Kevin Kuh
The Jersey-bred musician and multi-hyphenate, whose signature soundscapes string together layers of cascading ambiences, reflects on his journey to finding his voice as an artist.
Kevin was just four years old when his father placed a violin in his hands. “I don’t know if it was a choice,” he jokes. “The violin was just something that was always there.” Originally from his hometown borough of Flemington, NJ, the versatile musician is now a core member of the sample-based electronic trio Pool Cosby, and has contributed to countless records throughout his growing career.
Some of Kevin’s sonic signatures are self-described as perpetual waves from his violin, reverberations that often tap into a balance between sustained chords and tightened voicings. Layers of his sound are typically achieved through his trusted loop pedal. “I think about it in a string quartet mindset,” he notes of his instrumental style.
I meet with Kevin in October, in the neighborhoods along the periphery of Central Park. On the balcony of his walk-up apartment, lush houseplants surround the makeshift stage he’s put together for the afternoon. They circle around him like a quiet audience awaiting an intimate performance.
With new music in the works, Kevin looks back on learning classical performance as a child, his lifestyle as a musician in the city, and the creativity across his solo projects and his band Pool Cosby.
Most kids start learning to read and write at the age of four, but you were already learning one of the most difficult instruments there is. What’s the story behind your first violin?
My dad grew up in China during the Cultural Revolution, and he had been passionately in love with classical music all his life. I got the violin from him. There are pictures of me as a baby with my dad playing to me. Even my great uncle on my mom’s side studied violin. But because of political things in China, they weren’t allowed to continue.
I remember my dad putting the instrument in my hands and saying, “Hey, do you want to study violin?” We had a family friend who was a violin maker, and he was my very first teacher. He gave me this tiny little baby violin.
Did you enjoy the instrument during those years, or was learning violin more of a chore? I mean, you were four.
I don’t know. The violin was just something that was always there. If I wasn’t practicing, my dad was. It was always around me. Our family friend who made violins was my dad’s teacher in China. His sister was a concert pianist, and her husband, Si-Hon Ma, ended up being my first professional teacher—so my sister ended up studying piano, and I ended up studying violin. They were older, but very passionate about teaching. We’d have two-to-three-hour lessons, and my parents would stay and cook dinner.
This weekend, I was in Nyack, New York just to visit, and we were so close to where Mr. Ma used to live. By memory, I navigated our way there—and I hadn't been there in maybe 15 years—and it was very emotional. It was a place I’d spent so many hours and weekends at. When I was younger and taking those lessons, my mom was like, “Do you want to do this?” And I think I enthusiastically said yes at the time, not really knowing what I was about to get myself into for the next...few decades.
How was it like learning classical performance as a kid?
It was hard and challenging. Practicing was a big thing. Coming home from school and having to really be forced to practice a lot of my life. Because you don't want to go home and practice when your friends are outside playing. And I played sports, too. It was the commitment of going every weekend. It would be like: soccer game, baseball game, change in the car, go to New York and have a three-hour lesson, then come home late at night.
I really didn't have people around me who were studying music or classical performance at a serious level, so in my community where I live, it was hard to make connections and find peers who were just as interested in violin.
Eventually, when I got older I joined the New Jersey Youth Symphony, which was really nice because it was finally a place where I had other kids my age who were a part of this thing. But my parents were really hard on me. I think my dad had this dream where he really wanted me to become a violinist.
And how much of becoming a violinist wasn’t just your dad’s dream, but something you saw for yourself?
As I've gotten older, the lines have blurred a little bit. It's hard to tell where your parents’ ambitions stop and where yours kind of begin. I remember when I really started gigging out of college and getting these big shows and working with bigger artists. My dad was overwhelmed with joy. He was just so proud because I think it was something he had wished to have a taste of for so long, and to have his son doing that was meaningful for him.
It’s funny, I think my dad was harder on me than even my teacher was. The perfectionism. He would sit in all of my lessons. At home, I have all these notebooks over the years of him taking notes in the corner while the lessons were going on. It’s very interesting to reflect on those lessons, even as I've become a teacher myself.
Speaking of home, what was it like growing up in Flemington for you?
I loved Flemington growing up. It was a little farmy back then—farmier than it is now—but I look back on it very fondly. I think it was hard for me to fit in. As a kid, you don't really think about these things, but as I got older it was harder for me because there weren't a lot of Chinese families. Not a lot of Black families. But I think that also shaped me a little bit. There was this rush of having to have pride in my heritage while also trying to find friends.
Coming from a household of classical music, how did you finally begin exploring new genres with your instrument?
It had a lot to do with the kids I was meeting in high school. Growing up in Flemington, I built a small reputation of being Kevin the Violinist. Like, this is the kid who plays violin really well.
But I was meeting people who were passionate about music—our high school was a convergence of several towns around us—so I met all these different people. I was like, “Wow, let’s play violin on this thing or that thing.” I started playing musical theater productions, then of course talent shows at the end of the year.
“It’s hard to tell where your parents’ ambitions stop and where yours kind of begin. I remember when I really started gigging out of college and getting these big shows and working with bigger artists. My dad was overwhelmed with joy.”
Oh, I miss talent shows.
I miss those, too! Because it’s you and the homies putting some crazy thing together. I started making pop covers first. I made “Apologize” by One Republic for YouTube. It was in our high school stairwell. It was horrible [laughs].
I was getting exposed to other bands that had the violin, like Yellowcard. I thought, “Oh, I didn't know you could do that.” At that time, electric violins were in a resurgence. I’d never seen something like that before. One of my best friends—his name’s Luke DeMuro—picked up guitar, and we started writing songs together. Improvisation was a big thing for me. Just trying things out. I just had to dive in and do it, and that really changed a lot of things for me.
I was able to get into more projects and listen to a lot of different music. I remember a lot of Jack’s Mannequin, Streetlight Manifesto, Owl City, John Mayer. For my 16th birthday, I got a Bon Iver CD from my friend, and I was listening to it all the time in my car. I enjoy sad music like Sigur Rós. Sad ambient stuff. It influences a lot of the music I make now.
And the violin seems perfect for that sort of vibe.
Improvising was freedom. This release that I found. Because music school and conservatory and even my folks had been so strict about how to play my instrument, so having this new outlet to improvise was so freeing. And that really kept me going. There’s something about breaking through that membrane of all these “rules” and “technicalities.”
In a city that never rests, hardly ever does the gigging musician either. How did you find yourself weaving around the lifestyle of a session violinist?
I remember taking on little things in college. It was all for free. You’ll have people telling you to network, so I just kept saying yes. It was hard to break that mentality. Eventually, I had to be more selective, and I honestly think that’s only come in the last year or two—being more comfortable saying yes to certain things and no to others.
But the lifestyle is busy. I feel like I’m always running around somewhere. It's also really hard to support yourself just on freelance income. I’m always working, always trying to gig. A crazy day would be like bringing all your gear in the morning to work, then do your day job, then leave a bit earlier, then go to Brooklyn to do a session, then lug everything home. It’s lots of travel time.
“Improvising was freedom. This release that I found. Because music school and conservatory and even my folks had been so strict about how to play my instrument, so having this new outlet to improvise was so freeing.”
What’s it like for you working with other musicians on projects?
As a session musician, you're dependable. You’re likable. I never had anyone ask about my degree in college to get a gig. It has nothing to do with that. Are you cool, solid in your instrument, and dependable? I think those are really the qualities people care about. And the more you do, the more people would recommend you to other projects.
It wasn’t until I started working with Pool Cosby that being collaborative became something I was aware of. Before, I always felt like a hired gun, you know? You're doing a thing for pay—or no pay—and you leave. It’s more separated. With Pool, though, it was like this baby we were taking care of. We were trying to connect with artists that we respected and loved. I was much more committed to the collaborative process. It’s like giving a piece of yourself more so than giving a performance of a piece that somebody else wrote.
These last two or three years, I've been trying to leverage the network we’ve built with Pool. Kyle McEvoy and Sonder House have been amazing points of contact. He’d introduced us to so many people, and I’ve been able to collaborate with a lot more artists now.
The violin is arguably a standout instrument. How did you find yourself fitting in among the guitarists, bassists, and singers of the community?
Because I’d done so many covers and played with friends in high school, I felt a lot more comfortable. I had an early start with improvising—you know, whereas with orchestras and classical performances, you have to sit up straight. I always gravitated towards pop music and more relaxed environments where it wasn't so uptight, wasn't bound by rules.
In a way, it's interesting that I'm still doing music. In college, I thought I really wanted to major in music business. I think I was pressured by my parents. They really wanted me to play music all my life, but when the time came for me to be a doctor or lawyer or whatever, I was like, “Nah, I’m actually going to continue playing music.” My friends said I was the Asian horror story [laughs].
The community is pretty tight-knit here in New York, and everyone is really good. Really good. There's always that feeling of inadequacy or imposter syndrome. But for me, I really wanted to try and carve my own little nook over these last few years, whether that's with Pool or how I’m using the violin with electronics. It’s given me a lot more fulfillment, especially during this pandemic where you have to be more self-reliant. Looking more inwards, asking myself what tools I already have available. Finding my own voice has been a journey, but it’s fulfilling.
Did you originally want to make your own music, or was that ambition something that sparked from your work in Pool Cosby?
A little bit of both. My friend Luke and I wrote a whole EP in high school, and that whole process of writing and recording was like, “Wow, this is so cool.” But this was pre-Spotify. Nothing ever came of it, so it wasn’t until Pool happened. I owe so much to Joe and Nacor. They taught me so many things, like how to work in a studio and how to record.
What’s the story behind your role in Pool Cosby?
It was originally between Joe and this other producer Dru-Tang, the two of them just cooking beats. Joe was working at Engine Room Audio. Back then, clients would leave and everyone would just hang out, so you'd have time to record and use all the equipment. It was amazing, and it was for free. When I was a freshman at NYU, there was a cellist named Kristine Kruta who helped write string parts to the beats they were making. That was the first self-titled album.
Right in quick succession, the second was forming, and I was asked to come in for a session. I went in, had a great time, and as we were wrapping up, we thought it’d be cool to see if we could play it live. Like, “Do you think people would come to a show? Fuck it, let’s do it.”
So later that summer, we had our first show in Spike Hill. This was in 2013. It was one of the most memorable things I’ve ever done. There was something about doing a show like that in New York. I was still young, and it was such a dream. I remember going [to Spike Hill] as a freshman seeing other people performing, thinking about what it would be like to be on the stage one day, to have your own show and have people clap for you. To actually have that experience was really awesome.
From then, we kept going. Kept playing shows. Producing more music. Eventually, the group tightened up, and it was just me, Joe, and Nacor.
With your solo work, how did you approach creating your own sound coming from something like Pool Cosby? Are there elements you pull from in your own music that you can’t otherwise access in Pool?
Definitely. Pool is very hip-hop rooted, sample-based, electronic. I think the music I’m making now in my solo projects pull from Pool elements, but I'm trying to be more reliant on the violin. I want to reconceptualize how it’s being used in my music. Lots of loops that get sped up or slowed down. These sonic soundscapes. It’s more ambient, more chill. Emotional music has always tugged at my heartstrings. A lot of my solo music has come out of trying things and hearing sounds that pull me in different directions.
You’re known really well for your improvisation on the violin. What do you feel is unique in the way you play?
I don’t know, really. At least in my improv, it's pretty bluesy. I feel like John Mayer was a huge influence in the way I phrase things or come up with lines. I really like playing my loop pedal, so these tensions between long chords building in these loops is kind of a signature that I’m doing.
I think about it in a string quartet mindset, and the voicings that I use are pretty tight, so sometimes there are rubbings and tensions, but it’s this perpetual wave that keeps going on and on. At least that’s how I like to think about it.
How do you like to practice?
I fall back to a lot of my classical training stuff. I pull out technique books. I still think those things are the foundation that makes you sharp. They give me the technicalities that allow me to do these other things. In terms of practicing songwriting, it’s picking different things, creating loops, and trying to come up with lines. There’s this app a friend showed me called iReal Pro. It’s got all these jazz standards, and it’ll play a progression. I try to play over that a lot.
“Emotional music has always tugged at my heartstrings. A lot of my solo music has come out of trying things and hearing sounds that pull me in different directions.”
Among all the shows, collaborations, and features you have in your repertoire, what are some of the ones that you hold dearest?
My favorite moments are the ones that came full circle, like playing with Streetlight Manifesto. I was such a fan of them as a kid. I remember driving far to go to their show—the first show I crowd surfed at. Having the opportunity to actually work with them in a professional setting was incredible. I remember I was on stage and had my phone with me. A friend of mine in the audience texted me like, “Yo, is that you on stage?” And I was like, “Yeah, bro, are you here?” And they were in the audience with a bunch of our friends. It’s so crazy. It was an amazing and very fulfilling and rewarding experience. Makes you really appreciate all the hard work, all the times that you doubted yourself.
Another one a few years ago was playing with Jacky Cheung. He was a big Chinese pop star in the 80s and 90s. I guess he’d tried to come to the states to perform for a long time, and finally they gave him a free night run at Mohegan Sun Arena. We got contracted to fill in, and as this is all unfolding, I’m realizing who this guy is and I tell my parents. My parents are huge fans, so they’re freaking out. Literally the day before the show, my dad texts me an old picture of his cousin with Jacky Cheung in some bar in Shanghai in the 80s. So that was not only an amazing show to be a part of, but having it mean a lot to my parents and having them see me on stage with this guy was, again, full circle.
With venues and shows taking some of the biggest hits during the pandemic this year, what’s it been like for you as a working musician despite all of that?
I know it’s been really hard for a lot of people. I really do miss performing and the community and being with everybody, but in a lot of ways, it’s given me the time to do a lot of things that I didn’t really have a lot of time for. Whether it’s adjusting priorities or reflecting more about music I’m trying to make myself, I can really spend the time trying to produce and pick things apart. I’ve never had that kind of availability before.
So you’ve been working on projects that you likely wouldn’t have even started?
One hundred percent. This entire record that I’m working on right now. It would've taken a lot longer to put together. A lot of times I’m my worst enemy. Doubting myself. Putting myself down. But I've made things where I’ve looked back, thinking that I genuinely believe it's something that's beautiful. I think becoming a little bit more self-reliant has done me a lot of good.
When you're just a session musician, you’re dependent on a lot of people. But this year has also made me reconsider what it is that I want to do with my craft. Do I want to continue as full-time as I was, or do I want to divert more time into solo projects and collaborations? I’ve been introduced to a lot of people all over the world through this pandemic. I wouldn't have thought that was possible.
Any of those upcoming projects you’d want to tease about?
Pool has a few things cooking. We have an EP coming together. I’m working on what's turning into a full-length album. It’s really been a reflection of the sounds and experiences over the last few years. The people I’ve met have influenced the textures a lot. I don't know what the release plan is yet. It’s either going to be full-length or two EPs—one very ambient and chill, and another just straight beats.
“I’m working on what’s turning into a full-length album. It’s really been a reflection of the sounds and experiences over the last few years. The people I’ve met have influenced the textures a lot.”
I wanted to touch on your other creative outlets. You’re also a photographer, and more recently you’ve gotten into painting. How do these things nourish you differently than your music?
I’ve always been someone who likes to learn and try different things. I think painting came from being curious, being inspired by other art and asking myself, “What can I do?” It started as a little thing for fun. As the scale got bigger, I was starting to feel like the work was more impactful, and it motivated me to continue. Better materials. Painting more often. I started sharing them, and they’re getting pretty good responses, so it's been rewarding.
Photography is something I’ve loved since I was pretty young. I remember trying to take the camera from my dad during family trips. We traveled a lot. It really inspired the photography. Before she’d passed, my great aunt bought me a Nikon camera—my first camera—and I went on a shooting spree. Taking hella pictures in China. Travel photography is something I really love still. Being in different environments. So I’m really sad this year because I haven't gone anywhere. I’ve been taking more portraits, some of my clients being orchestras. Photography is just another outlet—another way to voice my perspective.
And you’re not just dependent on your violin whenever you need to feel creative.
Yeah, and that’s a good point. Because like I mentioned earlier, it was always hard to separate myself from being “the violinist.” It’s that expectation—whether it’s from my parents or my community. I’ve struggled with that, and so [painting and photography] was me stretching out a little bit like, “Hey, I can do these other things, too.” It's about finding my identity. I want to be malleable and do a lot of things.
With your parents growing up during the Cultural Revolution, they might not have had the same opportunities that you have, but one of their biggest imprints in this world is you. As an artist, what musical imprints are you hoping to make for the next generation?
That’s a heavy hitter. Some of the music I’ve heard over the years that have left an impact on me have left such a big impact on me. My biggest hope is that I can make music that does that for somebody.
It’s interesting to think about your legacy in today’s age. It was so hard to find information a few generations back—even for my parents—but now all this content, this music, it's out there on the internet. I hope my kids or grandchildren will be able to look back and be proud. Be proud of their father or grandfather doing something that was meaningful. Meaningful to him, but also to younger generations.
I don't know. I’m still finding my voice. I’m still looking. When I think about songs I listen to when I’ve had hard times in my life, those songs are tied so much to those events and memories. So I just hope my music makes someone cry somewhere. Just a nice cry.