September / october 2006:

Religious rocker
A Jew, a Christian, a Muslim, and a Sikh walk into a studio. Sounds like the beginning of a bad joke? It’s more like the beginning of a musical revolution.

by Chanie Cohen



It’s a hazy summer afternoon and Jason Caplan, a nice Jewish boy from Richmond, Virginia, is singing Gurbani. That’s right, Gurbani, the sacred songs of the Sikhs. As he sits in the middle of a mostly bare three-room rented space on the second floor of an non-descript office building in Teaneck, New Jersey, Caplan chants the melody like a pro. Like a trusty sidekick, next to him stands his electric guitar which is, after his laptop, the most expensive thing in here. The folding chair he’s sitting on is covered with velour that looks like it’s from 1976, and sounds like it too. It creaks beneath him as he leans forward to translate for the stunned journalist sitting opposite. “It means that there is one God and that we should believe in Him.”

No, Caplan has no plans to convert to the Sikh religion, but he has learned all about the faith from Gurnam Singh, whom he met at jury duty and who is the resident Sikh (and tabla player) in his band, Naqshon’s Leap — a band of multi-faith members with two things in common — a love of jazz and a belief in one God. So while many Jewish 29-year olds are concerning themselves with setting their TiVos and purchasing the latest Blackberry, Caplan has set his sights on a loftier goal.

“There are a lot of groups that come together based on their secular approach to life,” explains Caplan. He speaks with the earnestness of a politician and the equanimity of a yogi as he continues. “They say, once we drop religion, then we can work together. The approach with my friends and I is that because we’re religious, because we believe in one God, that’s what brings us together.”

I note the half-painted walls around us, and the thought crosses my mind that Caplan’s humble surroundings are no match for his exalted purpose. “The point is to transcend the religious divide through music,” he says. His speech quickens as he grows more impassioned. “I don’t have much to say to a Muslim, but through music we can exchange a lot of ideas, communicate outside of our traditions, but still reinforce each other’s beliefs.”

Why the name? “Naqshon was the first to jump into the Sea of Reeds. He was the first to take a leap, to take a chance,” he explains. “That what’s we’re doing. Taking a chance with this whole ‘God unites us’ thing.”

It was this monotheistic thread that brought the group together. Well that, and mass transit.

Most people rush by the musicians they see in a crowded New York subway station. Caplan gives them his card and asks them to call. “I just was so taken by his music,” he recalls of meeting William Ruize on the “A” train platform. It was a short time later that he approached Alvin Hall, a bassist, on a New Jersey bus, and Shawn Hill, a drummer, on — you guessed it — another subway. Naqshon’s Leap had now taken off.

Caplan’s musical start was early. “I formed a band in ninth grade, called ‘Hobbit and Bridge’ — you may have heard of us,” Caplan deadpans. After attending Emory University in Atlanta, Caplan moved to New York to expand his musical horizons.

Like a true music fanatic, Caplan blew most of his money hosting a concert which featured a very famous, but very expensive jazz musician. “I didn’t have any business sense back then — and by back then, I mean 2004,” Caplan jokes.

But he’s got his wits about him now. Dressed in a casual brown polo shirt, slacks, and flip-flops, Caplan shows me around his new digs. Just two short years after said business blunder, Caplan is sitting in Intunation LLC, his very own music studio, which also doubles as a forum for his trans-religious message.

Caplan didn’t let those half-painted walls stop him from holding his first annual Universal Language Day concert here in June, in which he celebrated jazz as a language that transcends ethnic diversity. “To me, jazz is the only type of music that you can hear a person speaking as he plays,” explains Caplan. “Just like you might be able to hear a person’s voice on the phone and know who it is, I can hear someone’s personality through their music and know who it is.”

Caplan’s clear blue eyes grow serious as he articulates his goals for the future. He’d eventually like to hold all sorts of classes at Intunation — music, dance, even philosophy. And film a video documentary about the band. And open up a few more Intunation Music Studios. And publish the three books he’s been working on. Oh yeah, and eventually he’d like to play in all the major religious centers of the world, places like the Taj Mahal and the Western Wall.

For now Caplan will have to settle for more grounded goals, like filming a televised performance for Shalom TV that will air this fall. But with the message that he’s spreading, coupled with his energetic and focused motivation, he’s not too far off from where he wants to be.

My tape recorder clicks off and Caplan senses the need to drive it all home. “Not everyone can go to a mosque, or a shul, or a gurudwara (a Sikh temple),” he says as he gestures with his hands to the bare walls around him. “But everyone can come here.”


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