Tuesday, February 10, 1998
Cool cats
MUSIC Hepcat gives young crowd a taste of ska’s olden days
By Vanessa VanderZanden
Daily Bruin Staff
The roadies unloaded a ton of towels on stage prior to Hepcat’s
performance. Was someone going to take a bath? Well, maybe a sweat
bath.
Hepcat’s show at the El Rey Theater last Friday night proved to
be a more moving experience than viewing "Titanic." At least in the
sense that the inspirational, dance-friendly ska rhythms had the
packed pit of skanking rude boys bopping like nobody’s business.
The sold-out event fulfilled and even surpassed many people’s
expectations.
These days, most ska fans only familiarize themselves with this
form of poppy, third-wave ska found on the radio. However, what
most of these lovers of the alterna-rock sensations don’t know is
that ska had its roots in subcultural Jamaican beats long before
KROQ got a hold of the trend. It was this tradition which Hepcat
hearkened back to last Friday night.
Ironically, a good proportion of the audience had no memory of
the early days of the rock/reggae form. Sixteen-year-old boys with
slicked back hair and suspenders awkwardly held their
saddle-shoed-bobby-socked girls close during the many romantic
interludes, wearing their attire like revelers at a masquerade
ball. With braces wiring their jaws tight, they let their bodies
turn to jelly as one squiggling mass on the wriggling floor.
Yet, by the time Hepcat took over the stage, the majority of
front-pit dwellers seemed to be of a more mature nature. The blend
of old and young made for a unique experience, true to the
versatile style of the band. By midway through the first song, the
concert-goers merged into one squirming conglomeration, like a mess
of soil-deprived worms in a coffee can.
Providing a warm ambience, where being crushed against fellow
fans felt like a privilege rather than reason for a claustrophobic
fit, the hip lead singer navigated the evening. His slick black
suit fit chicly over a comfortable black T-shirt and matched the
relaxed mood of his fellow linen-clad musicians. Blase khakis and
shirts colored the evening mellow, with the lead singer casually
smiling through every smooth dance move and liquid enunciation.
The weathered performers gave off an air of professionalism,
eschewing childish antics for stellar performances. Yet gangly
trumpeter Kincaid Smith’s occasional goofy attempt at skanking
added that essential touch of fun that his fellow brass section
members lacked. With half-open eyes gingerly residing above
effortlessly moving lips, the cool cat lead singer evoked an image
of hipness previously unseen at the El Rey.
As cha-cha beats energetically popped out from under the
harmonizing voices of the two singers and keyboardist, the horns
entertained a brief two-step dance sequence. Still, most tunes came
across like humidity from a thick, summer day; once in a while they
led into the twangy, Bo Diddley-esque guitar solo essential in such
sultry weather. The overhanging chandeliers caught the
ever-changing colored lights and gave off an aura of soft
enchantment, like an ice ball held in the summer.
In one song, the lead singer belted lyrics with a thick Jamaican
accent, providing pockets for the ballsy trumpeter to shine.
Midway through the intricately textured piece, the front man let
out a howling "Aiyiyiyi!" reminiscent of Latin singer Charo, as
trumpeter Smith exchanged his instrument for tropical-fruit shaped
rice shakers.
And then, the tune began to really groove. As in many of their
jam sessions, Hepcat let their rhythm get slippery, without ever
drooping into sloppiness. The tune became a loosely strung together
jazz-style improvisation, with meandering solos draped over the
established notes. It seemed like Hepcat floated in the bubble of
their euphoric groove for days without disturbing a ska-happy
soul.
Eventually Hepcat moved to their last song, and the band members
engaged in a conga-esque dance routine.
But even after they left the stage, the audience needed three
more snappy encore pieces before they were satiated enough to exit
the venue.
And as the cold, rain-cleansed air met their faces at the El
Rey’s marquee out front, fans still felt as though they were on a
Caribbean cruise liner steered by the skillful soul of Hepcat.
The band opening just prior to the main attraction, The
Slackers, offered a slightly more pop sound with a younger group of
musicians.
Appealing to the whims of the female fans, the attractive group
of males flirted and used their solid, brute energy to win the
crowd. They even ended their brassy display by sending the horn
section out into the pit of skanking youths with a rendition of "As
the Saints Come Marching In."