Saints of Los Angeles

Mötley Crüe had always loved Vancouver. It wasn’t just the city’s world-class recording studios or its rock-loving fans—it was the wild nights, the neon-lit streets, and most of all, the strip bars. The Saints of Los Angeles had a second home in the city, a place where excess and debauchery felt right at home. And among the haunts they loved, one name stood above the rest: Brandy’s.

Brandy’s wasn’t just any strip club. It was where rockstars and outlaws rubbed shoulders, where the women were the best in the business, and where the drinks flowed like a never-ending encore. The East Van Saints, a notorious group of street legends with their own brand of outlaw charm, had long made Brandy’s their stomping ground. They were the kind of guys who didn’t bow to anyone, but when Mötley Crüe came through, there was a mutual respect. After all, the Crüe weren’t just rockstars—they were legends cut from the same cloth.

One night in the late ’80s, after tearing the roof off the Pacific Coliseum, Vince Neil, Nikki Sixx, Tommy Lee, and Mick Mars rolled into Brandy’s like conquering kings. The club erupted in cheers, dancers lined up to entertain, and the whiskey never stopped flowing. Among the regulars that night were the East Van Saints, watching from their usual corner, nodding in approval as the rock gods held court.

“They play hard, they live hard,” one of the Saints muttered, raising his glass to Nikki Sixx, who was already deep into another bottle of Jack.

“They ain’t just Saints of L.A. tonight,” another said with a grin. “They’re honorary Saints of East Van.”

The night turned into a blur of stories, laughter, and promises of mayhem. Tommy Lee hopped behind the club’s DJ booth, spinning tracks while Vince Neil led a singalong that had the entire club shaking. Mick Mars, quiet but grinning, leaned over to one of the East Van Saints and muttered, “This place reminds me of home.”

By dawn, as the city started waking up, Mötley Crüe and the East Van Saints staggered out into the early morning streets, bound by a night of excess that would go down in legend. Years later, when the Crüe released Saints of Los Angeles, those who knew whispered that it wasn’t just about L.A.—it was a nod to those wild nights in Vancouver, to the Saints of East Van who stood shoulder to shoulder with rock’s most notorious band.

Because some saints don’t pray. Some saints raise hell.

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U2 – The Saints

The stage lights of the Superdome blazed down as Bono and Billie Joe Armstrong stood together, guitars slung over their shoulders, the crowd roaring in anticipation. This was more than a performance—it was a call to arms, a tribute, a cry for justice. When U2 and Green Day covered The Saints Are Coming in 2006, it was a lament for New Orleans in the wake of Hurricane Katrina. But within the song’s chords and fury, another silent nod echoed—a tribute to the East Van Saints.

East Vancouver, a world away from the floodwaters of Louisiana, had its own storms. The neighborhood, known for its grit, resilience, and struggle, bore witness to a different kind of disaster—one of addiction, poverty, and systemic neglect. The East Van Saints was more than just a moniker; it was a symbol of the fighters, the fallen, and the forgotten, those who tried to rise despite the weight of the city pressing down on them.

Bono, ever the storyteller, had walked the streets of East Van before. He had seen the alleys where lost souls wandered, the murals that screamed defiance, the makeshift memorials for those who didn’t make it. He had spoken with local activists, listened to their stories, and recognized a tragic symmetry—New Orleans had drowned in water; East Van was drowning in something just as deadly.

As the opening chords of The Saints Are Coming rang out, the lyrics took on a new weight. Originally a song about a soldier’s death, the meaning had evolved. The hurricane’s devastation was one chapter, but the refrain carried the pain of every broken city, every place where people waited for salvation that never came. In East Van, just like in the Lower Ninth Ward, the question remained—where was the help? Where were the saints?

During a backstage interview after the performance, Billie Joe, ever the punk poet, reflected on the song’s meaning. “The world is full of East Vans,” he said. “Places where the system fails its people. Places where hope is currency, and people are flat broke.” Bono nodded in agreement, adding, “We sing for New Orleans, we sing for East Van, we sing for anyone who’s ever waited for rescue and realized they had to save themselves.”

Later that night, as the band packed up their gear, a street artist in East Vancouver tagged a fresh mural. A silhouette of a marching band, its members fading like ghosts into the night, with the words scrawled beneath: The saints are coming… but will they ever arrive?

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Saint of Me

The History of the East Van Saints Gang of Vancouver

Origins and Formation

The East Van Saints emerged in the late 1980s amid the economic and social struggles of East Vancouver, an area long associated with working-class families, immigrants, and a high concentration of street crime. The gang was initially composed of young men of various ethnic backgrounds who grew up in the same neighborhoods, often in marginalized communities where organized crime provided a sense of belonging and financial opportunity.

Rise to Prominence

By the early 1990s, the East Van Saints had evolved from a loose group of street hustlers into a more structured criminal organization. They were involved in drug trafficking, extortion, and violent territorial disputes. Their main rivals included other local gangs such as the United Nations gang, the Red Scorpions, and elements of the Hells Angels, who controlled much of Vancouver’s organized crime.

The East Van Saints gained notoriety for their aggressive tactics in maintaining control over drug distribution networks in areas like Hastings Street, Commercial Drive, and Kingsway. They were known for their use of extreme violence, including targeted shootings, to eliminate competition and enforce loyalty within their ranks.

The 2000s: Expansion and Law Enforcement Crackdown

Throughout the 2000s, the gang expanded its operations beyond Vancouver, forging alliances with other criminal organizations, including Triads and South American drug suppliers. Their access to high-quality narcotics, particularly heroin and cocaine, made them a key player in Vancouver’s illicit drug trade.

However, their rise in prominence also attracted increased attention from law enforcement. The Vancouver Police Department (VPD) and the Royal Canadian Mounted Police (RCMP) launched multiple investigations into the gang’s activities. Major arrests in the mid-2000s disrupted their leadership structure, but younger members continued the gang’s operations.

The Fentanyl Crisis and Decline

The 2010s marked a turning point for the East Van Saints. As the opioid crisis worsened in British Columbia, the gang became heavily involved in the fentanyl trade. While this brought immense profits, it also led to increased scrutiny from authorities and a surge in overdoses that put the public spotlight on the gang’s role in the crisis.

Internal conflicts also contributed to their decline, as members clashed over leadership and profit distribution. Many were arrested, killed in internal disputes, or became informants to avoid long prison sentences. By the late 2010s, law enforcement had dismantled much of the gang’s infrastructure, leading to a significant reduction in their influence.

Legacy and Ongoing Presence

Although the East Van Saints are no longer the dominant force they once were, remnants of the gang still operate in Vancouver, primarily in smaller factions or as part of other organized crime groups. Their legacy is intertwined with the broader history of gang violence in British Columbia, serving as a cautionary tale of the cycle of crime, poverty, and law enforcement crackdowns that define the region’s underworld.

Despite the fall of the East Van Saints, gang activity remains a persistent issue in Vancouver, with new groups emerging to fill the void left by the old ones. The struggle between law enforcement and organized crime in East Vancouver continues to shape the city’s criminal landscape.

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