Ed and Tim Folkman that picked up tons of last minute gigs when other bands canceled and whatnot. Moe even let us open for facecrime once. Ed and I also had a ridiculous pick up band called The Sex Pickles. These were busy times.

A very significant gig happened in there. It was CJSR's[40] 4 bands for 4 bucks gig at The Riv Rock Room. The bill included Jerry Jerry, Jr. Gone Wild, Idyl Tea (their first gig as such), and The Dusty Chaps. It was a benefit, meaning I didn't get paid. I was in 3 out of 4 bands. It was a very successful night for CJSR. No one even thanked me. What the hell. I met Renee Bartkiewicz[41] that night.

Kim didn't split for Vancouver right away. He stayed behind for awhile, and tried putting Jr. back together with me, but that didn't last long. He didn't like the direction I seemed to be taking. I had been bringing Dave Lawsen around to practice. Cam Noyes too. Cam bailed out as bassist pretty quick. A:Noyes[42] was getting back together, and he really felt the call. That was okay. A:Noyes was the perfect band for him, and I think he was a little too out there for what I was doing anyway. As far as Lawsen was concerned, Kim didn't seem to like him much. Anyway, I was pretty hooked on playing with Dave, so Kim bowed out cuz he was going to go to Vancouver eventually, anyways.

The way I remember it, I was itching to put Jr. back together. I decided to use my initiative, and drink every night until something rolled in front of me I could deal with. One of those nights I decided to do that very thing at Scandal's. Apparently Dave Lawsen had decided to do the same thing. It was fate. He was fresh out of The Mods[43] and looking for a band. I was looking for a lead guitarist/singer/songwriter to make a band with. I ended up practically living at his house that summer. His mom would hire me to do house chores every now and then. Mostly Dave and I kept trying to do Suite: Judy Blue Eyes, and Broken Arrow[44], and writing a couple things[45], and laughing at CSN+Y's between song banter off the Woodstock album. Finally, we got it together enough to ask Ed if he'd drum with us for an evening, as the acoustic thing was driving Dave and I nuts. That night, the three of us drank way too much to be forgiven, and played way too loud for about nine hours. That was one of the nights I saw Ed pass out on his snare while playing. Anyhow, we did Nowhere Man over and over again. We were too drunk. I can't remember the other songs, but there was only a couple of them, and we sustained this nonsense for nine hours.

Ed kept playing with us. Him and Dave were aware of each other through the scene, but I think this was their first real personal contact. To say they hit it off would be a gross understatement. They were spiritual brothers, or so it would appear. Anyway, a very interesting Chemistry experiment was going on. It was doomed to explode. We had advertised for a bass player in The Gateway, and a guy answered the ad. He wasn't bad. About a year before that, one of my brother's high school buddies had expressed interest in playing with me if I ever needed a bassist. His name was David M. Brown, better known as Dove. I don't know how, but he fit right in. We gave him the job, but forgot to tell the other guy to not bother coming back. There was a moment of sticky embarrassment when he showed up the next day to see Dove playing bass. That has never happened to me since. I clean up my messes nowadays. Anyhow, Dove was the fourth element added to an already volatile mixture.

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Any opinions expressed herein are solely those of Mike McDonald, copyright 1996.