While perhaps not monumental as some in the recent rash of indie-rock royalty reunion tours (Pavement, The Pixies), the return of Cap’n Jazz is certainly interesting for a couple of reasons. First of all, “reunion tour” needs to be taken with a grain of salt considering the vast majority of the emo-punk godfathers’ devoted following never got to see them perform live in their brief early-‘90s run. The Chicago-based group only released one album officially (recorded while still in their teens), and broke up soon after. Their influence would later spread, however, contributing to the framework of pop-punk and emo throughout the 1990s and up to present day. Now, 15 years after disbanding, fans who grew up wearing down their Cap’n Jazz mixtapes are getting a one-time shot to see a show they’d probably already accepted would never happen.

Having not been introduced to Cap’n Jazz until more recent times, one thought kept running through my mind before heading to Bimbo’s: How is this highly energetic, endearingly loose, heart-on-sleeve music written and performed by teenagers possibly going to translate by a bunch now in their mid-30s, nearly 20 years later? But from the opening strum of Davey von Bohlen’s guitar on “Basil’s Kite,” all the way through a cover of a-ha’s “Take On Me” during the encore, there was never a need to worry.

Much of what made the performance as great as it was came from the band’s approach—this wasn’t a meticulously planned, by-the-books type of reunion gig in any of the ways that can often make such matters sketchy. Cap’n Jazz played loud, they played loose, and they played like they were having as much fun as everyone in the crowd. Songs were stretched out with endings often decided on the fly—sometimes successfully, sometimes not—but always with big smiles from each member of the band.

The audience was also everything you could hope for: fist-pumping, crowd-surfing, shoes flying across the room; and during audience favorites like “Little League,” “Puddle Splashers” and “In The Clear,” the shout-along from the heavily bearded and flannel-clad crowd nearly drowned out lead singer Tim Kinsella’s screams.

At one point, Kinsella began telling an anecdote about his new girlfriend, who is “an ex-skinhead.” A woman who had been dancing on stage earlier in the set then proceeded to climb back up, grab hold of the microphone and launch into a rant about how she “had some things to say about skinheads,” only to be loudly booed off stage by the rest of the crowd. It was a surreal and hilarious moment that just added to the off-the-cuff spontaneity of the evening.

So to any other bands thinking of getting back together for one last run, take note of Cap’n Jazz, because this is the way to do it: No frills, no pretention, no bullshit, and no emotional distance from the songs…nice work, gentlemen.

-Landon Moblad



There’s nothing quite like a big fat smack of bubblegum pop to soothe the savage beast during the dog days of summer. And Memphis, the debut record from Magic Kids (in namesake of the group’s hometown), is sweeter than Bubblicious and thicker than a bowl of congealed rice pudding.

In five pieces, Magic Kids mesh an obvious influence of Brian Wilson and the Beach Boys with contemporary pop sensibilities akin to The Clientele and Dent May. Memphis, though, focuses on harnessing the outright pep and happy-go-lucky natures of the above mentioned. There is no gloom, there is no doom—just pure, joyous pop. “Hey Boy,” for example, is as infectious and bouncy a candied groove that you’ll find all year, and singing along with Bennett Foster and the gang seems almost mandatory:

“(Hey boy, where’s your girlfriend?) My steady girl/don’t always say/that she’s in love with me but I can feel it anyway.”

“(Is she tellin’ lies?)/No, no, she wouldn’t do that/(What about those guys?)/No, no, no, no, they’re just her friends and besides I’m bigger than them.”

And there’s not much more you need to know, except, oh yeah, that Magic Kids just hit the road for an extensive U.S. tour in support of the Memphis‘ August 24th release on True Panther Sounds. Peep these dates and go watch:

8/27 Charlotte, NC — Lunchbox
8/28 Cincinnati, OH — Shake It Records
8/29 St. Louis, MO — Vintage Vinyl
8/30 Nashville, TN — Grimey’s
9/01 Lubbock, TX – The Foundation
9/03 Phoenix, AZ – The Trunk Space
9/04 Los Angeles, CA – FYF Fest
9/05 San Francisco, CA – Bottom of the Hill
9/08 Vancouver, BC – The Media Club
9/09 Seattle, WA – The Vera Project
9/10 Portland, OR – Backspace- Music Fest NW
9/11 Garden City, ID – Visual Arts Collective
9/13 Salt Lake City, UT – Kilby Court
9/14 Denver, CO – Hi Dive
9/16 Lawrence, KS – Replay Lounge
9/17 Memphis, TN – Hi Tone Cafe
11/05 Dallas, TX – The Cavern
11/07 Houston, TX – Numbers
11/08 Baton Rouge, LA – Spanish Moon
11/10 Chapel Hill, NC – Local 506
11/12 New York, NY – Mercury Lounge
11/13 Brooklyn, NY – Silent Barn
11/15 Cleveland, OH – Beachland Tavern
11/16 Chicago, IL – Empty Bottle
11/17 St. Louis, MO – Firebird
11/18 Nashville, TN – The End

Fans of psychedelic stoner  heavies Dead Meadow now have more than one reason to get their assholes down to Pioneertown, CA (as in Joshua Tree)  for the 4th Annual Clean Air Clean Stars Festival, September 17th-19th. In addition to Meadow’s Saturday night headlining slot on the main stage out back of Pappy & Harriet’s, frontman Jason Simon will also perform in the solo setting on Friday the 17th,  fresh off the heels of his debut release for Tee Pee.

The self-titled record was recorded with the help of Dead Meadow bassist Steve Kille, sans percussion, and hearkens to group’s more tranquil moments, often embracing the same tripped style of vocal melody. But Simon also takes the opportunity and freedom to branch off in directions that would never fly for the aforementioned power trio, most especially shown in the light-hearted, folky approach of “What You Put Into Your Head,” which owes something to Bob Dylan, whom Simon also covers at track six with a rendition of “As I Went Out One Morning.”

-Jacob Sprecher

Photos by Jacob Sprecher

Check Magic Bullets at Mon Amie Records.

Hey gang—let’s get serious for a second: Sex With An X, the forthcoming  Sub Pop release from the seminal Scottish pop duo The Vaselines, is without question bound for the Top 10 list of every rock ‘n’ roll critic this side of the 2010 nuthouse. Personally? I’ll call it as I hear it right now: Album Of The Year.

Forget for a second that The Vaselines haven’t put out a record since 1989; forget for a second that that release, Dum-Dum, was their only official LP; forget that Kurt Cobain and Nirvana lauded the group’s influence and helped send them into an initial burst of cult status with covers of “Molly’s Lips,” “Son Of A Gun” and “Jesus Don’t Want Me For A Sunbeam“;  forget all of that, because Sex With An X stands out in the crowd without credentials as a wonderful, dynamite blast of playfully irreverent pop perfection.

Kicking in with “Ruined,” fans are instantly greeted with the unofficial announcement that The Vaselines have returned with the full musical monty. Eugene Kelly and Frances McKee have thrown Stevie Jackson (guitar), Bob Kildea (bass) and Michael McGaughrin in the blender to thicken the load, and it works:  The music pops; it’s vibrant and driving; and by the front door chorus of title track “Sex With An X” at the two slot, you’re sold. Hooked. Glued to the stereo. Like a nursery rhyme, sinking into your skull with childlike whimsy, it’s near impossible not to join Kelly in melody and lyric…

“You look so right, you must be wrong for me/You look so right, you must be wrong for me/You look so right, you must be wrong for me/Let’s do it, let’s do it again.”

This trend of singsong, a genius trademark of The Vaselines’ craftsmanship,  continues with “The Devil’s Inside Me,” a light brood with Kelly softly bemoaning the track’s namesake with McKee’s return of “And it won’t let go.”  By track five, the crew sees fit to dose a touch of cultural roots, with “Turning It On” smoothly rolling as a duet and mid-tempo ballad worthy of poops upon a long-forgotten Scottish fleets.

“Overweight But Over You” then delivers as a snare-kick stomp, reveling in lyricism like, “Hey fat mama I’m a fat man/You’re gonna use a knife to take a slice and cut me out of your life,” before Kelly and McKee happily trounce their own generation with “I Hate The ’80s”: “What do you know?/You weren’t there/It wasn’t all Duran-Duran-Duran/You want the truth?/Well this is it/I hate the ’80s ’cause the ’80s were shit.”

Peppered throughout Sex With An X is timely guitar work from Jackson, who deftly maneuvers between simplistically pleasing melody solos and short, stabbing leads, evidenced with precision in “Mouth To Mouth,” among others. And by the time you’ve moved to the album’s closer, “Exit The Vaselines,” past the melancholy of “Whitechapel” and the twangy licks of “My God’s Bigger Than Your God,” it’s hard to believe that 42 minutes have gone by.

Forgetting The Vaselines’ history, Sex With An X is a triumph. Factoring that same history, Sex With An X is a wonder. What the hell band takes 20 years off from the creative process and proceeds to drop a piece of inarguable glory? I’m not really sure. Oh yeah—The Vaselines, that’s who.

-Jacob Sprecher

Wednesday night’s performance at San Francisco’s Bottom Of The Hill solidified what I had already come to believe over the past few months: The Shimmies are a band currently at the absolute top of their game.

Hot on the heels of releasing their excellent sophomore album, To All Beloved Enemies, the Chico, CA indie-rock four-piece have really begun to stretch their legs creatively, and the impact of the live shows has benefited greatly as a result.

As brothers Jimmy, Sean and Stephen Galloway strapped on guitars and drummer Jack Gingerich took his place behind the kit, the room’s attendance was sparse at best. Luckily, by the halfway point of the first song, the patio stragglers flooded in and crowded onto the floor.

“The Mountains Are Steep, The Mountains Are Cold” put on display everything that makes The Shimmies so effective at what they do. It begins with Sean singing a pretty melody in a falsetto akin to that of Jeff Buckley or Thom Yorke in their quieter moments, and is backed by both the beautiful harmonizing of his brothers and reverb-soaked guitars and drums. “Mountains” then floats along for a few minutes before abruptly switching gears and turning into a frenetic, “Paranoid Android”-style freak-out, full of screeching guitar and some fine stick work from Gingerich.

Like many other bands of their ilk, The Shimmies rely heavily on the quiet-to-loud dynamic from verses to choruses. But unlike others, they do both very well. You’re not just simply waiting for the loud, anthemic choruses to hit, but instead enjoying the path they lead you down to get there. Excellent understanding of space and tactful use of (often poorly used) things like reverb and feedback helped The Shimmies repeatedly achieve these mini-buildups of emotional intensity turned wild catharsis.

The 45-minute set concluded with a jammy and inspired cover of Donovan’s “Hurdy Gurdy Man,” complete with three or four minutes of outro soloing that found Sean playing on his back out amongst the crowd; a fun moment and ending to a solid, front-to-back set.

-Landon Moblad