When the Comfort Zone after-hours club at Spadina and College was raided just before dawn last Sunday morning — the execution of a search warrant that resulted in 150 people investigated and released, 33 arrested and charged, and the seizure of $30,000 worth of drugs and $35,000 in cash for the culmination of the psychedelically named Project White Rabbit — online speculation started to swirl.

“Dozens rounded up in raid on Chinatown nightclub,” read the 11:07am post on the National Post’s Posted Toronto blog, dedicated to breaking news ahead of the print production cycle. But their assumption was that the busted club was the Silver Dollar Room, the dominant sign over the same building, where the Comfort Zone has occupied a basement space that has developed a legacy all its own.

Police announced a press conference at headquarters for 1pm on Monday — a grand canyon of time for the events to be dissected on the internet. Pioneering nightlife message board Tribe.ca was one such outlet — its thread exceeds 1,170 posts over 47 pages as of Wednesday afternoon. The scattershot blogTO has cultivated over 330 comments on the story. And then there’s Stillepost, an indie-music forum not exactly populated with Comfort Zone patrons, but a regular pulpit for Silver Dollar rock-show booker Dan Burke — who used it to refute the initial incorrect reports.

But when the Toronto Police Service doesn’t offer their own story until the next day, it becomes a quick study on how this sort of information gets disseminated.

What was posted on Scrolling Eye this past Monday wasn’t going to win a National Newspaper Award. Just some notes hastily taken as the mother and sister of 26-year-old Andrew Fazio — who died of an overdose Jan. 28 from drugs that an investigation revealed were purchased and consumed at the Comfort Zone — shared tearful thoughts. That was combined with some background on how the CZ ended up settling on its current weekend-long night-and-day house and techno format, in lieu of trying to retrieve the liquor license it lost six years ago.  

The word “rave” was evoked as convenient shorthand, even though that’s really no longer an apt description of the scene, as the DJs playing at the club into the mid-afternoons were house and techno specialists. However, clarifying these distinctions becomes a challenge when there’s a limited window to get the story posted, and at least offer a bit of background perspective to the conversation.

Police news conferences are now available in unedited form online, allowing anyone to play skeptic, especially when they figure they know the real story. If the local daily newspaper wants to make a case for its continued existence, though, reporters might have to work harder than skimming through websites.

Granted, this becomes trickier on deadline, when none of the club patrons want to use a real name.

A story in yesterday’s Toronto Sun attempted to explain the club’s appeal, although its source was “Glen, 39, a successful businessman with offices on Bay St. and who didn’t want his last name published” who would regularly go to the club from 9am until noon on Sunday to get an earful of its world-renowned DJs.

At least raiding the semi-public Facebook group for sources produces a few verifiable first and last name defenses of the venue, as they assert the Comfort Zone acted as a sanctuary for free spirits who usually refer to it as their “church.”

From the same source, there are postings from a club employee who doesn’t want his name used here, but was charged in the raid with possession of two prohibited weapons — which he explains were confiscated from other patrons.

“I was taken down out front because I didn’t ID myself,” he says. “People were coming out of the club bleeding and all bruised up. But they clipped all our security cameras so that there’s no record of what exactly was going on in there.

“The police came in full-force with machine guns, treating it like we killed somebody. But the stuff about weapons, bikers and Asian mafia being involved there is all bullshit. I worked there for 10 years and never saw any of that.”

Police didn’t claim as much, either, although members of the Gun and Gang Task Force, Organized Crime Enforcement and the OPP Biker Enforcement Unit were among nearly 100 officers transported to the club via chartered TTC bus.

What has emerged as the greatest point of contention is that the Comfort Zone facilitated Andrew Fazio’s overdose, when he was reportedly seen at several other clubs throughout that weekend.

“No one shoved any drugs down his throat,” says the Comfort Zone employee.

There were 33 people arrested and charged last Sunday morning, and drugs were seized from what police described as a “flea market” of heroin, cocaine, ecstasy, Ketamine and GHB. But many of the 33 are charged with possession, rather than conspiracy to traffic and/or trafficking. Those failing to comply recognizance and immigration warrants are also in that tally.

A cover charge of $20 kept the wheels spinning in the all-day darkness of the Comfort Zone, and water, juice and energy drinks (sold at a healthy markup) helped justify staffing the space and paying a roster of DJs. The cellar of the Waverly Hotel wouldn’t likely be used for anything else — although it was initially re-christened as a space for live jam bands and hip-hop nights. Previously, the venue had a couple of stints as a strip club.

Claims that the Comfort Zone was an entirely independent business from the Silver Dollar are apparently misleading, though, since the patrons had direct access to the adjacent music club’s bar. But alcohol consumption was not the culprit here.

While police were resigned to the fact that they were powerless to immediately shut down an establishment without a liquor license, and loyal patrons continue to rally to the defense of their beloved club online, stories like the Toronto Sun report of how a DJ named Jayforce was punched and kicked by plainclothes officers before being tackled to the ground and handcuffed — in a futile quest to find drugs he claims not to do — probably aren’t good for enticing new customers. But the club hopes to be open even more than usual this weekend: from Thursday night at midnight to Friday at 5pm, Saturday morning from 3am to 2pm, and then Sunday from 4am to Monday at 4am.

Jelo, a local electronic DJ whose remixing for Nelly Furtado has earned him bigger gigs, was a Comfort Zone staple when the space had eclectic offerings in the late-1990s, and last spun there a year ago.

“There would definitely be doctors and lawyers who were regulars there,” he says. “You’d have an architect on one side who was busting a move, and on the other side would be a crackhead stripper, or maybe just kids from the suburbs. The thing was, you could be anonymous in there, and just have a good time without any prying eyes. Dance like nobody is watching isn’t just an expression — for some people it really represents the ideal.

“If I had my way, I’d start DJing every night at 8pm, and be in bed by 11. Of course that’s not how the industry works because, in your 20s, you want to stay out as late as you can. Still, there’d be plenty of regulars at the Comfort Zone who didn’t go out Saturday night at all, but got up early on Sunday morning, and went there to dance for four or five hours. They swore by this place. Maybe now they’ll end up going somewhere else instead.

“I’m not going to tell you some of them weren’t on drugs,” says Jelo. “Just like you can’t tell me that people at clubs that aren’t after-hours aren’t using them, too. And how much trouble is caused by people who are drinking vodka at 6am?”

Previously on the Scroll: Comfort Zone raid

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