A Dart & A Dream: A DIY Culture

by Kenneth Fury, Eileen Michelle Jones and Tyson Kingsley

From Acadia Maps, GeoAtlas

Saint John has been touched on the in the letters from the editor, but after years of spending too much time observing, we have what feels like, endless amounts of notes to share. In Saint John, DIY kids are all or nothing. Like the city that surrounds the shows, it is boom or bust. Saint John's massive gap in seemingly all things is reflected.

Saint John is a port city. Foggy and gray, dominated by the Irving Oil Refinery, forever burning fires in the sky. When we were children the harbour used to stink like rotten eggs and sulfur. The pathos of the city ends up reflected in its residents; hard to find a 40 hours per week job without falling back on a call centre or Irving family-owned ventures, easy to become a statistic and get involved with drugs or become a teen parent.

Fitting then, that like-minded young folk would come together and start bands, carrying the intangible feeling of being a Saint John local in our music. Like any town we have our challenges as a scene - we've raised our glasses to many a shuttered DIY venue. Our current stomping grounds is a Guatemalan restaurant where tables are cleared to the sides for an audience to gather, and we face fines as a community for running loud punk shows in a rapidly gentrifying neighbourhood. Nevertheless, we're believed in and allowed to grow there and we adjusted our time slots to compensate.

Provided by Right Shitty

Rarely, do people avoid getting completely involved after they've had a taste. As most were, a lot of participants are former friends who tagged along because they had nothing else to do that night. In a city where living thirty minutes away from the closest show and driving to it through hell or high water, you don't get the choice of being casual. In this, how we act at shows begins to make sense. Pits are regular, and always push pits that are some of the most respectful I've ever seen, lightning fast to pick up those who stumble or fall. Yelling at your friends or the band members you know is a must, followed by inside jokes that somehow, everyone understands.

Provided by Loveover

Like any scene there is some inherent animosity. That's to be assumed with any large standing group. However, after every 15-25 minute set, everything is left on the floor. Some nights bring with them a feeling so impactful that it could turn anyone into a believer that a good show is a true abstract form of therapy. The slate of any terrible day is wiped clean by the infectious energy of this city's breed of kids who live for these nights.

Photo by Sam Joey

Being a DIY kid in Saint John means standing outside with your friends that smoke as you freeze your ass off, because friendship is a representation of who you vouch for, except sometimes for an annoying dude you can't shake but hell, it's Canada, we're nice. Music in Saint John entails the necessity of carrying amps in when the snow storm breaks, or if that's not going to happen, the planning of draping blankets, jackets or whatever you can get your hands on to insure the safety of an amp that's likely to get stepped on by some passing punk. Crowd Surfing, sing-along (if you actually know the words, god providing that the band has recorded any of it.) and anything else the crowd can do to show the playing band that they give a shit, they will. Regardless of its in a bar or converted restaurant, Saint John's scene is defined by the want to leave knowing the crowd experienced catharsis, and you played a part in it.

Photo provided by Little You, Little Me