By Jeremy Essig
By Jason Robinson
By Hans Morgenstern
By Joseph Hess
By Peter Gilstrap
By Julia Burch
By Jeremy Essig
By Nathan Smith
Danny McClain died March 28 at the too-damn-young age of 31. He had been a relentless drummer, an engaging personality and a musician of immeasurable creativity.
McClain had been performing locally for more than half of his life. In his early teenage years, he manned the drum stool for the band Newt Raw, which experimental musician John Wiese describes as "fast high school punk, exactly what you want." Wiese was immediately impressed with McClain's intensity as well as his scathing wit, and the two formed the rhythm section of post-hardcore band Johnny Angel in 1997, with Wiese playing bass. (Johnny Angel would have a far-reaching if indirect impact; its members eventually played in bands as diverse as Sunn O))), Unbroken, Wolf Eyes and Motion City Soundtrack.)
Area bassist Darin Gray of Dazzling Killmen and On Fillmore was another early fan of McClain's. He remembers meeting McClain in the late '90s, when he was in his early thirties and McClain was just eighteen. "There was no question about it: He was the best drummer in St. Louis," Gray recalls. "He'd been on his own, taking care of himself since he was sixteen or seventeen. I've still never met an eighteen-year-old kid who was so together."
After Johnny Angel disbanded, Gray and McClain formed the instrumental trio Grand Ulena with guitarist Chris Trull of Darling Little Jackhammer. "I think in the early stages, people viewed Grand Ulena as a group I headed or put together, because I was older and had been playing longer," Gray says. "But it was quite the contrary. Danny's role in the group was enormous. We wrote around his drums. Those songs are basically a showcase for him to play drums."
Grand Ulena's avant-garde sensibility and punk-rock ardor provided an ideal platform for McClain. "He had this amazing ability to push and pull and just stretch time like taffy," Gray says. "But at the same time, he could also be on a razor's edge of precision. He was playing rock rhythms but stretching them and redefining what that even means. It's completely unique; I can't think of another drummer who does that."
McClain's elastic control of tempo is prominent at the 3:13 mark of "Between Tholozan and Oleatha," the opening track of Grand Ulena's remarkable Gateway To Dignity. Recorded mostly live in one day in 2002, Gateway documents the young drummer's jaw-dropping command over the chaos he inflicted upon his kit.
The band's sole full-length album was an important step to exposing audiences outside of St. Louis to Danny McClain. Guitarist Shane Perlowin of the Asheville, North Carolina, trio Ahleuchatistas considers it "one of the most important rock records of the 21st century" and spun it for drummers who initially auditioned for his group. Meanwhile, Ezra Sandzer-Bell, bassist of defunct Chicago math-rock outfit Piglet, calls Gateway "incredibly impressive and inspiring. I had never heard anything like it before, and it's a record I will always cherish."
(In McClain's honor, Grand Ulena's former label Family Vineyard Records has posted Gateway to Dignity and the band's Neosho EP for free download on http://www.family-vineyard .com/grandulena.)
For all the adulation Danny received, Darin Gray remembers his difficulty coping with being misunderstood: "It pained all of us when people would say we were just improvising or playing noise, but it was especially difficult for Danny because he put all of his guts into every song."
Bob Adams played drums in the Chicago band Ten Grand, which toured with Grand Ulena in 2002. "Danny was unbelievable," Adams says. "When I first saw him play, I thought he was just throwing his sticks at his drums. I don't understand anything about the way he played drums. Listening to his records now, I still feel like a third-grader in algebra class."
According to Gray, McClain's personality bridged the potential gap between his abrasive music and its audience. "He brought a sense of humor to the band that was unparalleled," Gray says. "He helped people feel like they were a part of something that was very abstract. Whereas if he didn't have that ability, people would have been standing around scratching their chins and wondering what we were trying to do. He helped people laugh and be comfortable, or at least feel good about being uncomfortable."
Throughout his tenure in Grand Ulena, McClain was involved in various improvisational noise projects, including John Wiese's group Sissy Spacek.
By then, Wiese had moved to Los Angeles. "But every time I returned to St. Louis I would try to play with Danny," he recalls. "How could I not? His playing was breathtaking, full of drama, tension and emotion. I secretly have always wanted to be a drummer, and his talent was never wasted on me. He was an incredible musician who melted all of his influences into something completely personal."
Around 2005, however, Grand Ulena's momentum slowed to a crawl. The band imploded under its own ambition; practice sessions lasted up to ten hours, and months of writing and rehearsing resulted in less than a minute of new material. The exhausted group eventually went on a hiatus.
"We had hit a brick wall, and we decided to just take a break until we could clear our heads," Gray says. "It was like we were in a corn maze with big flags tied to our backs, and we could only see each other's flags while trying to make our way to each other. The saddest part about Grand Ulena is that I do know that all of us thought we would get back together and play again."
Just wanted to throw in a nod to Danny's first punk band, Detox, later known as the Spastics. I saw them play when they were just out of middle school, and liked them enough to ask them to open for my first band's farewell show. Later, I filled in on bass (badly) for one Spastics show. They did indeed hit all the right teen-punk buttons.
Danny will be sorely missed. He was a tremendous influence, not only to me, but to many others in and out of St. Louis as well. I'm sad to see a good friend go. He will never be forgotten.