When NoMeansNo Means No

By J Howell

What follows is a true story.

Almost exactly 13 years ago, there was a show at Gee Coffee, an all-ages venue in Olathe, a southern suburb of Kansas City. The awesomeness of said show was manifold. First, two of my favorite bands—Unsane and NoMeansNo—were playing, despite not actually being on tour together; the show was a one-off because their paths crossed. Second, since it was all-ages, my then-wife and I could actually take our daughters, who were 7 and 10 at the time. Third, we were moving halfway around the country a few days later, and the show seemed like a nice last hurrah before heading out on a grueling, cross-country moving van trip that, in retrospect, was one of the worst ideas I ever had.

Tom Holliston

Lest it seem a bit crazy to drag a couple of little girls to a rather heavy noise-rock show, I should point out that my kids have always been musically inclined, and at this point had actually seen a fair number of bands, mostly at outdoor festivals and other all-ages events. By March of 1999, they’d seen Season To Risk and Shiner multiple times, so rock shows weren’t foreign to them. For that matter, my oldest, Rebecca, was already a couple of years into writing kind of scary, almost Diamanda Galas-like music on piano.

There was literally always music around them growing up. Two of their uncles are drummers. Among other instruments, I play guitar, and at the time, their mother was playing bass. Marshall half stacks and Gibson SGs were, to my kids, just things one had lying around the house. Loud, noisy rock shows were still exciting to them, and seeing the bands that made Mama and Scattered, Smothered and Covered was a big deal, if a notch or two short of Disneyworld.

After days of packing, packing, and more packing, and the anxiety of preparing to leave KC behind, the prospect of a memorable rock show by bands we all loved to spaz out to seemed perfect. The show started relatively early, and we arrived in plenty of time to see the opening bands. One was local and pretty horrible, so much so that it was as if they flicked the “ornery” switch every kid is equipped with for both of mine. Sarah and Rebecca had seen enough live music to know when a band just wasn’t cutting it, and being little kids, their patience wasn’t exactly thick to begin with.

Fortunately, seeing the guys in Unsane loading in merch turned their attention away from the lackluster punk rock they’d just seen to what was to come. Rebecca asked me if I thought they’d play “Scrape” or “Alleged.” Seeing that a friendly acquaintance of mine was chatting with Chris Spencer at the merch table, and he seemed like a nice enough guy, I suggested we go up, say hello, and ask. Chris gave us an ever-so-slight “what the FUCK?” look as my twee little kiddo asked if they’d play “Scrape,” but seemed amused and said they would. We thanked him and had a seat while waiting for them to come on.

I don’t remember if because of the special occasion, we allowed caffeine and sugar in unusual amounts, but by the time Unsane started, both kids were nearly out of control, but clearly enjoying themselves, climbing on the couches arranged around the venue, jumping around, and generally rocking out. About halfway through the set, Chris announces that the next song is for the two little girls halfway to the back. For about a second, at least half of the crowd turns around to see who Chris is pointing to, and you could hear a pin—and jaws—drop. A half-second later, Unsane plows into “Scrape” and my kids go BALLISTIC: running around, jumping up and down, a couple of times actually shoving some of the still-underage but mostly grown crowd. A few kids actually looked scared of them, these two tiny girls rocking out with abandon. A few songs later, Unsane finished their set, and as they were tearing down and making way for NoMeansNo, Becca and I thanked them.

A few minutes later, NoMeansNo had arrived. While we hadn’t seen the Wright Brothers yet, a couple of dudes are setting up amps, tuning, and soundchecking. Rebecca asks if I think they’ll play “Red Devil,” one of many songs she’d heard me play bass along to hundreds of times for, at that point, half her life or so.

Given the pleasant experience with Unsane earlier, we decide to approach their guitarist—I believe it was Tom Holliston at this point in NoMeansNo history—to see if they will, since he’s at the front of the stage setting up. We walk up to the front, introduce ourselves, and Rebecca very politely asks if they’ll play “Red Devil.” The guitarist very politely responds no, they probably won’t, explaining that the Wright Brothers don’t really play stuff from the first couple of records anymore before asking if there’s another song she’d like them to play and apologizing earnestly.

Rebecca, who turned ten years old less than a month prior, proceeds to raise her right hand, extend her middle finger, and tell poor Tom Holliston, “You guys are old and YOU SUCK!” before storming off. Both of our jaws drop. I’m stunned. I awkwardly apologize as the guitarist, in a very Canadian fashion, does the same, then I turn around and walk back to where the rest of my family was sitting. I find Rebecca sulking. We say hello to a couple of friends and acquaintances of mine before NoMeansNo’s set, but Rebecca’s clearly just not having it. She sits on one of the shabby couches, arms folded, for the first two songs of the set, and we realize that, despite the rarity of opportunity to see this band, it’s time to go. Becca’s seriously, unreasonably pissed, in that way that (well, mostly) only sullen children get. Their mother and I, of course, have a good laugh about it later and feel really, really bad for the guitarist who got told off by a ten-year-old.

A few months later, we’d moved across the country, and my wife was working for a mostly online travel agency. One day, after work, she tells me that our kiddo has become an indie-rock true urban legend. Apparently, a customer from New York had called to book a honeymoon trip, and in the course of their conversation, he tells her he plays in a band. They have a brief exchange about New York bands, and Unsane comes up. He tells her that he knows them, and plays poker with a couple of the Unsane guys once in a while. She tells him the story of the show a few months earlier, and he shits a kitten: “No WAY! That REALLY HAPPENED? I owe Chris Spencer $20, I bet him he was FULL OF SHIT when he told me that story!” They have a good laugh about it, and I can only assume he and his lovely new bride had a wonderful vacation in Fiji or wherever they were headed.

A few years later, my band ended up playing with Chris Spencer’s then-new band, Cutthroats 9. There are a couple of great, dumb stories there, involving a near fist fight between our singer and Cows/Heroine Sheiks singer Shannon Selberg, Norman Westberg very kindly carrying my amp for me, and Chris giving me a ridiculously amazing rock and roll pep talk after I get frustrated and walk out before we’re supposed to play. . . but that’s another story entirely. The following night, Cutthroats 9 have dinner with us at our apartment. Of course, Chris remembers the kiddos, and we all have a good laugh when Chris tells us that the fella my wife booked the vacation for coughed up the twenty-spot not long after they spoke.

What does any of this have to do with Canada? Not much, aside from NoMeansNo being from British Columbia, and getting flipped off by my now-23-year-old daughter, who blushed just a little the last time this story was told in her presence. A few years ago, I finally got to see an entire NoMeansNo set. A friend of mine, in lieu of an autograph, got Rob Wright to bite the headstock of his bass, leaving dental impressions in the wood. But that’s his NoMeansNo story . . .