Dan Maurer

I have been drumming for the last 36 years and, as one would expect, have been through a wide range of musics and experiences. This page has given me a nudge to walk over to the shelf, climb around in the attic, reorganise the basement and sift through the storage locker for various fragments of my past. Some old, old friends (I mean these guys are ancient! Some of them, like me, were even born way back in the - now don't be frightened children - 1950's!) have been helping me organise the mists of time by offering up bits of history, some amusing anecdotes and the odd, and occasionally comprimising, photograph. How I didn't end up in a bag or a cage I'll never know...
The Cleveland Days
For the most part I would have to say that I'm a midwestern white kid from Cleveland. I can't escape that. Someone had to be. However, in my second decade I began to rebel and "pull away" from my "Clevo" (for the uninitiated it is my terminology for Cleveland, Ohio, USA) roots. We were young men in the Clevo days and were a vast mixture of informed/ uninformed/ prepared/ unprepared/ opinionated and un-opinionated individuals. And we were dedicated. Very. Our hearts and desires were there but we hadn't a clue as to how to go about it. Not to mention that we were outside the musical stream of the day (which was '76-'84). Where as most people were revelling in punk/post punk/ new wave & new romantic, we were knocking out fledgling compositions informed of an eclectic influence of progressive/ pop/ jazz/ experimental (though trying not to be too dinosaur about it). Most everything we did had the idea of hooking the contemporary punter though we definitely put our self satisfaction first and foremost. Listening back to some of the things we did I have to say that I am very, very proud. Step forward Rich Engle, George Ferko, Ozzie Hatcher, Jim Juhn, John Fertig, Tim Price, Mike Tomasic, Dave Emling, Mike Docey and, reluctantly, as he is a lying, cheating wazock, Pete Sokol.
A few years ago my cousin Frank described me in this period as "focused". This is essentially a polite term for a swaggering, pseudo intellectual, self centred, arrogant prick (leap to my defence at any time guys). To be honest, this is the type of thick skinned self belief required. Arrogance is not a virtue but, man, oh, man, you have got to believe in yourself! And you have got to have the goods to back it up. A rare combination. A lucky quotient or we’d all be rock stars. If you can be a nice person, like puppies, help old ladies cross the street and not litter, please do!
There is an unproven theory that listening to an Ozzy Osbourne or the occasional death metal record may inspire the odd spotty youth to top himself. I don't know but I doubt it somehow. I have a much lesser known theory that postulates that perhaps listening to too many VDGG, King Crimson, Henry Cow, John McLaughlin and Arti & Mestieri records may make you want to move away from places like Cleverland and try to locate the centre of "your" universe. It's just a theory mind...
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Writing is very much a learning curve and, as far as any band that I have been involved in, has been through no "one" set process. With DAVID CROSS, it was John Dillon and myself who got together and worked out rhythm section arrangements. Eventually we were joined by Sheila Maloney and from there songs would begin to take shape and depth - the general arrangement and lyric would be worked out (though with John nothing was ever written in stone). Sometimes, sitting behind my kit, I'd hear "My home is a place by the sand" become "My knob would just fit in her gob" and so forth. And this is live onstage! Never a dull moment with John and these days he's even worse!