Flight of the freelancer

>> A broke Mirror writer confronts his
cowardice at the Montreal Trapezium to
prove he’s no sissy and make a few bucks

by CHRIS BARRY
photos by
RACHEL GRANOFSKY

It’s not like swinging around on a flying trapeze is something I’ve ever felt I must do in this life to feel whole. You know, the way some people feel they absolutely must try skydiving, or swimming with sharks. No, it wasn’t quite like that.

My decision came about as a result of smoking a Marley-sized blunt of that Jack Herer reefer going around lately and subsequently checking my e-mail at 2 a.m. to learn the Mirror was looking for pitches for this Sports supplement you’re reading. And then, suffering from the anxiety an über-strong doob can sometimes unexpectedly deliver a man, remembering that I was flat broke and doomed to stay that way forever if I didn’t start seizing these types of opportunities when presented with them.
But what was I gonna pitch? Try as I might, the only thing that kept popping to mind was to offer to learn the art of the flying trapeze at the Trapezium, a place I’ve been hearing about for several years now. Conveniently forgetting in my marijuana-induced haze that I was, um, scared of heights, and temporarily, at least, in piss-poor physical condition, I fired off my pitch only to awaken the next afternoon to read an enthusiastic “Yeah, let’s do it” e-mail back from my editor.
Great, so now I was committed, with no way to rescind my offer without looking totally lame, or at the very least, unprofessional in the eyes of da boss. Worse, I started feeling like backing out would be lame. You know, that it was finally time to grow up and be a man, to get over these silly neurotic fears I have over things like heights or eating vegetables, and just, like Phil Knight and the Nike gang keep telling me, just, well…just do it. It was time to stop being a sissy!
So a couple of Thursdays ago, when I simply couldn’t avoid it any longer, I mustered up my courage, called up Mirror photog Rachel, who the powers-that-be rightly felt should be there to visually document my becoming a cripple, and out we went to the Trapezium.

BECOMING A MAN, ALMOST:
The reporter (r) with instructor Jack

Ladders, harnesses, heights

The Trapezium shares a locale with Horizon Roc, which, by the way, is one of largest indoor rock climbing centres on the planet. I notice that it’s 90 per cent guys doing the rock climbing thing, whereas in the back of the space, where the Trapezium is located, it’s all attractive young chicks, mostly hard-bodied, learning to perfect their acrobatic skills. Just what I need, I figure, a bunch of sexy chicks around to witness my humiliation.
I’m soon introduced to Jack, a friendly, encouraging but no-nonsense type of guy who acts as the head trapeze instructor there. He senses my nervousness and without prompting informs me that there’s nothing to fear, I’ll be all hooked up to a harness and that, you know, the big safety net underneath the trapeze apparatus is there for a reason. I get the impression he’s pretty familiar with this spiel. When I point out that I’m an old guy, in shitty physical condition to boot, he looks me up and down and decides he’s having none of my sissy-esque whining and reminds me that anyone, at any age, can learn the flying trapeze.
He takes me aside and, on a chalkboard, shows me what he wants me to do once I muster the nerve to climb up the seemingly endless ladder to the top of the trapeze platform. It basically involves my learning how and when to jump and what I need to do once I’ve started flying around in the air. Which is, essentially, to swing my legs up over the trapeze bar at the right time so I’ll be hanging from my knees, swinging to and fro, while arching my back as far as the ol’ spine will allow with my hands outstretched so Claude, Jack’s assistant, and one motherfucker of an impressive trapeze artist, will be able to catch me mid-air should the time ever come that I actually get the procedure down correctly.
I try taking in Jack’s instructions but find myself too distracted by my nervousness to really hear what he’s telling me. After several, “Uh, so then what am I supposed to do”s, he sends up one of the hardbodied chicks to demonstrate. He’s a patient guy, this Jack, but possessing your classic athletic coach personality, meaning he’s not afraid to push your boundaries in the pursuit of turning you into the bestest trapeze artist you can possibly be. After watching the demonstration, I finally decide I just want to get this shit over with and tell Jack I’m ready.

Jump! Jump! Jump!

He straps me to a safety harness to climb the 40 or so steps up to the top of the trapeze platform, where I’m met by another trainer named Michelle, a sweet-as-all-get-out brunette who tells the sweating, clearly nervous, borderline hyperventilating me that I remind her of Rufus Wainwright. Rufus Wainwright! Jesus, one of the reasons I’m doing this in the first place is to prove to myself I ain’t no sissy, and she tells me that?
I’m now more determined than ever to take the plunge. But it’s scary up there. You’re leaning over the platform, both hands on the trapeze bar, with only Michelle’s iron grip on your harness holding you back from falling prematurely. Jack barks from below that it’s time for me to jump. But I don’t want to jump. Instead I whine and cry and laugh until nobody finds it funny anymore, and then I finally leap out into the oblivion before me.
And it’s not so bad, after all. I suspect it’s like skydiving the first time: The scariest part is the initial leap, and once you’re out there and swinging around, it’s not really outrageously terrifying anymore—only moderately terrifying. Still, even though my leap didn’t quite come off like it was supposed to—I took way too long to finally get my knees up and around the trapeze bar—I’m hoping Rachel got her shot and that I can now thank Jack, call it a day and go home.
But no such luck. Rachel needs to shoot my adventure from a few different angles and Jack is simply having nothing of my leaving until I’ve accomplished at least one successful manoeuvre. By the time I’m walking out the door, he tells me, I’ll have not only learned how to do the basic initial swing correctly, but I’ll have done one where Claude will have caught me in the air, just like an acrobat in the circus.

Stirrings of bravery

Jack is a coach’s coach, and he’s a loud, persuasive character, so sheepishly I surrender my will and go up the ladder to try it all again. The hardbodied chicks, Jack, Rachel and the assembled hordes below are all very supportive, cheering whenever I do anything right and crying out stuff like “You can do it!” when they see me hesitating, fighting back tears.
One fellow student, Jackie, a McGill gal who’s been going to the Trapezium for six months to, besides the exercise, get over her fear of heights, tells me she thinks I’m very brave, that on her first time out she stood on the platform crying for five minutes before finally jumping. And it’s true, with each successive jump, I feel a little more confident, a little braver—damn, at this rate, I’ll be starring in a Cirque du Soleil production before you know it.
By the time of my sixth jump, I’m exhausted, my arms aching. I’ve pretty well gotten the procedure down though, albeit at this point just climbing to the top of the platform is reminding me why I need to stop smoking cigarettes sooner rather than later. But this is gonna be the one, Jack tells me, he can feel it, this is the jump where Claude is gonna catch me mid-air and all is going to be wonderful. After that, I’ll be able to go home feeling like a man, a success.
And I come close. I do all the moves I’ve learned over the past hour with relative grace, and Claude and I do connect mid-flight, but I fuck up somehow and fail to hold on to him tightly enough, eventually making my way gently into the safety net below.
But Jack is happy, Rachel has her shot and she’s happy, I’m getting the hell out of there so I’m happy, and, I suppose, when all is said and done, you might even say I kind of enjoyed myself. Kind of. Can I now say I’m over my fear of heights? Hardly, but at least I’m in slightly better physical shape than I was yesterday—and a little richer.

The Trapezium can be found at 2350
Dickson. For information
on hours and rates, see
www.trapezium.qc.ca

How do you mend a broken wang?

Pfizer's erectile dysfunction hotline hits below the belt
by Chris Barry

It seems that every time I turn on the TV these days I'm hit with what appears to be a public-service announcement about the heartbreak of what has come to be known as erectile dysfunction--or E.D., as the cool people in the pharmaceutical biz like to call it.

Now honestly, to date this has never been a big issue for me personally, although the combo of too much alcohol and a partner with a rancid-smelling sweet spot has admittedly, on occasion, had the effect of dampening the enthusiasm of my best part. Still, it's nice to know that there are organizations out there that care deeply about my boner, and are prepared to take on the expense of a massive promotional campaign to let me know that if anything ever goes wrong with it, they will be there to help me get hard again. Thanks.

But who exactly are these wonderfully benevolent people with such concern for the state of my erection? And, God forbid, should I ever go limp for an extended period of time, how would they help me? Would they care enough to send a teenage prostitute to my door? Would they keep the police at bay while I attempted to get hard and masturbate in the locker room of the Mackay Centre? I mean, as the Bee Gees used to sing, just how do you mend a broken wang? And why do these people care if mine is broke or not anyway?

Pharmaceutical concern?
Watching this commercial for the two-millionth time last week, it crossed my mind that perhaps these concerned folk may actually be a pharmaceutical company, like, say, Pfizer, the fabulously wealthy transnational corporation who happen to hold the patent for Viagra. But funnily enough, their name isn't mentioned anywhere in the spot. Is it possible, I wondered, that the sponsors of this ad are people who just really care about the health of our nation's erections?

I hadn't even realized that erectile dysfunction was such a serious health issue until this campaign got into full swing last month. The ad states that one in three men will suffer from E.D. at some point in their lives and, worse, most of these dudes will suffer in silence. A disturbing subject matter, the message warns, which may have the effect of disquieting some viewers. And when push comes to shove I suppose you can count me among the disquieted, because if it's really true I have a one-in-three chance of someday becoming sexually impotent, then consider me perturbed.

In fact, since first being exposed to this ad I've found myself increasingly compelled to learn more about penises, so that when the curse of erectile dysfunction inevitably comes knocking at my door, I will know what to do and be ready to meet the challenge. So last week when this ad flashed on my screen, I took down the E.D. emergency help number and called them up.

1-800 bang-a-gong
Over at the E.D. emergency line they've got an ensemble of "health professionals" standing by to give you the 411 on all things erection-related. When you call, the first thing you hear is a recorded message that is supposed to make you feel better about not being able to get it up anymore by repeating ad infinitum that in the majority of instances, impotency is caused by a curable medical condition. Apparently there are close to three million other shmucks in Canada who are just as lame as you in this area. If at any time in the phone call you want to speak to a real-live "nurse" about your sexual inadequacy, all you have to do is hit "1" and someone will come on and patiently listen to your sad story in an effort to try to talk you in to seeing your doctor about it.

When my personal health professional came on the line I panicked and, in light of my relatively healthy condition, didn't quite know what to tell him anymore. Not wanting him to feel like I was wasting his time, I decided I had better ad-lib a little.

"Hi," I mumbled. "Umm... Sometimes I have trouble achieving and maintaining an erection and I'm not sure what I should do about it." I figured that was about as a good a place as any to start.

"Well sir," replied my professional, not missing a beat, "erectile dysfunction is a very common malady that effects millions of Canadian men. A lot of people are still uncomfortable talking about E.D. but it is almost always curable. There are several products on the market that can be prescribed to you should you be prepared to sit down and talk with your doctor about it." He then proceeded to go on about how normal it is to be limp all the time and how they could send me a brochure about the various treatments and physical causes of E.D. "What is your mailing address, sir?"

Bolder with Pfizer
At which point the whole E.D. campaign was suddenly made clear to me. This "health professional" sounded like nothing more than a telemarketer. I could tell he was reading from a script. He didn't really care about my penis. He was part of an elaborate plot to sell me something. "But what?" the idiot in me wondered. I had a couple of ideas. I decided to mess with him a bit.

"I'm too ashamed to see my doctor about this problem," I told him. "I'm afraid she's going to laugh at me the same way my wife does when I try to initiate sex with her."

I figured this last revelation would give him something to think about, but he barely flinched. He just kept reading more crap from his script about how erectile dysfunction is nothing to be ashamed of and blah, blah, blah. I decided to try a little harder.

"So uh... What could my doctor prescribe that might help me with my condition?" I asked, pretty sure of who he was working for and what his answer would be. "I have a friend who used to take something called Muse, which he said gave him awe-inspiring erections, but I remember him claiming there was a lot of unpleasantness involved as well."

"That could be true," my telemarketer nurse told me. "For a long time, the treatments had to be injected directly into the penis with a hypodermic needle, which a lot of people were uncomfortable about. But now it is also available as a penile suppository. You insert it with an applicator into the tip of your penis."

"That doesn't sound very nice either," I said, trying to stifle a giggle. "I remember him saying that after a while his penis was all scarred up from using it and that he would sometimes get involuntary erections from out of nowhere that refused to go down no matter what he did. He works in a daycare centre, you know, and I think it caused him some problems with his employer. And I've also heard the penis pump is problematic. What else is available?" I had knowingly opened the door for the inevitable Viagra sales pitch.

And it was quickly delivered, albeit somewhat subtly. "These days most doctors are prescribing oral medications to combat erectile dysfunction," the telemarketer rambled on predictably. "It has helped millions of men deal with the anguish of... Blah, blah, blah."

Public service
So there you go. My initial impulse was correct--it really is just the Pfizer corporation trying to encourage people to bug their doctors into prescribing them Viagra at approximately 18 bucks a pop.

I decided to continue our dialogue nevertheless and tried fucking with him a little more by informing him that: a) I can sometimes still get erections when my wife lets me put a bag over her head; b) my present bout of impotence began around the same time I upped my dose of Zoloft (another fine Pfizer product) to 150 mg a day; and c) I can still sometimes feel something like an erection coming on when I'm showering with other men. But it was a hollow thrill. Nothing really fazed him, and I think he simply began to regard me as an idiot, as a possible prankster, although he remained disturbingly polite and professional throughout our entire conversation.

Calling Pfizer directly after my adventure with their E.D. line, I was officially informed that this campaign is their attempt to bring male sexual impotency out into the open, and to let people know that erectile dysfunction is no joking matter. It's a public service really, and has little to do with the fact that pretty well anybody who walks into their doctor's office complaining of a limp penis is going to end up walking away with a prescription for their product. Unless, of course, people suddenly decide they are more comfortable sticking needles in to their penises than taking a handy little pill. Which is unlikely, even though it makes for better jokes. God bless the pharmaceutical industry.

People: Fab fetish fun

All your rubber and leather needs are met at Village emporium U-Bahn
by Chris Barry

 Name: Ron Harris
Age: 41
Occupation: Proprietor of U-Bahn, a fetish wear emporium in the Gay Village.
Bio: This strutting Village stud and former pianist at the Cock’n Bull pub recognized a hole in the local fetish marketplace four years ago and promptly went about getting both private and government funding to open up the fetish utopia currently known as U-Bahn. Inspired by the leather bars and boutiques of Europe, Ron claims U-Bahn “is not the kind of store you might find in a shopping mall in Laval. We’re all people who are really into the scene.” A former music school director, he is rumoured to do the baddest rendition of “Hello Dolly” this side of Broadway.

Do curious shoppers ever walk in off the street mistaking his shop for Wal-Mart? No.

One item you can buy at U-Bahn that they don’t sell at Wal-Mart: Rubber bed sheets.

One commonly held misconception about rubber bed sheets and rubber wear in general: That only people who are into watersports dig ’em.

Has he ever considered hiring a submissive to work in his store in exchange for bread and water and the occasional spanking? No.

Something he sold out of almost immediately after the events of 9/11: Gas masks.

Is U-Bahn a good place to find a little homo sex action? “Well, maybe on a busy Friday night or something, when there are a lot of people in the store, but it’s not like people come here to hang around and cruise.”

Best part of the job: “I would say that getting to dress up a hot babe who walks into the store in leather or rubber is a pretty nice perk.”

Has he ever gotten lucky with a customer? Yes.

Worst part of the job: Not having enough time to travel.

Are rubber face-masks and leather go-go shorts a big hit with the professional shoplifting crowd? No. “I would say incidents of shoplifting here are minimal to non-existent.”

Childhood ambition: To become a teacher or a veterinarian.

Current ambition: To someday lie on a beach somewhere reveling in all the success and money he has garnered from his business.

Where you might find him hanging out: Black Eagle.

Something else he’s involved in: Sponsoring the world-renowned Gummi Night fetish parties a couple of times a year.

Are the Gummi Night events a good place to pick up chicks? Not especially. “There’s usually about five or six women out of a crowd of maybe 170 men. But they’re the kind of women you want to have there, because they’re really cool and always look amazing.”

Last book read: Swim With the Sharks Without Being Eaten Alive: Outsell, Outmanage, Outmotivate, and Outnegotiate Your Competition, by Harvey Mackay and Kenneth H. Blanchard.

Television preferences: Six Feet Under. “An amazing show.”

Musical preferences: Chet Baker, Billie Holiday, “any old jazz crooner from the 1920s, ’30s or ’40s.”

A recent film he dug: American Beauty.

A recent film he despised: Moulin Rouge.

Words of wisdom: “Dreams come true for dreamers."

Alex Soria

Friends recall the brilliant Montreal musician too few heard
by Chris Barry

Up until his tragic passing at age 39 last December, Alex Soria was the impetus behind one of Montreal's finest rock 'n' roll bands ever, the Nils. One of the first punk bands on the local scene, going all the way back to the '70s, the Nils were responsible for creating some of the most criminally beautiful music to ever emerge from these parts. And though they never quite made it to the toppermost of the poppermost, like so many feel they deserved, Alex's musical legacy continues to touch and influence countless musicians around the globe. The following is an all-too-brief accounting of his life and times, as told by his friends, associates and brother Carlos, now 42.

CARLOS SORIA
In the late '70s, I was playing in punk bands around town and I'd come home and show Alex songs. Eventually I bought an $80 guitar for him, showed him three chords, and a week later the guy's playing solos. He was about 13 years old. You'd show him something and then he'd be playing it better than you. He was like that with a lot of things though. He was a killer hockey player, soccer player. As soon as I brought the Pistols and Clash records home, he took them to his little corner and turned their ideas into his own thing. We shared a bedroom in our house in St-Hubert, his bed and my bed faced each other and we'd just sit on our beds writing songs. They weren't great tunes but, like, a week later he was coming back with better songs and really cool covers of songs he'd figured out. The rest of us had to work pretty hard at it but Alex, it's like a light shone on the kid, he had a natural God-given talent. And it made no sense either, because just to get a word out of the guy took a week, but dude, when he came onstage and sang it was like, "Wow, how does that come out of that guy?"

BILL MOSER [Nils road manager '87–'89]
Alex and Carlos had this twin-like thing. They knew what the other was thinking. I mean, Alex never had to talk, he'd shoot a look to Carlos who would tell people what was going on based on what he'd just read in Alex's look. I think he must have been so quiet because of the family issue. The mom ran off when they were kids and stuff.

CARLOS SORIA
The very saddest day of both of our lives was on my 18th birthday when my mother took off. I think it had a lot to do with the sadness Alex carried with him.

JIMMY HYNES [friend/roadie]
Carlos, Alex and I all went to Macdonald-Cartier on the South Shore together. I used to go over and listen to records in the brothers' bedroom. Their dad was never around, which probably wasn't a good thing. So they both kind of ran wild, dropped out of school. Well, maybe Alex finished high school, but no more than that. But they didn't seem troubled. Man, we used to laugh our heads off together, watching Carlos ride this little girl bicycle up to Grande-Allée Blvd. to go to this bar to buy hash and come back with the stuff on this little bike. All we talked about then was music.

CARLOS SORIA
In 1979, the Nils started playing out a bit as a four-piece. They did a song "Scratches and Needles" for this BYO compilation, Something to Believe In, and split up shortly afterwards. I convinced them to keep going, joined the band, and that's when we did "Call of the Wild" for that Primitive Air Raid compilation and recorded the Paisley EP - around '82 or '83.
What makes no sense is that everyone agreed the Nils had the best song on that BYO compilation but they never contacted us again. All they cared about was SNFU and Junior Gone Wild, and we were, like, "Hey dude, give us a chance, we've got killer songs, come on." We'd gotten a lot of press, people were into the band and all that, but they didn't care. I've always said if the Nils had John Kastner's business skills we would have succeeded. But everyone looked at us as these crazy little kids, you know.

JOHN KASTNER [Asexuals/Doughboys singer]
As soon as the Asexuals left the suburbs around '83, after our first single, we started playing Cargo downtown and the first band we met were the Nils. The Asexuals and the Nils were always close because we were kind of similar - punkish but with a lot of melody. Right away you could tell Alex had something more than everyone else. But there was always something going wrong for the Nils. They could never get out of their own way, those guys. There was always something fucking them over, be it money or people or... And it was frustrating to be around them. I tried to help the Nils in every way possible, but nothing ever panned out.

SEAN FRIESEN [Asexuals guitarist]
Nobody played an SG like that little fucker, crushing his big nose into the mic and singing a great lyric while playing a great riff. Alex was very underrated in the guitar department.

MONTREAL'S NEXT BIG THING

JOHN KASTNER
If the Nils had been from the States, they probably would have been as big and influential as the Replacements were. But they were from Canada, and at that time, nobody was really able to shoot out from there. And worse, they were from Montreal. Montreal is a great city for talent but there's not a lot of industry, at least there wasn't then.

CARLOS SORIA
We never had a proper manager. Nobody ever approached us for anything like that. The Asexuals, 39 Steps, all these bands had people working for them. We always thought, "Fuck, this isn't fair," but I guess we had a bad reputation.
Around 1985, we became pretty good friends with Ivan from Men Without Hats, who took us to his bank to co-sign a $3,500 loan to record Sell Out Young. We wanted Ivan to produce it because of his pop sensibilities. We wanted to be on the radio, you know? Ultimately he brought in his brother Stefan, and together they were great. At the time we bitched about it, but in hindsight that was a pretty good record. And it helped us a lot. It was voted one of the top 50 records in Canada or something.

IVAN DOROSCHUK [musician/producer]
I honestly don't think Alex was capable of writing a bad song. But it was really hard for me to get anyone - even my own label - interested in them. They would've rather seen me produce something more like Men Without Hats, something they could bank on. The Nils were a hard sell. People never understood why I was involved with them, including my wife at the time, who didn't understand what these four kids were doing in my living room every morning, eating all our food and drinking all our beer. But then they got that deal with Rock Hotel/Profile and Chris Spedding, which was a pretty big thing for them.

CHRIS SPEDDING [musician/producer]
Alex never really said much making that record, he just stood there. Still waters run deep, you know. But as soon as the band started playing it was obvious he was the guy to concentrate on, to bring out. The Nils was a very good record, I was proud of the results. [Rock Hotel CEO] Chris Williamson hired me to do the job, not knowing what would happen. He gave me a small budget but as soon as the record started sounding really, really good, he decided to put his name on it as executive producer. I don't think I ever got any royalties for it.

BILL MOSER
Rock Hotel was run by Chris Williamson, a real dickhead. Profile had Run-DMC and were making lots of money. It was a happening label. The Rock Hotel division was actually designed to lose money. So they signed a bunch of rock acts like the Nils and the Cro-Mags. The Nils started out okay with Williamson. He bought them equipment and shit. But when the record came out, they just didn't get behind it. He said, "I'll have you opening up for these guys and those guys," but nothing ever materialized.

CARLOS SORIA
Everyone told us not to sign the Rock Hotel contract, going, "Wait, you're going to get better offers." But dude, we'd been working it for 10 years and this was the only offer we'd ever got. We're supposed to turn it down? Our lawyer, this big respected character, told us to just sign it as is and send it back, saying, "Look, you're damned if you do, you're damned if you don't." So we signed it. We just wanted to make a good record. In the end I think it sold something like 50,000 copies.

JIMMY HYNES
1987/88 were great years for the band. There was a big vibe about them, they were hugely popular and we were able to get decent sums of money. They could pull $750 a night when only a year before they'd be lucky to get $200.

CARLOS SORIA
So the record comes out, everybody's going nuts, we're listed in the Rolling Stone charts, it's going great. Profile paid to get us in on this amazing U.S. tour with the Godfathers, who were happening back then. Those fucking Godfather guys never gave us a sound check the whole tour, but we were still blowing them away every night, and they knew it.
After a few weeks, we're playing Minneapolis with them. I remember Hüsker Dü, Soul Asylum, Paul Westerberg, all these guys were there that night. Anyway, the next leg of the tour was the West Coast, where we'd actually sold most of our records, and where the Godfathers had some killer gigs lined up. But that day Profile calls us up and says, "Sorry, you're going home." Just like that. We were devastated. We had to drive all the way back to Montreal, and let me tell you, that was the most silent trip anyone has ever been on. The beginning of the end, that day. Profile didn't want to pay for us to tour anymore. If we could've finished that tour I know things would have turned out very different.

IVAN DOROSCHUK
That was a hot tour, but again, they didn't have a manager. And they were all nice guys too, you know, up against these cutthroats in the music business.

THINGS TURN TO SHIT

CARLOS SORIA
Everything turned to shit once we got home. When Rock Hotel went under, Profile wanted to keep us, but Williamson saw us as his guys and wouldn't let us out of the deal. We got held up in legal shit for over a year. All these other companies wanted to sign us but without that fucking release form, we couldn't do fuck all.
Shortly afterwards, [Nils member] Chico and I had a little punch-up in the van coming back from some show and he left the band. I lost my girlfriend Tracy, the girl I should have married; Chico, who was one of my best friends, and my record contract all in one week. We tried to keep it going but it was over. The momentum had been killed and it never picked up again.

BILL MOSER
We were doing a show in Montreal and Williamson shows up. And you know, the Nils actually sold a few records, but they never saw a dime. They were flat broke, but the brothers still had some Marshall gear the label had bought for them. Williamson arrives and decides to take their equipment back. So not only does he completely fuck them over, he reclaims their beloved Marshalls.
Alex always took on these menial, shitty jobs, going way the fuck up to Montreal North for six bucks an hour and coming home depressed. He hated those fucking jobs. But there wasn't one night when we were living together where we wouldn't pick up the guitars, cop a six-pack and just start playing. I often had to coax him into it, but once he picked up the guitar he'd forget about shit and go for hours.
Alex knew enough about the music business not to be delusional about becoming a rock star. He just wanted to make enough money so he didn't have to go to the factory the next day. I can't tell you how many times he told me, "Man, I just want to make another record." But they couldn't because of the legal problems, and that really depressed him. You know, he was fucked.

JIMMY HYNES
Carlos and I lived together. One night in 1989 he went out for cigarettes and never came back. He was just freaking out in Montreal. Which left Alex, the world's worst organizer, to take care of things.

CARLOS SORIA
I was so down about the Nils that when I got an offer to play with Mike Conley from MIA in California, I just took it. As soon as I left, I began to get wind that Alex and his girlfriend Karen were using [heroin]. I wrote it off that they were just experimenting but when I returned a few years later I discovered they were full-fledged fucking on it. I started hanging out with them, and yeah, I fell into it too. I think it's important people know the Nils never started messing with heroin until it was, like, very clear everything had gone very bad.

JIMMY HYNES
Karen's previous boyfriend had been that junkie guy [Dave Rosenberg] from the Chromosomes, and you know how he ended up. [dead]. She was this older woman who took care of Alex, and Alex always wanted a mommy. He loved to be mothered by women and women loved to mother him. Karen mothered him for 10 years or more. After they split up, things weren't so easy for him anymore.

JOHN CAMPBELL [friend]
Alex always had Karen to take care of him, but when Carlos got into dope it became more problematic. Alex felt a kind of responsibility there. At the same time, Carlos felt responsible for Alex, and I think in a way he got in to heroin to be closer to his brother.

BILL MOSER
Alex, no matter what his situation, would never rip you off - I dunno if I can say the same about Carlos. Alex never hustled people. Drugs were not the primary focus of his life, music was. I had money, but he never asked me for a dime. He was very embarrassed about his drug problems. It's kind of fucked people started seeing him as just this junkie guy.

TRYING TO COME BACK

CARLOS SORIA
When I got back from L.A, we decided to make a Nils comeback with another lineup. We were using, but there were possibilities there. That was one of the best Nils lineups ever, with Alex McSween on drums. There was hope there, but at the same time you're battling addiction, so people realize that and sure, they want to help you but they're saying, "They're not reliable, they can't tour because of drugs." Of course, even before we were on drugs they were telling us that. It was bullshit, gossip talk. We were reliable, we never missed one show. On the contrary, if we were told to show up somewhere at 3 p.m., we'd be there at noon.

JIMMY HYNES
After 1995, there was nothing. That's when Carlos became a mess, and if Carlos was a mess, not much got done. Other people had to organize things for Alex. If there was nobody to organize things, Alex would have stayed on his couch for the rest of his life. How many shows do you think Alex played in his life outside of Montreal without Carlos? The answer is five. Eventually Alex moved in with one of his friends from St-Hubert, Eric Kearns. He'd been doing nothing for three years and Eric just bugged him relentlessly to start playing music again. So much so that he found Alex a band, found him a guitar because Alex had sold his, bugged him to practice, and borrowed $2,000 to pay for the Chino EP, Mala Leche.

CARLOS SORIA
By late '96, Alex had split up with Karen, was pretty clean, and started Chino. By then we had both gotten ourselves together. Well, at least, we both weren't dependent on it. He put together Chino without me. I knew his reasons. I'd been in Portage rehab clinic for six months anyway. I roadied for them and shit, but yeah, it stung. It was awkward for him as well.

BILL MOSER
Carlos had done some pretty shitty [junkie-type] things which led to the demise of the Nils. Alex was cautious about letting him around again, but it was his brother, so he'd always let him back into his life.

CARLOS SORIA
I'm not denying that when I was fucked up on heroin, I did some shitty things, but I wasn't the only one. Alex was no angel either. It was just a really bad situation. You do things for money when you're strung out that you regret, you know. It was a lot easier for Alex to just maintain than me. He had Karen looking out for him.

JIMMY HYNES
Alex never should have let Carlos back in his bands but he always did. It was always the same thing. Alex would have something good going - which he should have kept going - and then he'd stop it to let his brother back in the band. He could never say no to Carlos. Like, Chino were doing pretty well, why didn't they keep playing? Because Carlos had come around helping out as a roadie. And then he'd be in Alex's ear saying, "I should be the bass player," and before you knew it they would be the Nils again. You know, to a lot of people it was kind of a joke that 22 years later, they were still playing around, going, "Look out, the Nils are back!"

MARK DONATO [Chino/Nils guitarist]
Chino never had any push. The typical story: no tour, poor distribution. You can't push your record sitting in your apartment in St-Henri. Of course Alex was frustrated with his career, hearing all these nothing bands on the radio when he's got all these wonderful songs in his head. But he never really vocalized his frustration. It was more 'Los who was saying, "My brother should be up there, that should be my brother." Not Alex.

WOODY WHELAN [Mag Wheel Records]
I'd been a huge Nils fan back when I was growing up in Newfoundland. Alex's lyrics always moved me; there was something about the way he wrote songs, the way he said things, that got to you instantly. I must have listened to that song "Scratches and Needles" nine times in a row when I first got it. I still can't believe how good it is.
When I reissued their Paisley EP and put together [Nils tribute album] Scratches and Needles, it was mostly a labour of love. I'd no idea if they'd sell or not. Same with their ["hits"] compilation, Green Fields and Daylight. I figured some people would be interested, but primarily I thought it important to get their stuff out. I'm sure they'd talked to other people about releasing their records but at that time they were pretty down, you know? People in Montreal were saying to me, "What, are you crazy? Don't get involved with these guys, they'll burn you, they'll never go anywhere, don't you know they have problems?" But I decided to just do it and see what happens. And funny, when it came back from the pressing plant, all these people who'd told me I was crazy to get involved with the Nils were thanking me for getting their CD out. They still sell, you know. I still get these strange letters from Nils fans, so happy these records are available.

CARLOS SORIA
Alex could never understand why somebody would put up money for the old records when he could just give them a bunch of new songs. I'm not ragging on Woody, who I love and who did a lot for the band, but you can understand our frustration. Alex was always about new songs. He didn't care about the old stuff. It was like, too little, too late.

WOODY WHELAN
In 1998, Alex was back, straight, had Chino going, and was really happy and energetic. That's the thing people are heartbroken about now. For that brief time we thought we had him back again, that things were finally going to go right for him. But you know, again, it didn't work out and by 2001, they'd split up. Basically, they didn't get their FACTOR grant to make their record. They were only looking to get eight grand and I know it kind of broke Alex's heart. He felt bad his dreams weren't coming true, and one thing kind of leads to another and they started getting in to other things again.

CARLOS SORIA
He got more cynical as time went on. We both did. Especially after Chino went the same way as the Nils. A few years ago, we were working at the same place, Alex was my boss there, and he comes in one day feeling down and says to me, "You know, I'm getting tired of this shit. If this fuckin' music doesn't work, I don't want to be moving boxes around my whole life." I realize now he was saying, "If this is all there is, I don't want any part of it," but I didn't see it as a red flag at the time. Maybe I should have. His cynicism was really beginning to show.

THE END

JOHN CAMPBELL
The last year was very difficult for him. Alex liked stability, and he was starting to slip into drugs again. Maybe a month before he died, he went into detox and when he got out he sounded really good. For the first time, it seemed like he was really taking serious steps to combat his drug issues. He'd already signed up to go to Fosters, which is a serious rehab facility. But apparently he was feeling the pressure that his family had become aware of his addiction problems. His girlfriend Debbie had pretty much outed him. She loved him tremendously and it was killing her to watch him slide.

CARLOS SORIA
I saw him two days before he died. We were jamming, drinking beers, smoking doob, he was starting a new job that Monday, thinking about playing again, everything was looking good. I knew he'd been having a hard time a few weeks earlier, feeling very down, but I really don't think he was planning a suicide.

BILL MOSER
The day he died, something snapped in him. It was probably like two hours of psychosis in his life and he just didn't see any way out - just black. He and Carlos had some job packing kosher products or something, and they went into work one day to discover the place had been shut down. So they not only lose their jobs but they don't get paid at the same time. I know things started spiralling from there.
Alex was definitely not a violent guy, but I know that on the day he died he'd had a big fight with Debbie and one of their neighbours called 911 because of all the commotion. After he left their apartment, he went to some restaurant up the street and apparently spent a bit of time in the bathroom there, doing what, I can't be sure. But when he comes out of the place, he sees the cops at his door and in a panic, takes off towards the tracks. He just freaked, I guess.

JOHN CAMPBELL
He might have been high. Whatever the case, he clearly wasn't in his right mind when he ran down to the train tracks. I dunno what he was thinking. Apparently he gave a half-salute to the conductor, as if to say, "Sorry," before diving in front of that train.

JOHN KASTNER
Alex Soria was more rock 'n' roll than anybody I've ever met. He had a bit of that Kurt thing to him. I can picture Alex wanting to go out in some weird way, where people would go, "Holy fuck, man!" I honestly think he'll be remembered as one of the great rock 'n' roll guys to ever have come from Montreal. I really don't think he'll be forgotten.

BILL MOSER
I've worked with a lot of people - John Cale, David Johansen, Lou Reed, all of these clowns - and talent-wise, this kid was right up there. I think if he'd been able to just play music, not have to do all these shitty little jobs, none of this would have happened.

CARLOS SORIA
When he was with me, even if we weren't angels, I made sure nothing ever happened to him. When I saw he was freaking out, I'd put him in my arms and wouldn't let him move until he calmed down. And I worked that guy, I picked him up when he was drunk, sick, I fuckin' wiped that kid like he was my own little baby, you know. Nothing ever happened to him when he was in my care. If I'd been there that night, no matter how stoned, I would have grabbed him and sat on him until he calmed down. And I know this probably sounds stupid, saying all this, but dude, that's just how I feel. I dunno, to this day I still don't understand. It's almost like it's not real, like he's on a trip and is going to come back. A lot of people have come up to me and said, "I never thought it would be him, I always thought it would be you." Thanks a lot, you know, have a nice fucking day. Nobody loved that guy more than me. Even my mom and sister say, "Carlos has not only lost his brother, he's lost his best little buddy." Honestly, everything I ever did was for him, not for me. I always figured that no matter what happened, I'd at least have a job carrying his guitar around. And he always used to say, "'Los, no matter what happens, I'll always be with you, man." And it was the one thing in my life that I always knew was true.

Sleeping through surgery

Hypnotherapist offers that and other mind-manipulating services
by Chris Barry

People: Plastic fantastic

Surgeon will do boobs, butts, noses and more, within his ethical limits

by Chris Barry

Name: Arthur Swift
Nickname: Swifty
Age: 47
Occupation: Plastic surgeon
Bio: This fun-lovin’ free spirit and blissfully unpretentious Westmount resident is the man to see should you ever decide you need a new set of tits or finally have something done about your ugly dog face. A former music student famous for rockin’ the bars of Crescent street in the late ’70s, Dr. Swift says becoming an MD was a painfully difficult decision for him to make. “I wasn’t sure whether to become a surgeon or a rock star.” These days his artistry is manifested in the beautiful faces, breasts, tummies and sweet asses of the countless devoted Montrealers who make up his practice.
Something “everybody” wants these days: Botox.

His most common surgical procedure: Liposuction. “Eyelids and noses run a close second and third.”

What it costs to have those few extra inches sucked out of your love handles: About $2,000.

Can you expect those handles to come right back after a few months of bingeing? No, Dr. Swift says fat never returns quite as aggressively to an area that has been liposuctioned.

What he likes to listen to while operating: “Anything from Pavarotti to Twisted Sister. Sting is just fantastic to liposuction to, the beats he has are just perfect for liposuction.”

Has he ever had a woman come see him for breast implants and after she’s disrobed subtly commented, “Holy cow, that’s one hell of a nice rack you’ve got on ya already”? Not exactly. “But I probably turn away 30 or 40 per cent of the patients that come see me for implants. Many times it would be a travesty to do the surgery. I know what can be obtained and honestly, nothing beats natural breasts. Nothing.”

Breasts he sees a lot but won’t generally work on: Those belonging to women he feels are just getting the surgery to please their spouses.

Can he add a few choice inches to your penis? “No, I don’t do that but there is a doctor in Toronto who does. You want to know what his name is? Dr. Stubbs. And you want to know the name of the guy who devised this surgery? A Chinese guy named Dr. Wang. I kid you not.”

Do his old med school buddies ever get sanctimonious on him because he spends his days sucking fat out of people and not developing a cure for cancer? “Well, there’s no doubt I’m in the vanity business, but not exclusively. It’s a pretty nice feeling to be able to reconstruct a breast that somebody has had removed because of cancer, you know.”

Something he has never done: Hard drugs like smack or cocaine. “You can really get into a bad habit when you’re a doctor. So if you never start you never have to worry about it.”

Childhood ambition: To become a rock star.

Current ambition: To become a grandfather.

A recent film he saw and hated: Punch-Drunk Love.

What’s currently in his CD player: A Night at the Opera, by Queen.

Words of wisdom: “Be passionate.” :

People: Watch that car

Consumer advocate warns that mechanic shysters still lurk out there
By: Chris Barry

Name: George Iny
Age: 45
Occupation: Consumer/public interest advocate
Bio: This righteous go-getter of a Westmount stud and McGill law school graduate began his career as a consumer advocate by working as an intern in the mail room of the Automobile Protection Association back in '82. El Presidente of said organization since 1987, George grew up in a family of "car nuts" and probably knows more about cars than 85 per cent of the people out there who refer to themselves as mechanics, although he doesn't like to get his hands dirty too often. The author of the tremendously popular and influential Complete Canadian Used Car Guide series, George says that as a teenager he was inspired by Ralph Nader, a man he has since worked alongside, and that public interest advocacy appealed to him because "the idea of bringing life to something that affects everybody's lives, and, in general, moving the level of consciousness of millions by an inch, as opposed to one issue by several yards, was very exciting to me. It's important people understand the APA is not an auto club. We are a public interest group, and 80 per cent of the people we serve are not APA members but people from the community who are having problems."

One person whom he still admires greatly, but claims is "a bear" and "very tough to work for": Ralph Nader.

By "bear," is he implying Ralph Nader is actually a big, hairy homosexual? Not exactly.

Something he feels all motorists should passionately support: Public transit. "So long as it's somebody else on the bus."

The percentage of APA employees who come to work on either public transit or their bicycles: "In Toronto practically everybody and in Montreal maybe one-third of the office."

One service the APA conducts every year: Visiting local auto repair shops with a car equipped with a hidden camera and exposing the fraudulent practices of various garages.

The number of garages they discover ripping people off: About 50 per cent.

The two local auto repair chains who've sucked the hardest in the APA's last three annual investigations: Canadian Tire and Alex Pneu.

One reason why dishonest mechanics are more pervasive than ever: "Because nobody is watching the store anymore. There used to be dedicated auto repair fraud squads looking into these things. But these services were disbanded with all the general cutbacks to [law] enforcement in the '90s."

For more details on the APA and their investigations: www.apa.ca.

Given the APA's considerable credibility and influence, do those in the automobile industry ever try to bribe him for favourable reviews? "Not for many years now. And they never used to offer very much. I've always been surprised at how little they think you can be bought for."

Musical preferences: Leonard Cohen, Youssou N'Dour.

A recent film he dug: La grande séduction.

Words of wisdom: "You put a bunch of guys in suits, give them a budget and all of sudden they're [considered] respectable. My job is to make sure they stay respectable. Every aquarium needs a cleaner fish, and that's where I fit in."