Despite a reputation (that it hasn’t deserved in many decades) as a frosted-over cultural backwater, Toronto has actually been near the front of the pack for a long time when it comes to pioneering new music, not to mention cinema and theatre. When the film blockbusters go for a dynamic opening, they open first in New York, Los Angeles and Toronto.

And so it is too that many fine foreign bands have relied on Toronto to get their acts together before hitting the road, honing things against the wheel of keen local taste. Most notably the Rolling Stones and Pink Floyd like to bounce notions off Canadians and see what comes back, but it was in Toronto that British punk got its North American toehold, and the locals answered by forming literally hundreds of punk bands of their own.

Though forsaken by the Pistols on their American tour we made do with anything else, and that included, in a very big way, New Wave. As U2 would discover later (playing the same tiny club, called the Edge even before U2’s guitarist was called The Edge), the Police found Toronto a cosy home away from home. We helped them “make punk safe for America”, as Rolling Stone cleverly put it.

So the promoters were a little taken aback when Heatwave, which they variously advertised as the Punk Woodstock and the 1980s Big Beat Rock and Roll Party, drew only half of the desired 100,000 fans on August 23, 1980. Part of the problem was the location, at Mosport Park, a racetrack in Bowmanville, Ontario, outside blackfly-clouded Barrie and well up the pike from Toronto. Punks didn’t drive cars and didn’t have the 20 bucks for the ticket anyway. Photo below from Compago.net.

It was worth the drive, though, even if they had to steal a car, starting at the ungodly demi-time of 11am with one of their own, Teenage Head, and ending almost 11 hours later with another local band, the Kings, who destiny had elbowed aside until there was no one else left to go onstage. The Kings attempted to follow a staggeringly great set by Elvis Costello, but the only people listening were those rendered unable to move by earlier overindulgence.

I saw Teenage Head many times and they were always lots of fun, lead singer Frankie Venom all snarly in eyeliner. They did themselves proud that day, but there was just too much on the menu to remember the appetisers. That went for BB Gabor of “Nyet Nyet Soviet” fame and Holly & the Italians too, but things became more intriguing when Dave Edmunds and Nick Lowe served up a Rockpile platter of intelligent, lyrical pop.

The Rumour was next, but even though I had their albums and really wanted to see them, I couldn’t get into it because Graham Parker had by then gone solo. Why I’ll never know. I never listened to a Rumour again. I had a B-52s album as well, so I knew that “Rock Lobster” was only going to be a bunch of camp silliness. Fun, but daft.

Fortunately, in between those two acts was an act of magnificence, the Pretenders. I loved their music and now I could fall in love with Chrissie Hynde in person, an amazing story — rock critic to rock goddess. I’ve seen her twice since Heatwave, and there is nothing quite like the magic of watching her insist “I’m special!” during “Brass in Pocket”. They also played “Precious”, “The Adultress”, “Kid”, “Space Invader”, “Private Life”, “Stop Your Sobbing”, “The Wait”, “Louie Louie” (!), “Porcelain”, “Tattooed Love Boys”, “Up the Neck”, “Audience” and “Mystery Achievement”, the other Pretenders raging all around Hynde. (The photos of Chrissie are the copyrighted work of Ross Taylor and cannot be duplicated.)

This was the only time I got to see Pete Farndon and James Honeyman-Scott, both dead within the next three years from having too much fun with drugs, or not enough. When I saw Chrissie’s refortified Pretenders in Bangkok in 2004, just her and drummer Martin Chambers left over from this lineup, she dedicated “Kid” to the fallen friends.

Speaking of fallen, the sun was well into its famous descent when David Byrne led Talking Heads onstage for what would be, to me, the day’s best round. It was, after all, part of their tour promoting “Remain in Light”, easily their best album, and among the vast cast of musicians were terrific singer Nona Hendryx, Busta Jones, Steve Scales, Dolette McDonald and Bernie Worrell and the incredibly string-bender Adrian Belew, pictured below, formerly of Zappa’s and Bowie’s crews, soon to join King Crimson.

The setlist: “Psycho Killer”, “Warning Sign”, “Stay Hungry”, “Cities”, “I Zimbra”, “Once in a Lifetime”, “Houses in Motion”, “Born Under Punches”, “Crosseyed and Painless”, “Life During Wartime” and “Take Me to the River”.

Heatwave was Elvis Costello and the Attractions’ only North American concert of 1980, so thanks for that, chief! And thanks for a gripping, frenetic ride through “Shot with His Own Gun”, “Accidents Will Happen”, “The Beat”, “Temptation”, my favourite Costello tune “(What’s So Funny ‘Bout) Peace, Love and Understanding”, “Mystery Dance”, “Green Shirt”, “You’ll Never Be a Man”, “(I Don’t Want to Go to) Chelsea”, “Secondary Modern”, “Pump It Up”, “Lover’s Walk”, “Less Than Zero”, “Big Tears”, “High Fidelity”, “Lipstick Vogue”, “Radio Radio”, “I Can’t Stand Up (For Falling Down)”, “Alison”, “Clubland”, “Oliver’s Army”, “Watching the Detectives” and “You Belong to Me”.

You keep the songs short, see, and you can get a lot more of them into the show. Nice work, El!

So except for the Kings howling at midnight to the sound of possibly one hand clapping, that was Canada’s first — and last — New Wave festival. Yes, all New Wave, since not even Teenage Head was a wholehearted punk outfit. No one was spit upon as far as I know, so everyone got back home safely and counted their Police albums to make sure there hadn’t been a burglary wile they were out.

It is said that the Clash were booked for Heatwave but either backed out of their own accord or were talked into cancelling by the Mounties at the border. Their presence at Heatwave might have given the show a whole different perspective, but we’ll never know now, will we?