Who is Nash the Slash? Influenced in equal parts by Harmonia, The Who and The Cabinet of Dr Caligari, he writes music for mandolin, violin, drum machine and a variety of electronic devices

By Michael Garrad

Nash the Slash's recorded output ranges from instrumental tracks designed for play at any speed to soundtracks—including cult films Roadkill and Highway 61—to covers of rock‘n’roll standards. Aside from putting in some time with prog outfit FM, he fiercely guards his musical independence.

His true identity remains a mystery—his face has not been seen in public performance for over thirty years—and his contributions have been unfairly overlooked in reappraisals all things post-punk/new-wave. Wheel set out to uncover the man beneath the gauze.

I was trained on classical violin as a kid. I play violin, mandolin, keyboards and have dabbled in everything – classical music, rock‘n’roll, electronic, TV and film scores. I don’t write pop music. I don’t expect other people to cover my songs. My songs are atmospheric and have a particular character to them.

I never enjoyed being in a band and having other musicians create the sounds I like. A band is like a bad marriage. Three people come together because they like the music but that doesn’t mean they have any other personal or sociable connections.

If a band has a hit song, the tendency will be to write more songs like that, as opposed to continue being diverse and unique. The more people in the group the better the chance this will happen. I find I can orchestrate and create my own world of sounds much better on my own.

When I started out [playing live] I did everything in real time. I was one of the first to use tape looping – I would create sonic landscapes by layering music using a Maestro Echoplex, which is a box about the size of a toaster and you could cut the tapes to a length. I had four of them onstage at one time so I would have these four machines [playing] different length loops.

In the seventies the drum machine was ‘illegal’ according to the American Federation of Musicians. Using one meant you were taking the job of a drummer. A musician union representative could go to a rock bar and challenge the artist and club owner.

This didn’t happened just with experimental artists. I went to a meeting of the Toronto Musicians’ Association where they were discussing the ruling and this country guy stood up and said “I use a drum machine for three reasons. 1. It doesn’t talk back, 2. it costs nothing to feed and 3. it keeps perfect time.” Everybody in the room broke out in laughter but it was serious shit back in the seventies.

I got away with it. I had a friend who was on the board of The Toronto Musicians’ Association. He told me “I consider your act a performance art act and not just musical so you’re exempt.”

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