If the devil were in this band, it would actually make four, not three, but that's why evil is more popular than math. Questionable accounting practices aside, The Devil Makes Three will make its Ventura debut Sunday night at Zoey's.

The Central Valley-based trio compares itself to one of the greatest underappreciated bands of all time: Split Lip Rayfield. The Devil band does that Americana punk rock bluegrass thing, singing songs about women you don't want to know and instances when drinking yourself outside the window of opportunity might be a good thing.

Frontman Pete Bernhard sings and plays guitar, ably assisted by Cooper McBean on the other guitar and Lucia Turino on stand-up bass. Note the "no drummer" scenario. The Devil Makes Three lacks a final fourth member even though the demise of many a band is the "Need a drummer, man" excuse.

Bernhard discussed the latest during a recent phoner from Davis, having free time with no drums to haul around.

What's the attraction of evil? There are so many "devil" bands and "bad" bands, and then there's the outnumbered Good Charlotte.

We weren't really interested in the devil — it's more in the reference to old songs and music. "You and me and the devil makes three" is a traditional line and has been used in tons of different songs, so we lifted it from there and didn't intend to have any sort of evil band name. It just seemed appropriate at the time.

So none of you guys are Trent Reznor re-enactors?

No.

What are the dynamics of having a trio? Obviously, you can't hide anyone when there are only three of you.

You hit the nail right on the head. There's no place to hide. Our music is fairly simple and straightforward — mainly, it's about rhythm and not so much about lead. Occasionally we lead, but we're not a solo-heavy band. It's about everybody playing their part and doing what they're supposed to do. If there's a mistake, it's pretty glaring.

So you didn't want to pay a drummer?

No, we actually had a drummer long before any of us were getting paid, when we first started the band. He was great, but had a kid and got married and also had a full-time job. He was a science major. When we started playing without him, people still liked it and we thought, "Why not?" We actually got some gigs by not having a drummer. People thought it wasn't going to be loud, which was usually wrong, so we got more into country and bluegrass. We decided we didn't really need a drummer, and it's so much easier to travel without drums.

I talk to musicians all the time, and when it comes down to "What happened to your band?" it's usually that they need a bass player or drummer.

I know, that's what I always tell people: If you're going to learn a new instrument, don't learn the guitar. Nobody cares about that. Learn something useful, like the drums or even the bass. No one needs another guitar player, and I am a guitar player.

You guys have the giant stand-up bass?

Yeah, Lucia plays the bass, and she's actually got a smaller one because she's pretty small herself. We've got a big, old van — one that's tall enough where we can actually stand the bass up.

Are you guys the Central Valley's Split Lip Rayfield?

Yeah, kind of. Not many people know about Split Lip Rayfield, but they're awesome. We actually didn't know about them when we started our band. When we heard them, we were so excited and wanted to play with them but never made it happen. The lead singer died — what a bummer.

How did all this get started?

We've been around just coming up on six years. I started the band with Cooper up in Washington, then we moved to Santa Cruz, where Lucia joined. We started playing in the Santa Cruz mountains. Henfling's was one of the first places we ever played, which is why we still go up there to play.

And the band sounds like ?

I think Split Lip Rayfield is a good comparison, although it's one people might not ordinarily know. Do you know who the Pogues were? We like to say we're doing for American music what the Pogues did for Irish music.

And with better teeth.

Yeah, more teeth.

What was your strangest gig?

It's hard to say what the weirdest one was. We played at this brewery in San Jose where they told everyone they weren't allowed to dance because they didn't have a dancing permit. Another time we played outside San Luis Obispo on somebody's front porch under some tarps in the pouring rain. We played at an abandoned hospital in France — another place where there was water on the floor with electrical equipment.

What do you like best about being a musician?

I'd say the best thing is you get to do what you want; it's your job. It doesn't get much better than that. The hardest part, I guess, is getting along and keeping the band together. If you can do that, everything else is gravy. We're trying to expand our fan base and we're willing to go anywhere people want us to play.

— E-mail music writer Bill Locey at blocey@pacbell.net.