John Cale
13 June 1983
Fryfogle’s, London, Ontario, Canada

Book of matches from the original club circa 1983

From "My Life — In Concert!: A Live Memoir" blog

Frys, as it was colloquially known, had long been the club to play in London. Originally known as Campbells and with a capacity of a couple hundred, it became Fryfogle’s at some point in the early ’70s, hosting a diverse array of acts through the years. It only flirted with punk and new wave acts later that decade but, with the Cedar Lounge’s demise in the early ‘80s, Frys became the key performance venue for the indie/alterna/punk bands coming through town as well as the best of the local scene. I spent a substantial amount of my time within its walls during 1983. There probably wasn’t a week that whole year when I wasn’t there for at least one night, usually more.

The poster you see at the top of this entry says that Sheep Look Up, then the hottest band in the city, were the warm-up act but I have absolutely no recollection of anyone opening.  The thing I most recall is MZ and I sitting down on the edge of centre stage at some point pre-Cale and deciding to stay there, staking it out and waiting for the star’s arrival.
What I was expecting that evening was something along the lines of a partially incoherent and bad humoured Cale backed by a moderately junked-out group of musicians running through occasionally shambling takes of his most recent material, as standard hostile bromides were thrown about between act and audience in between numbers. I had thought this owing to having seen some recent interviews with Cale where he was looking rough and also because there was a strong anti-nostalgia vibe in those days, precluding the performance of older and less aggressive material from artists who had been around for a while.
Well, when I get something wrong, I don’t do it by half. My expectations weren’t even close, thankfully. I was already having a re-think about how the set might play out when I noticed that the stage was empty except for a chair, an electric piano, some amps, and a mike. Sure enough, Cale walked onstage alone, sat down with his acoustic guitar, and to my astonishment and thrill began the night with a faithfully performed version of “Amsterdam,” possibly my favourite Cale song ever, from Vintage Violenc (1970)e.

Frys was packed, and the informal, low-key vibe carried on throughout the night. Everyone pushed forward when Cale appeared, with a fence of human bodies wrapped around the front of the stage, MZ and I in perched in the centre sitting askew on its edge. At some point during “Amsterdam,” I decided to pivot on my ass, swinging my whole self right onto the stage, until I was sitting cross-legged directly upon it, about two feet away from Cale (five feet when he switched to keyboards). He didn’t seem bothered, so there I ended up staying for the rest of the show. MZ followed suit right next to me, with others then crawling on too, hanging out in the surrounding region.
I recognized in that very moment how this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and I wasn’t about to budge. Fuck beer, fuck drugs, fuck my bladder: this was John fucking Cale! I figured if I could hold off taking a leak for an entire day while feeling like death under brutal circumstances during the previous year’s Police Picnic, I could make it through 90 pee-free minutes with His Velvetness.
This was undoubtedly one of the most engaging, intimate shows I’ve seen. Of course I had the supreme advantage of being close enough to be able to see his pores. This gig was the closest experience I’ve had in a club where it felt just like I was sitting in someone’s living room as they entertained friends. In an era where I attended a lot of frenetic gigs, this was one of the most warm and affable.
I had assumed that the show might be in a similar vein to his 1979 live album of new material, Sabotage, recorded at CBGBs. Instead, this show was strikingly similar in feel and set selection to what turned up on his 1992 live disc, Fragments of A Rainy Season. In retrospect, I shouldn’t have been massively surprised as he was touring behind his Music For A New Society album. While that album is dark in subject matter, the music itself is quite muted.
As for Cale, while he has spoken about taking plenty of drugs from the 1960s through mid ‘80s, he appeared sharp as a tack, decidedly lucid and focussed at this gig, playing and singing wonderfully.

 From Germany’s Rockpalast: John Cale in 1983 with “Guts,” originally from Slow Dazzle, and Music For A New Society’s “Chinese Envoy.“
It was a delicious surprise to hear him haul out a set rife with many of the songs I most wanted to hear, spanning the entirety of his career (I also knew what was coming as the setlist was taped to floor right next to me). Alternating between acoustic guitar and electric piano, he tended more towards his melodic and rollicking material, such as “Darling, I Need You,” “Buffalo Ballet,” or “I Keep A Close Watch,” but also pounded the ivories and became sufficiently unhinged during passionate takes on “Fear,” “Guts,” and “Leaving It Up To You.” I went on to see Cale a second time in 1986 (coming up as No. 37) but I must say that, when it comes to live performance, be it in the flesh or with live albums, I prefer the stand-alone Cale to Cale-with-band. There’s just something richer, magical about him when he’s up there on his lonesome.