A while back, I got the catalog for the events this season taking place at the International House of Philadelphia, and circled one that caught my eye: a live performance by a Japanese rock band called The Captains, the self-styled "Last Group Sounds."

Quick soundbyte:  Group Sounds was a Japanese music movement that was hugely popular in the mid sixties, bands with 7 or 8 members who played upbeat, semi-psychedelic surf-pop.  Its general sound and vibe was like early Beatles, the Monkees, the Ventures … only it was Japanese.  Group Sounds has that x-agent (or let’s call it the J-agent) that makes Japanese re-engineering of foreign imports so special: a certain precision, a vague wackiness, a character that is distinct or elusive depending on how you look at it, all of which makes it so much more than just copying.  The bands had names like The Spiders, The Tempters, The Golden Cups, The Blue Comets, The Funnies, The Mops…

…The Captains.  With the whole heritage of the movement behind them, I couldn’t miss the Last Group Sounds’ first ever show in Philadelphia.  Plus the International House was screening a movie called Go Forward, a sort of Hard Day’s Night for a band called The Spiders, made in 1968.  Movie and a concert for twelve bucks is not a deal to pass up. 

The movie was zany and got everyone in the mood for the concert, but I was worried that there were not enough people at the show.  I dread that brittle embarrassment that happens when the audience is too small or not won-over by the performers.  Then—The Captains took the stage wearing brave crimson military jackets with gold braiding all across the chest and I knew there was nothing to fear. 

The lead singer struck a pose that was somewhere between forest nymph and god of rock, and wailed in an effeminately commanding voice, “Nice to meet you!  Philly!  Do you love me?”  Before anyone could do anything, the band blasted out a blinding riff that seemed to say, and now for the main event, and the singer confessed, “I love you!  Philly!”  The audience started cheering, and the singer demanded again, “Do you love me?!”  This time the whole audience threw their arms in the air and shrieked with pleasure.  The band members leapt into the air simultaneously and started reeling off electric surf lines, and the audience was won.  With their opening salvo, The Captains seemed to enter into an agreement with the 70 or so audience members that everyone was going to dance and have fun at that concert, no stragglers allowed. 

The music wasn’t anything revolutionary, very reminiscent of the tunes we had just heard The Spiders play in the film, maybe a little heavier, a little less candied.  But if there was angst, it was the hot and heavy angst of too much love needing to be let out.  During the whole show, the singer kept reassuring us between songs that he loved us.  When the afro-sporting guitarist was teaching us choreography over bass and drum vamps, the names of his dances were along the lines of Love Ninja and Volcano of Love.  The band’s slogan is shisshin 失神 which means to swoon, presumably from an excess of amorous heat.  Sure, the whole love thing was a joke, but it’s a joke that The Captains believe in.  From their passionate red uniforms to the roses they waved around between songs to their constant professing of love for the audience, for Philly, for rock’n’roll… it soaked into the crowd, and had us grinning big grins, and cheering every time we were prompted to, and doing silly hand movements in unison along with every single song. 

By the end of the show, the lead singer had ventured out into the crowd twice to faint at the feet of an audience member whom he must have loved too much (and he covered both sexes, just to be sure).  The guitarist led us in chants of “Wake up, wake up” until the singer was miraculously revived by our love vibes.  When he exploded back onto his feet, the crowd erupted with joy.

Are you seeing the pattern?  Are you feeling the love?  Somehow, The Captains took a small group of mostly strangers, most of whom had never even heard the band’s music before, and blasted everyone past their personal cool barriers.  There was no huge crowd to get lost in, there was no alcohol on premises to loosen people up.  Just four guys from Japan, the Last Group Sounds, who came to Philadelphia to spread their message.  I’m not sure if what they were selling was real love, but I know that I loved it.