Man, Jeffery Sez was one of those bands you kinda had to be there for.

They never made it big. No record deals, no magazine spreads, no shows really advertised. And they should have. Seriously. For a decade, they burned through amps in every basement, bar, and busted hall that would let them plug in. The songs? Total bangers. Imagine being a kid back then, hitching a ride to some random town because you heard about a show, meeting people who were even more obsessed with music than you, and soaking up that vibe. It was just real music, raw and honest, hitting you right in the ribs. Songs about screwing up, getting back up, driving around with nowhere to go, blasting tapes until the speakers rattled. Yeah, I miss those days.

<a href="https://supremeecho.bandcamp.com/album/jeffery-sez">Jeffery Sez by Supreme Echo</a>

Sez had this scrappy energy that only made sense in the ’90s. That weird little window when no one knew what the hell was going on, and you didn’t care about politics or the nonstop news cycle. Grunge was fading, pop-punk hadn’t taken over yet, and there was this sweet in-between where bands played because they had to, not because they wanted to be famous. Jeffery Sez was right there in the middle of it all. Slacker days, but not the lazy kind. More like, “We’re lost, but screw it, let’s keep going.” That hopeful aimlessness. Sometimes you wish you could crawl back into that feeling, especially now.

It wasn’t about making it. It was about getting loud with your friends, blowing out PAs, jumping in the van, and seeing who would show up. Messy, hands-on fun that just felt right. When the crowd screamed the lyrics back at you, that was everything.

In our recent interview, the band said it best: it wasn’t about perfecting the sound, but about capturing real energy and blasting it out loud. “We played every show like it was your last,” they told me. “We just wanted to keep playing and let the noise take us wherever it went.”

They described the ’90s as a time when “doing it yourself” was the only way before the phrase became popular. They laughed recalling that they didn’t have a team, just the four of them, a beat-up van, and whatever shows they could book each week. It wasn’t glamorous, but to them, it was real.

One unforgettable night in Oyen, Alberta, saw them playing on an ungrounded stage where mics delivered electric shocks, forcing bassist Jai Joans to wrap his new black socks around the mic stands for insulation, only for the sweat-soaked socks to fail midway through. Despite a near-empty audience at first, carnies from a nearby fair eventually filled the room, turning the night into an unpredictable, wild ride. “What a fucking show,” Tension remembers fondly.

Recording their debut album ‘Don’t Stand By Dick’ was a leap of faith. They booked two weeks at Island Pacific Sound before even having the $5,000 to pay for it. The analog studio setup and out-of-town isolation gave them a glimpse of life solely as musicians. Though they briefly kicked out Christian Down for missing practice, they brought him back for lead parts, a decision that helped shape their sound and cement the lineup for their first tour.

Fast forward to the Supreme Echo remaster: the band marvels at how modern technology allowed them to finally fix an age-old guitar bend error on the track ‘Tincs.’ Christian Down, now an experienced producer and engineer, recorded the correction himself, breathing new life into a song they had hated hearing for over 27 years. The remastering process brought cohesion to tracks recorded across different sessions and eras, making the album feel quite fresh.

Songs like ‘Mona Lisa,’ written for a girlfriend with a dark past, carry a personal weight. “It’s a pretty powerful song, I think. It makes me feel sad when I hear it now.” These moments of vulnerability shine through amidst the band’s fast-paced, fun-sounding music layered with dark lyrics—a deliberate contrast Michael aimed for from the start.

Now, decades later, Michael Tension looks back with no regrets. “We did what we did, and we’re all still alive.” The band may not have broken big, but this remastered release is proof of a band that poured heart, sweat, and beer into every note and every show, preserving a moment in Canadian alt-rock history.

If you caught them live, you remember. If you didn’t, well, you missed something. They weren’t trying to be legends. They just wanted to get to the next show with enough gas money and duct tape to keep the van running. And in all that sweat and noise, the music mattered. Not because anyone told you it should, but because it just did. And that’s what counted.

Klemen Breznikar