David Kerman, the drummer-composer behind the avant-rock group 5uu’s, has made significant contributions to experimental music since the mid-1980s.
His band, 5uu’s, was influenced by the European Rock in Opposition (RIO) movement and collaborated with other avant-garde groups, blending complex compositions with a rock sensibility. After reuniting with the 5uu’s in 1994, Kerman embarked on various projects, contributing to the revival of the experimental rock scene. In 2022, after a long hiatus, he returned to the music world with a new 5uu’s album, reaffirming his innovative approach to avant-garde music.
You’re coming from a very interesting background. You were born in Torrance, California, and began playing drums very early on. Keyboardist Keith Godchaux was a family friend? How did he influence you to begin playing drums?
David Kerman: Yes, Torrance: We were spoiled-rotten baby boomers. We were upper-middle-class children of parents who gave us a million miles of leeway and even more support. We were never told that we might possibly fail at anything, so very few of us did.
Keith Godchaux lived across the street. This was in the late 60s, before he joined the Grateful Dead. I was friends with the kids who lived there. We youngsters thought we were alone there one day, so the others egged me on to play the set of drums next to the family piano. I’d never played before, so I beat the hell out of them, like only a nine-year-old could, merely to wake the hippie in the next room, Keith G.
He emerged from what must have been a deep sleep and walked across the room towards the upright piano. I stopped thrashing about, scared as hell to be caught playing someone’s drums. But he urged me on, saying, “Hey, keep that going…I like the beat.” So I did, and he joined in. Can you imagine that? The first time you play your craft is with the guy who would end up doing ‘Blues for Allah’ and ‘Terrapin Station’? He took me across the street and somehow convinced my mother to buy my first set of drums. I owe him a lot, bless his soul, and I’ve never looked back.
Was there a certain scene you were part of? Maybe you had some favorite hangout places? Did you attend a lot of gigs back then?
Well, we were children of Progressive Rock. I came to the Syd Barrett and Captain Beefheart later in the ’70s. I saw Gentle Giant a bunch as a teenager, and that band, probably more than any other, inspired me. Their last string of gigs was at The Roxy, and yeah, that was my hangout. I was there a lot for some years. Cobham and Duke, Genesis, Beefheart, Gentle Giant, Peter Gabriel’s first solo shows, etc. The list could go on forever. Man, it WAS the house.
I had a trick, and the owner of The Roxy knew it but allowed me to pull it off nonetheless: I would buy a ticket for the early show, arrive late, and hide in the men’s room, kneeling on the toilet lid between sets, to get the best seat for the second set. “David, you in there? Need some aspirin? David, is that your cigarette smoke?” I can’t remember his name for the life of me, but that guy booked everything that was cool. Most normally, two pals, Peabody and Muller, would have sneaked in a tape deck—God only knows how—and taken their places at the right upper balcony, condenser mics dangling just below their sneakers. These were great bootlegs, but it was never about money. We were fanboys and traded cassettes. Ah, Roxy, the REAL Roxy, on Sunset.
How did you originally meet guitarists Greg Conway and Randy Coleman? Together, you started your first band. Tell us about those early experiences of making your own music.
We knew one another from school and got hooked on fusion quite early, especially Mahavishnu Orchestra, Return to Forever, and Weather Report. Eventually, Greg and I spent hours and hours with ‘I Sing The Body Electric,’ and Randy and his brother Wayne turned us on to King Crimson when the album “Islands” came out. There was a cornucopia of compelling music back then, and we youngsters wanted to be part of it. Our core was Greg, Randy, Beck, Chuck Turner, and me. And a bit earlier, Juan Croucier, who later joined the big hair band Ratt. Ha, in 1974, as fifteen-year-old kids, Greg and I went to Juan’s house to “audition” him as bassist for our band, only to find him already a maniacally talented violinist, playing along to ‘Birds of Fire’ note for note. A humbling experience, to be sure.
Since the beginning, you were interested in modifying drums and experimenting…
I’ve done all kinds of strange stuff over the years—not to be deliberately weird, but to try and find something “different.” I played a couple of concerts with tuna fish cans filled with nuts and bolts flopping around on the drums and cymbals, kept somewhat in place with fishing line. And whereas a lot of drummers use pillows or foam inside the bass drum, I tended to use junk that would rattle around and be noisy. Sound men (or women) tend to either hate me or be amused by the antics. But there is a method to the madness, as I’m going after a more industrial sound than wonderful, professional frequencies. I’ve impaled bowls of fruit along the edges of cymbals to deaden the ringing sounds, and used Barbie dolls in place of soft mallets. I became pretty adept at decapitating them against the bottom of the ride cymbal at propitious moments, allowing the doll heads to fly into the audience.
It’s all in the name of entertainment, visually as well as sonically, because if nice people are going out of their way to watch you perform, you might as well do your damnedest to give them their time and money’s worth. Most rock drummers have a little bit of Keith Moon in our psyches anyway, or we’d play clarinet or something less abrasive to the senses. As a personal philosophy, I think one can always go overboard and back off a bit if needed. It might require some damage control afterward, but it’s better than not going far enough in the first place.
From: https://www.psychedelicbabymag.com/2024/04/5uus-interview-david-kerman.html
