It’s been a spell

Two decades after Deja Voodoo’s
heyday, Gerard Van Herk shrugs off his
local-legend status

FROM WITCHDOCTOR TO DOCTORATE:
Gerard Van Herk today

by JOHNSON CUMMINS

The first time I got to see Montreal sludge-a-billy legends Deja Voodoo was in 1984, at a tiny hovel in Toronto called the Cabana Room—and it changed my life. Having been on a strict diet of hardcore, the stripped-down, lysergically tinged rock ’n’ roll of this demented duo had me downright giddy. Gerard Van Herk’s monotonic baritone spilled out tales stolen from the pages of EC comics, yarns about “Monsters in the Garage” and a “Skeleton at My Party,” and knuckle-dragging classics like “Head All Mushy” and “Cheese and Crackers.” Behind Van Herk’s drawl and ham-fisted guitar playing was some of the most primitive drum-pounding ever, from Tony Dewald, who met every whack with grunts and squirts of drool.

Despite my offerings of accolades to Van Herk when I talk to him on the phone from his new digs in St. John’s, Newfoundland, he still can’t see what the big whoop is all about. Since he hung up his plastic spider necklace a good 20 years ago, Van Herk immersed himself in a life of academia and emerged with a Ph.D., and is now holding the Canadian Research Chair in Linguistics at the Memorial University of Newfoundland, while Dewald has become a renowned brewmaster in British Columbia.

“When I was in Deja Voodoo, that was the main thing I did, we did that 24/7,” says Van Herk. “Now, playing music is really way down on the list of things that I do, so I don’t really have that thing where I’m constantly thinking about ideas for songs. At this point, being in a band is really an unusual thing for me to do.”

SLUDGE FUN DAYS: Deja Voodoo in the 1980s

TRYING TO NOT SUCK

With primal rock ’n’ roll, including garage rock, psychobilly and rockabilly, making a strong comeback, it’s little wonder that Van Herk and Dewald’s sludge-a-billy is finding new audiences. Vinyl copies of Deja Voodoo records are now fetching big money from collectors, many of whom weren’t even alive when their debut cassette, Gumbo, was released in 1983. “I think we’re a lot easier to like when you don’t have to listen to us. I guess every generation of bands goes through that minor-myth thing that happens after the fact. People tend to remember things different from how they were.”

Van Herk is hardly cashing in on the Deja Voodoo name. He’ll be performing as part of the Suoni per il Popolo fest under his own name, with the help of local fan Bloodshot Bill behind the traps, and admits he only seldom talks with ex-partner in crime Dewald. Even after 20 years, Van Herk insists that Deja Voodoo will never be resurrected, but he will pepper his upcoming set with Voodoo classics and the occasional cover.

“I guess I’ve played about five times over the past five years and I do play a fair bit with my 16-year-old son, but it’s not like it’s automatic for me anymore. It’s still really fun for me to play live, but it can be really nerve-wracking beforehand. When we were doing the band back then, we never really thought about tomorrow, and now there are people with 20 years of crud attached to their memory and they bring their expectations. I’m really operating from the mindset of really trying to not suck, because I am going to be seeing friends I haven’t seen in 20 years and I want everybody to have a cool evening.”

CHORUS AND HEARSE

Despite Van Herk’s kicking the dirt when talking about his local legacy and his humble responses to my fanboy testimonials, the man has definitely left an indelible mark on the Montreal scene. Check it: Deja Voodoo were the first underground Montreal band to tour Europe, their Voodoo BBQ parties are as legendary as their tales of touring Canada in a hearse or a Greyhound bus, and their label OG was one of the most prolific Canadian indie labels of the ’80s.

“I don’t know if we really left a mark on Montreal, or if you could draw a line from those days to what’s happening in Montreal now. It would be like drawing a line between Duke Ellington and the Washington punk scene. If we left any mark at all on Montreal, I think maybe we made it okay to just be a tiny band.”