Smoke and Amplifiers By Brother Ragnarok
Those of you who actually bothered to come to our site early on have probably seen the Caplata site link at the bottom of the page. What, you may ask, is a Caplata? Well, let me tell you. Caplata is a band that Ferox and I were in. It’s dead now, but before I tell you of the demise of this band, allow me to fill you in on the history.
Caplata began one fateful evening when Ferox and I were sitting at his place surfing the Internet. Chuck Wishman, Bryan Enright, and Mike Snook walked in the door just as I was getting ready to leave, and said, “Hey, wanna be in a band?” The answer being a resounding “Hell yes,” Ferox and I jumped in Chuck’s car with them and we drove around the countryside discussing music, movies, and eventually the making of the former. Chuck and Enright had been in a band called Three Days Darkness, of which Ferox and I were supporters, which had recently split. They wanted to start a new project ASAP, and had already asked Snook to add his bass thunder to their guitar work. Then they went in search of new blood, and found Ferox and myself. I was singled out as the sample man due to my extensive knowledge of obscure and wonderful b-movies, and Ferox was originally designated a DJ. He switched to synth guitar later on. After some planning and deciding on a name, we added vocalist Zach Chase and drummer Sam Huber and began writing music.
A few months later, we played our first show, no charge, at a kegger in a barn next to a pigpen. It was more fun than I could have imagined. We played three more shows after that; one at the local Community Kitchen, one at the Elk’s Lodge, and one as part of a now-famous local festival called Moshfest. One band into the Moshfest show, the police shut us down on noise ordinance. But we had bands from all over the Midwest. Some had traveled for nine hours. We couldn’t just send them packing without having played their set. So, we simply packed up all our equipment and the entire PA system and caravaned out to Ferox's farm some fifteen miles away. Rechristened Hungyfest, the show lasted long into the night. Shortly after that, we played what was to be our last show at the aforementioned Elk’s Lodge. The night was fraught with screwups. Straps and strings broke, Ferox's synth unit nearly fell off his guitar, and Sam was (unknown to us at the time) high on a little more than life.
Sam left us halfway through the summer of 2000. He left without telling us. We arrived at his house for practice and his dad told us he had left. He had gone to Florida for a vacation and then was to move in with his brother in Milwaukee. We were upset at the time, but hopefully the change did him good. He moved to escape a growing life of drug use. He didn’t talk about it much, but I suspect the drug use was first instigated to dull the pain of his sister’s death a few years earlier. She died after being bitten by a mosquito that was infected with encephalitis.
All the rest of the summer we frantically searched for a new drummer. After several tryouts, we came across Chris Archer. Chuck knew him from college, and said he was interested. He was an excellent drummer, already in another band called Head Held High. HHH is still around and probably close to signing a record deal. They’ve opened for bands the likes of the Foo Fighters, and have had offers to open for Filter and Everlast. We also added another guitarist, 3DD alumnus Mike Ewing. Deciding it would be easier to write all new music than to try to teach all of our old set to Chris and Mike, we started to create once more.
The direction we started taking before the end was a very promising one, reminiscent of Stabbing Westward or Filter. It was a direction I was happy to be taking. But we now had eight members, and too many cooks spoil the broth so they say. Whoever this mysterious league of “they” are, they were right this time. Disappointment and bickering finally resulted in the death of the mighty witch doctor, which had at one point looked like the salvation of the dwindling local music scene.
Now, being in a band, even a small-time local band with aspirations of greatness, is a larger undertaking that one might expect. Gas money driving to shows and practice as well as upkeep and upgrading gear keeps everyone’s checkbooks a little tighter. But the payoff is more than worth it. The feeling of seeing people smiling and dancing and moshing to your music is the greatest rush anyone could ever feel, and unless you’ve experienced it yourself it defies explanation.
Maybe someone had a bad day at work and your music helped them unwind. Maybe someone was having a bad life and was contemplating killing themselves but a friend called on them and took them to a show and your songs made them feel a little better. Or maybe someone is there, a friend or a lover, just because they care about and enjoy what you’ve accomplished with your music and came to support you because they’re proud of you.
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Regardless of motivation, the crowds, the fans are there and loving it. Loving something you created to give to them to make them happy. It’s a deep, wonderful experience and one I hope to share a lot more before it’s time for me to hang up the instrument cables and pass that soul-touching power to someone else. I also hope that somewhere down the line, years from now, I’ll be sitting around a table with all the great friends I’ve made on this venture sharing a drink, and someone will speak up and say “Hey, remember the time we threw those stuffed pigs into the crowd at Hungyfest and they shredded ‘em and lit ‘em on fire?” and we’ll all laugh and smile and raise a toast to a very special time in all our lives.
read some more complaints? We didn't type them for nothing!