From my first DW pedal to the Pearl Powershifter saga, Part 3 dives into my gear frenzy of the ’90s — and the growing realisation that it wasn’t the answer.
Hello 1993 – The Frustration Begins!
Having spent years with the solid metal direct-drive and ‘floating’ footboard design of the Premier 252, moving to a linear cam, single chain-drive pedal with a hinged footboard was a baptism of fire. Having no tangible foot technique to transfer, it was like learning to walk again. All the muscle memory in my right leg was of no benefit and I had a huge hill to climb.
The slave-side pedal on my left felt completely alien to my left foot, having next to no hi-hat technique. But at least this was a neutral starting point.
From 1993 until the start of the new century, I would apply myself religiously to a daily practice regime dedicated to increasing my dexterity and speed on the double-pedal. Whilst admirable, I must confess, looking back in hindsight, it was mostly wasted time. Even my forays into (unsuccessful) original alt-rock projects didn’t warrant the level of skill I was chasing. Yes, I had progressed and could make some pretty impressive noise welcomed by my fellow bandmates. But defaulting back to being my own worst critic, it just wasn’t good enough.
What had started out as an injection of optimism soon became a game of psychological warfare with myself. I would end up falling into a quagmire of daily self-deprecation and extreme frustration with the limited ceiling of my skills.
I set myself impossible goals and began to sidetrack myself with trying to identify where the blame lay for my failings. This remained a thorn in my side for years to come and triggered some classic, circular OCD behaviour patterns.
At some point in their life, every musician’s obsession becomes the need for speed and I was no different. This new tool under my feet, the thing I had set my sights on as the gateway to differentiate myself from the bland, was becoming my daily nemesis to do battle with. I would clock up hours trying to go faster against the metronome in pursuit of a technical ability I would never use, always stalling at an impassable BPM number. The obsession consumed me.
This was the pre-internet age without the infinite library of online tutorial videos we have today. Whilst some VHS videos were on sale featuring a handful of famous names, their content was limited and lacked the level of detail we take for granted today. Sure, they provided exercises with useful foot patterns to practice. But if you suffered from poor foot technique to begin with, getting better at doing it badly was the given outcome.
Bad Workmen Blame Their Tools
So the saying goes – and what a perfect excuse for going on one of those often unnecessary hunts for new gear.
Six months into my new Sonor pedal, I was already lusting after a replacement, believing more expensive would be a shortcut to increased speed. I’d quickly discovered my ‘Sonor’ branded pedal wasn’t really a true Sonor pedal. It was in fact, a Taiwanese model made in the Taiwanese Gibraltar Hardware factory, shipped back to Germany where it was fitted with Sonor footboards. Having become accustomed to the pedal’s design, I started to blame my disappointing progress on its basic build quality.
For a start, the link-bar between the two pedals was a chunky steel affair, carrying far too much weight. How could I achieve more speed with this slowing down the response of the slave-side pedal?
Then there was the missing stabilising baseplate. Whilst the slave-side had one, the main pedal where all the action happened was short-changed with only a pair of standard radius-rods for stability. All the expensive double-pedals had chunky baseplates on both sides, which obviously meant they must be faster…
The no-frills tension-springs didn’t help matters either. There were no fancy bearing races on any of the moving parts – all set to work against me smashing through the BPM barrier.
And what about those boring felt beaters?
No aero-dynamic shaping, responsive surfaces or optimised weight. I needed to ditch them for a pair of those fancy Tama double-sided beaters with the ‘go faster‘ cylindrical shape.
Or why not cut to the chase and ditch the whole pedal for something better? After all, the Californian creme de la creme of pedal manufacturers were only too willing to flaunt their sexy red baseplates and liquid-smooth bearing races for my desire. But this would have to wait. A new house purchase meant the clunky Sonor/Gibraltar hybrid would have to stay in situ for a couple of years.
Acquiring a Drum Workshop Pedal
During the mid 1990s, everyone knew Drum Workshop made the best pedals. But being made in America, they were just so damn expensive and with a second baby on the way, I was in no position to justify an acquisition.
On the other hand, 1995-96 provided some good fortune on the exploding tribute band scene which was still in its infancy and providing fresh opportunities. It was a growing market and I was enjoying the rewards of being there at the start of the phenomenon. Therefore, I still had the scope to spend a bit of cash on replacement gear.
This was the era in their manufacturing timeline when Drum Workshop were introducing their ‘Delta bearing’ feature onto the 5000 pedals. The marketing goal of course, was to sell us the idea of adding even more smoothness and speed to what were already, near legendary pedals.
Using the old machinery purchased from the sale of the old Camco drum company, DW had taken the simple Camco pedal design and built their own innovations onto its skeleton. After introducing their own chain & sprocket off-set cam design, unique shaped beaters and a beautiful shiny red, spray-painted stabilising plate, DW 5000 pedals had become the go-to bass drum pedal for some of the world’s most famous drummers, regardless of the drum brand they endorsed.
They had names such as Dennis Chambers, Chad Smith, Vinnie Colaiuta, Steve Smith, Greg Bissonnette, Jeff Porcaro – all endorsers of other drum brands. Everything about DW 5000 pedals oozed quality and an aesthetic pleasing to my eye.
I wasn’t sure if I’d get away with buying a new 5000 double, so I set my sights a bit lower and began calling the music stores around the UK (no internet!) for pre-owned DW pedals. As it happened, Electro Music in the South Yorkshire town of Doncaster had one in stock and my desperation to see it took me on an unwise winter journey.
The weather was awful on that November day in 1996 when I took the 200+ mile round-trip to Doncaster. The motorway trek involved a high route cutting through the Pennine hills during a blizzard, obscuring the daylight under a consistent onslaught of horizontal sleet and snow. Traffic was moving at the pace of a funeral cortège; three lanes thick with the obtuse red glow of rear fog lights, an irritating optical warning to the driver behind to keep a safe distance. Every radio traffic report advised – “don’t drive unless it’s really necessary.” But my OCD madness had fixated itself on caressing those shiny red plates in Doncaster.
It was a relief to leave the treacherous higher ground of West Yorkshire and drop southwards into kinder ground conditions. Electro Music was located just outside Doncaster’s centre in a residential area of terraced houses. Being pre-internet days, it was an impressive size, taking on the ground floors of three adjacent dwellings. The drum department was packed with an incredible range of high-end stock and the whole shop had the appearance of a business which was able to buy and sell on a revolving door basis. Unfortunately, it would never fully embrace the imminent e-commerce storm and by 2018, it was all over. But in 1996, business was booming.
A genial chap named Paul Munday ran the drum department and presented to me, a second-hand DW 5000 double pedal to try. It looked to be one of the last models using the slave unit with an angled beater, before DW switched to building both beaters into the main pedal. It was in great condition and it knocked my sluggish pedal out of the ring – even with the dated design of the slave-side.
The engineering was like nothing I’d seen, confirming all the rumours I’d heard about DW pedals. The crossbar was much lighter than the chunky steel rod on my pedal and the fluid action from the off-set cam felt obscenely expensive; and as for those shiny red stabilising plates….
Due to the design of the DW, I was going to need a bigger case to transport it. But this didn’t put me off wanting to be its new owner. However, my conscientious salesman wanted to make sure I was making the right decision and offered me an opportunity to try other pedals before I parted with my cash. With a sound-proof booth and an unfashionable Gretsch kit from the early 80s to use, I had nothing to lose but time.
Paul gave me one of the new Pearl ‘Powershifter’ pedals and the new DW 5000 ‘Delta Accelerator’ pedal to try. The Pearl pedal was in the same price bracket as the used DW 5000, but the new DW with its ‘Delta’ bearings installed about its body was going to be a hard buy to justify.
I expected the new DW pedal to be magically fast – but it wasn’t. In reality, I couldn’t really tell that much difference between the old and the new. It was more compact – but the price-tag was a leap too far.
The Pearl ‘Powershifter’ was the curveball I hadn’t seen coming. With its three ‘power-shifting’ footboard adjustments and a revolutionary spring assembly design incorporating a silently smooth bearing, it forced me to question DW’s value for money. To further dismantle my illusions, it also seemed to be winning the speed race.
But…it had black stabilising plates and I’d set my heart on red. Besides which, these Pearl pedals were a new product and yet to be market tested. My uncertainties won the day and I put my trust in the American steel, returning home with the older 5000 and an option to return if it didn’t work out.
I could hardly wait to get back on my monastic daily practice regime and I wasn’t disappointed with my acquisition. But I was about to find out where the legacy design of the DW pedal fell over.
My home-practice setup was a hotch-potch mix of practice pad components and worthless cloth-covered cymbals. Whilst the pedal worked fine on this ugly yet functional structure, I was yet to use it with my Sonor kit. But why would I expect anything to go wrong? After all, I had the pinnacle of drum and pedal brands working in unison. It wasn’t until my next gig when I would discover why the pedal had to go back.
During a rushed setup on another stage of yet another a Northern working man’s club, I experienced a problem attaching the pedal to the bass drum hoop. No matter how hard I tried, the hoop-clamp would not slide onto the hoop.
Disaster!
It was at that moment I discovered 1990s Sonor bass drum hoops were too thick to accommodate older DW pedals! Salvation arrived by removing the T-bolt from the hoop-clamp, allowing me to push the pedal far enough onto the hoop to secure it. Not ideal, but it got me through the gig whilst I anticipated a new trip to Doncaster the following week.
The ‘Powershifter’ Revolution
Paul Munday took my return visit in his stride and was probably pleased to see the back of me with a new Pearl ‘Powershifter’ under my arm. The replacement performed beautifully, everything a modern double-bass drum pedal should be – and it was the subject of a dedicated product campaign tour by Paul Weller drummer, Steve White. Pearl were really pulling out all the stops launching this pedal and more importantly, using it as a flagship product to win back its own drum set artists from their DW pedals. Even I started to feel like I was a small part of the Pearl pedal revolution; that was until things started to go wrong just 4 months into ownership.
The problem appeared to be located in the drive-shaft of the left beater. Whatever was securing it seemed to have loosened slightly and there was now some ‘play’ in the beater. I pushed the beater shaft 90 degrees vertically, it was possible to move it side-to-side, as though the components inside had come loose. There was an obvious fixing point on the pedal’s frame where the internal moving parts were housed. I assumed the tiny grub screw which secured the bearing race had come loose, causing the movement. However, there was no turn on the grub screw which meant another trip to Doncaster for a warranty return.
My apologies once again, must go to Electro Music’s Paul Munday, who likely could not believe his bad luck seeing Mr Pedal-OCD back again. Full marks to him for maintaining customer service bordering on sainthood.
This time, I bit the bullet and departed with a new DW 5000 ‘Delta Accelerator’ pedal, complete with shiny red plates. We would endure a bitter-sweet partnership for over a decade, the pedal, helping me understand my true identity as a drummer did not lie in my ownership of it.
[End of Part 3] The hard lessons aren’t over yet; things go from bad to worse in part 4, but some kind words of advice from Billy Ward will plant the seeds of change.