On an unassuming Wednesday night, the Cat’s Cradle fills with locals who look like Portlandia extras to experience two energetic acts: Virginia’s Rubblebucket and Texas’ CAPYAC. These millennial performers are more than just their goofy gimmicks; they produce bona fide fun.
At its roots, CAPYAC is simply Delwin Campbell, Eric Peana, and Obie Puckett, but they don’t fear a good collaboration. CAPYAC is fun and energetic to a dangerous degree, tasked with keeping Austin weird and spreading the party worldwide.
The house music cuts and patrons push toward the stage as CAPYAC appears half-dressed and introduces themselves as their alias band Star Sword before jumping into a ten-second track titled “I Love You So Much I Died.” As quickly as it starts, the bit ends, and the real band emerges (fully clothed).
CAPYAC plays a set of house-y funk supported by booming bass with occasional acid house embellishments. Campell plays a stack of synthesizers and controls the drum machine while Peana plays guitar, and they both accompany Puckett in singing and dancing. Tracks are broken up with skits, such as an alluring briefcase opened by audience members containing a legal contract and singing chew toys, backed by ornamental soundscapes and throughlines leading into the next song. Despite the humorous tone, their songs quickly start grooving into eccentric and danceable funk tracks, building into face-scrunching jazz fusion solos.
Rubblebucket was formed shortly after Annakalmia Taylor and Alex Toth met while studying jazz at the University of Vermont, so it is no surprise that the pop duo bleeds quirky, danceable arrangements and motifs throughout their discography. They both front the band by trading vocals and horn accents, with Toth on the trumpet and Taylor on the baritone saxophone.
Taylor and Toth exude confidence on stage: their colorful outfits flow with their dance moves, blaring trumpet compliments booming bari, and their chemistry is undoubted. Taylor is creative through and through; not only is she a wonderful musician, but she also designs and creates posters, album art, and their stage set. Behind the band stands a ceiling-tall cloth column of a pastoral face with suns for its eyes, a flower for a nose, and lips of a stream cascading into a waterfall. Rubblebucket emerges from the monolith’s mouth, sings from its crown, and plays through its eyes.
Halfway through the show, Toth knocks over his trumpet and breaks the valve. He asks the audience if anyone has a spare horn nearby and says that his playing will be hindered for the remainder of the set. Taylor cuts the ice with a joke:
“What’s the difference between a trombonist and a pizza? A pizza can feed a family of four.”
Unsuccessful in their instrument acquisition, they jump into “Lemonade” and Toth finishes with a lung-full, all-out brassy scream of a trumpet solo.
“I know it seems like my trumpet isn’t actually broken…,” he chuckles, “but seriously if anyone could bring me one that would be great.”
Toth bends notes in tune until a couple tracks later when a savior brings him a coronet. His spirit reignites, although he likely could have coasted for the rest of the show with his limited range. The crowd rises with him, and the band finishes their set with their energetic hits. For “Came Out of a Lady,” Taylor and Toth invite anyone with a banana costume to dance on stage with them. Conveniently, their lights operator started a side gig of renting banana suits for $20.
Their encore starts with a fast-paced groove from guitarist Stephen Becker and drummer Rebecca Lasaponaro while a member of their crew—in, you guessed it, a banana costume—wreaks havoc on stage and installs a banana-shaped disco ball from Taylor’s tower. The band plays two more tracks, including the fan favorite “Carousel” before leaping off stage and starting a conga line. Toth leads with his borrowed coronet, followed by Taylor with her baritone, Becker with a tambourine, and Lasponaro as the caboose with her floor tom under her arm, banging it like a disobedient child. Toth jumps on a stool in the center of the floor, teasing the audience with many cadenzas until the act finally ceases, and the band gathers at the merch table to give signatures.
Rubblebucket doesn’t quit. Their self-titled debut came out in 2009, and they have been forcing their love of music on their audiences ever since. As their songs build and their set never quite feels finished, you glimpse into the life of a jazz student who never wants to put their instrument down, and you’re content with being along for the ride.
