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Fun Fun Fun review: Cap’n Jazz
Tammy Perez
FOR AMERICAN-STATESMAN
Since Cap’n Jazz broke up in 1995, the members have taken a lot of nasty hits from critics for their subsequent bands. If nothing else, it’s telling that many publications have taken little more than a passing interest in the musicians prior to the slew of coverage that accompanied last summer’s reunion of Cap’n Jazz — the spastic, scrappy punk outfit the members formed before many of them even had licenses.
But perhaps none of the members have been attacked as viciously as Tim Kinsella, who’s been repeatedly labeled as pretentious at best and personally attacked for his work with band Joan of Arc. So it was ironic to see hoards of photographers crowding between the audience barrier and the stage before Cap’n Jazz’s Sunday set, and Kinsella almost seemed to recognize it as such. As guitarist Davey von Bohlen strummed out the opening chord of “Basil’s Kite,” Kinsella backed away from the edge of the stage to squat and stretch. Then, as the drums kicked in and Kinsella howled the song’s opening line, he grabbed the mic stand and rested its base on the head of a photographer. Later, the photographers became Kinsella’s crowd-surfing bridge to the audience. They soon left in search of safer ground.
If you’ve heard any of the dozens of records that members of Cap’n Jazz have released in the 15 years since the band’s breakup, you know that this is a bunch of guys with eyes for detail. From emo-pop to folk to angular math rock, their songs are meticulously crafted. So it was probably surprising to fans and newcomers alike that the band sounded so incredibly rough-edged. Drummer Mike Kinsella dropped the beat at least once. Tim Kinsella’s vocals were still out of key and grating, and his tuba solos faltered goofily. Victor Villareal’s lead guitar lines were melodically fluid and complex but still loose. Sam Zurick’s bass was covered in duct tape.
But these shortcomings were refreshing and even necessary. Cap’n Jazz was not a band formed out of sophisticated ambition or elegant musicianship. It was a discordant effort driven by incomprehensible teenage need. That the band was able to sprint through the punk bursts of songs like “Little League,” and Tim Kinsella was able to unabashedly babble his spoken-word lyrics on “Tokyo”—albeit with a copy of the lyrics in hand—showed that these guys really were just trying to give dedicated fans a taste of something they loved but never had a chance to experience. And that they did.
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