Swaggering, one-man punk rock dashed with sharp wit and broken dreams.


A few words about Wiggler:

Mr! Erik was spawned in 1972. Wiggler was formed in Vancouver 1993. Mr! Erik put an ad in the Georgia Straight looking for band-mates. No luck. Not the right people. Unbowed, Mr! Erik whipped out the drum machine and started a band anyway. Too weird to be punk, too sardonic not to be. Wiggler is the evolution, revolution and devolution from punk to noise to funk to punk again. One man with the sweat and intensity of an entire orchestra. Onward, upward and outward. Hate the sinner but love the sin, baby.

Just for posterior's sake, your pal Erik started off at age 15 as the singer of a Burlington, Ontario punk rock band called The Turdburglars. Since then he's played guitar, bass, drums and samplers in a plethora of bands. A short list includes: Fourstoryforehead, Suckass, Cap'n Poultry, Librarians of Chaos, Rats Eat Children and MöIST.

When not behind a guitar, Mr! Erik is often in front of a monitor, behind a plate of curry, ahead of you on rollerblades, between some weights, beside a cat or on top of a yoga mat.

Wiggler has relocated from Vancouver, BC to Oakville, ON (just west of Toronto) as of July, 2005.

So, what the hell is The Pantload all about anyway?

The original working title of this, Wiggler's sixth album, was "Insert Album Title Here". I almost kept that as the final name. Also, "Arson for Progress" was a close runner up, and when it lost out in the running for album title I wrote the song instead. I had a few other ideas, but "The Pantload" won out by a large margin on the popular consensus.

The Pantload is a truncated version of "Pantload of Democracy". The longer title was a shot at George W. Bush based on a clip I saw on The Daily Show with Jon Stewart. Dubya was sitting beside Kofi Annan with his knees splayed out in a pantload of hubris, and Jon joked that he should "close the barn doors a little". It fit in well with his apparently god-given right to cram his gigantic testicles down the throats of anyone foolish enough to question George the Prophet (or is that profit?).

That got me thinking about the current US foreign policy and its apparent adherence to the "all balls, no brains" theory of taking what you can simply because you can. From there, I extrapolated the theory to many of the Corporate Nation States and found that again, many were doing exactly the same thing. You can see it everywhere in the news (even if you aren't assimilating the 12-15 sources a day that I find myself compelled to). It's almost like a traffic accident, in that it's quite often horrible and tragic, but I can't bring myself not to stare in wonder. Examples? Class action suits against Wal Mart for their rampant disregard for anything that isn't money, Exxon still delaying payment on the $5 Billion (USD) settlement against them for the Valdez spill in Alaska (15 years ago!), DOW screwing Bhopal, India by refusing to fix Union Carbide's mess, the usurpation of the UN as world authority, Halliburton, the Liberal Sponsorship scandal, Dubya's fraud with Harken Energy, this list could go on forever.

In light of this, the title shortened to "The Pantload". It's not just a comment on one person - that would give this puppet too much credit. Dubya seems to be having so much fun being in charge that he doesn't realize he's just another pawn, just like Zaphod Beeblebrox.

It's more of a comment about the general state of being in this new age of aggressive paranoia.

Is this all a case of the sheer weight of massive testicles pulling blood away from the brains? We might never know...

The cover photo is of the Del Mar Inn on Hamilton St in Vancouver. I had always been fond of the lefty-leaning plaque stating in no uncertain terms that "Unlimited Growth Increases The Divide." If you doubt this, do a little research into the vanishing middle class, the decline in worker rights and wages since the '70s and the exponentially-increasing ratio in remuneration between CEO's and the average worker. One day, walking past the Inn, I was struck by the juxtaposition of the slightly decrepit Del Mar Inn, the slogan, and the massive, gleaming HQ of BC Hydro dwarfing it in the background. I burst out laughing on the spot (confusing a batch of VCC students huddling around their cigarettes), and the front cover was set.

The back cover photo was taken in an alley just north of Water St in Gastown (Vancouver's oldest district) and just south of the docks and railyard. The whole "stand in the stinking alley looking badass" is a pretty alien concept to me, and I did crack up more than once during the photo shoot. Good thing the sun was in my eyes - it made the scowly squint easier to pull off. Let's just call it a Ramones tribute and be done with it.

I opted not to use the photos with me wearing the Barbie "prom queen" sash, but I sure did have some fun that Friday night walking around Gastown with it on, waving like the Queen to strangers and tourists and thanking


All We Show

Written By: Wiggler

As ships pass in the night with no perceived connection
We are islands one and all
As we pass from the fright of travel without direction
We're all bracing for the fall
We assemble into clans existing within perception
Becoming faces in the crowd
Assembling our plans of sedation or sedition
What we think is not aloud

So make a sound 'cause I don't know what you know. All we share is all we show.

As we massage the truth and tinker with alignment
We transmit identity
We assuage the couth and focus our refinement
On the bit we'll let you see
But what slips through the cracks of our image assignment
Reveals incongruity
When introspection lacks in our self-induced confinement
We dissuade the empathy


Written By: Wiggler

I try to keep an open mind, but it's too hard to keep a shut mouth
My cynicism is refined and my fortune's going south

'Cause jade is a lucky colour
And jaded casts an ugly pallor
I ride the wave of discontent Maladjusted malcontent

An exercise in futility, my patience is in full arrest
Such a tragic comedy, the truth of which I can attest

Idiot Farm

Written By: Wiggler

Dig a furrow in the sofa and plant 'em backside down
Give 'em a box to stare at and food from the evil clown
Taunt them with what they don't have to instill a sense of greed
Stifle creativity 'til their brains get atrophied

Be sure to harvest them quickly before smug turns to smarm
And every year's a bumper crop down on the Idiot Farm

Give 'em a flag to stand behind so they know them from us
Teach them how to kneel, obey and swear they'll never cuss
Have them shun their naked selves with paralyzing shame
And then they'll cull the weak from their own herd
until they're all the same


No The Yeah!! - cassette only, September 1994.

Call o'th'Wigghut - May 1995, also cassette only.

Bring the Fudge - cassette only, limited release 1996.

Wiggler vs Godzilla - Valentine's Day, 1997 in glorious 44.1 kHz of digital on a silver coaster.

Wire Mother ep - May 10, 2002. The second cd from the guy who put the "dig" in digital.

The Pantload - July 15, 2005. The sixth album, and third on CD. Now with extra swagger.

Set List

There are no typical Wiggler sets.

A Wiggler Human Tornado Show will include 13 songs in a sweat-sprayed 35-minute frenzy of big chords, bigger air and the intensity of an entire orchestra channelled through one man and his guitar.

Here's what you'll hear on a lucky night:

Terminal City 2:00
Vitriol 2:16
Instead 3:12
Just Cause 3:08
International House of Panic 2:28
Non-Partisan 3:34
Immolation Time 3:01
Last Call 3:52
(change disks, 20 second reload)
All Balls, No Brains 2:04
Arson For Progress 2:26
No Go Status Quo 3:36
All We Show 2:53
Your Cell Phone 1:56