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BOILING SWEATY SOUL : Derek and the Diamonds Are Hardly Your Average Cover Band

This is the first in an occasional series of profiles of Orange County-based groups that play regularly at local clubs.

November 01, 1990|JIM WASHBURN | Jim Washburn is a free-lance writer who regularly writes for The Times Orange County Edition.

If there's one breed of musician that music critics typically despise, more than Phil Collins, even more than Whitesnake, it's cover bands. Most often turning out dead, rote versions of other performers' mediocre efforts, average cover bands toil not, neither do they swing.

Which makes it just a bit out of the norm that, to this critic's ears, the most exciting Orange County band of the last couple of years is a cover band which typically can be found plying its trade at upscale coastal clubs.

But, though their material is chiefly familiar hits, to call Derek and the Diamonds a mere cover band would be like saying Muhammad Ali was just some guy who hit people.

Singers Derek Bordeaux and Venson Quarles seem incapable of performing at less than a simmer, and more often than not their open-hearted, entwined soul vocals boil over with emotion. They and the rest of the seven-piece outfit have that all-too-rare quality of being thoroughly alive onstage, with the music--no matter how timeworn the song might be--being born in the moment.

A song is never played quite the same way twice, and if it feels right, the number might jam on and grow for 20 minutes. It scarcely matters that Al Green or Bobby Brown may have written the song; by the time they're through, Derek and company have purchased it with all they have to spend.

Along with the dance-floor momentum they generate, it is not unknown for the Diamonds to move listeners to tears. And listeners aren't the only ones.

"Sometimes I almost cry when we're singing," Bordeaux said, "and that can happen three or four times an evening because I know when it feels right, and Venson and I will get eye contact and know exactly what each other is thinking. And it's too heavy for me."

The band has some deep roots. Cousins, Bordeaux and Quarles have been singing together since they were children. Bordeaux's brother Byron is the band guitarist, while drummer Gary Wing and sax player Karl Denson have been friends and musical associates since grade school. Rounding out the group is keyboardist Francisco Loyo and bassist Gerardo (Lalo) Carrillo.

In this digital age, most club bands with an eye toward earning a living have few members and lots of electronic augmentation. The Diamonds head in the opposite direction.

In a conversation recently with Derek Bordeaux and Quarles at the former's Santa Ana home, Bordeaux said, "I don't want to have that programmed stuff live, because then there's no spontaneity. We'd like to make more money, yeah, but we want to be proud of what we're doing. It's so easy to sound like a CD with all of the technology that's around. But it's so locked in when you're computerized, you can't change. I want players who can jam and change. . . ."

"And," Quarles interjected, "who wants to look at one man and hear an orchestra, with voices and instruments coming from nowhere? People like to see people sweat ."

Both 33, the irrepressible Quarles and soft-spoken Bordeaux have an interplay that doesn't stop at the bandstand. They are so adept at finishing each other's sentences it scarcely matters that their stories are sometimes wildly divergent.

They and Byron were born in Topeka, Kan., and both of their families caught a train to Orange County in 1966 after being uprooted by a Midwest tornado. The twister proved to be far from the last of their upheavals.

"We were the first blacks that a lot of kids had seen in Garden Grove, the only blacks in their schools," Bordeaux said, "They had only seen blacks on TV, so they would be turning our hands over, going, 'It's all black here, but why is this white?' "

"I had to fight every day," Quarles added.

Bordeaux said: "You know how cruel kids can be. Every time we'd come home we'd all have stories about what had happened during the day, how many times you'd been called what at school, and asking each other 'How many fights did you have on the way home?' I hate fighting, and that still bothers me to this day.

"And it was a culture shock for us because where we came from was all black, our section of Topeka. Then, because the land it was on was bought, we ended up moving our house (from Garden Grove) to Santa Ana. They dropped the house into what seemed to us like the center of Mexico. It was one shock after the other."

Feeling that in the community "there really was nowhere for us to go," members of the family wound up spending much of their time indoors, where they had their music to rely on. The whole family sang, and their interest in playing instruments had begun in Kansas where they had used brooms to pretend to strum Beatles songs.

It was a time before they were able to afford real instruments. With 11 kids under one roof, their mothers had their hands full supporting them. Both were nurses, and they would work alternating shifts, so one of them could be minding the children.

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