A sense of connection, of communal understanding and purpose, is quickly evident, and I wonder how it feels having someone new step in. “This is the first time I’ve been nervous in . . . ,” Jamieson breaks off. “Honestly,” he goes on, “in my opinion, he saved our band.” The emotionality of the music demands a bond; they’ve known Burke-Moran for years. “It couldn’t just be a hired gun from Craigslist,” Jamieson says. (Although he’s not touring, Joss will still write and record with Caspian.)
Caspian’s recordings are more conceptual than their live shows: it’s an opportunity for the band to focus on subtleties. Although they comprise individual songs, their albums ask to be listened to as one continuous track. But “when you see us live,” Jamieson says, “it’s a rock show. It’s going to be loud and intense, and we’re going to give 100 percent the entire time.”
Indeed. Some bands excel in the studio, others on stage. Caspian fall into the latter category. Jamieson, at 6 foot 7 inches, with a scraggly toss of hair, is a commanding stage presence. He bends at the waist, guitar low, then towers up again, swinging the guitar. In the middle of the Gloucester set, he points toward the back of the room, his gaze sharp. You have to assume he’s pointing at Joss, who’s been standing in back — a hello, a you’re-with-us-too. Vickers, in a Led Zeppelin T, is less wild-eyed than Bonzo, but he rolls big thunder on the drums, head up and blinking, as if there were snow in his face. Friedrich stands back with his bass, less animated, nodding his wool-capped head. And the new guy, Burke-Moran? He looks at times as if he were about to faint, enraptured, ecstatic, mouth wide, fuck-yeah smiling, torso banging up and down. You feel it in your chest. You feel it between your legs.
It’s sexual for them, too. Vickers on playing: “It definitely makes up for not having a girlfriend.” It’s like sex: “You’re either lost in it or you’re analyzing it.”
Jamieson wishes they could play concerts “for boys and girls who are just starting to hang out . . . I’d like to see our band with a girl.”
Vickers: “I just want to see our band.”
Friedrich: “Cal gets to do it tonight.” A fast hush falls around the table.
Seeing someone play in your stead? Vickers: “It’s like seeing your girlfriend get it on with some other dude.”
But Joss watches. At the end of the show, he stands at the back of the room, against the wall, near the door. His fiancée stands next to him. He’s smiling, but in a way that looks like it hurt. The band, sweating, make their way from the stage through the crowd, toward him. It takes a while to get there. A lot of people want to say, “Great show.”
CASPIAN + ON FIRE + CONSTANTS | Paradise Rock Club, 967 Comm Ave, Boston | April 13 | 617.931.2000
