Capitol Groove 2025: Hartford’s Full of Soul, Sass, and Saxophones

In the wide array of music festival offerings, Capitol Groove is a rarity: a two day long gathering where community,musical authenticity, and good-natured locals all find a beat together. Thanks to its gently sloping pristine grass laden venue, attendees are encouraged to indulge in either a  relaxed lawn-chair haven or a welcoming dance pit on the flat lands. Capitol Groove 2025 struck an impressive balance between family-friendly and frolic worthy jams.  One of the most telling signs of a good community? If you accidentally left something behind, it would almost certainly be exactly where you left it an hour later.

The festival’s decision to offer full sets with zero overlap for every artist, is sadly a lost art  in an era of FOMO-fueled scheduling nightmares. Instead of sprinting between clashing headliners, you could sink into every set without distraction and fully indulge an artist’s true intentions. 

Day 1: A Rain of Grooves and Grace

The day began with the boombastic brass of Too Many Zooz, a New York trio whose busker origins are alive in their stage presence and crowd banter. Raw and relentless: saxophone-led, percussion-driven, and led by a blue-haired hype man who doubled as the circus ringleader. Word on the lawn was that Ripe, (originally scheduled in the slot that Too Many Zooz so seamlessly filled), had a golf cart mishap and could not make the show.

Later, Steel Pulse took the stage, still as musically in sync as ever, even as they celebrate 50 years together. Their reggae grooves carried anthems of resistance against racism, fascism, and police brutality. It was music as protest, but also as a pain reliever, reminding the crowd that joy is a form of resistance as well..

Then came Thee Sacred Souls, delivering a set that was nothing short of spellbinding. Hailing from San Diego, lead singer Josh Lane’s retro soul crooning had women in the crowd convulsing like it was Beatlemania on Ed Sullivan. Lane, an unexpected heartthrob, glided through silky falsettos while the band’s horn trio added cinematic texture to every track. “How many of you have romantic energy right now?”Lane playfully cooed to the crowd.  You could feel the collective temperature rise as Lane ran through the crowd, up the hill and nearly to the capitol dome. All but cementing  the performance as one of connection and an absolute masterclass in showmanship.

Then came Thundercat, whose improvisational bass shredding broke a few necks with how quickly people snapped their heads around to check out the talent. Grinning from ear to ear, he bounced between virtuosity and absurdity. An artist who is clearly still in love with his instrument has an inherently infectious element to their performance. His set was a great reminder that deeply technical musical talent and absurdist performance can exist harmoniously.

Rounding out the night was Khruangbin, masters of negative space. Their music isn't about hits or hooks, but about creating an atmosphere you can melt into. With echo-drenched guitar riffs and grooves that wandered like lazy smoke, they made every note and every moment between notes count. When they slipped into a cover of “That’s Life,” the crowd swayed in unison under the humid, dreamy haze.

At exactly 10:00 p.m., like clockwork, the first raindrops began to fall—gentle, almost theatrical, as if the sky was applauding the day.

Day 2: Funk, Fire, and Fierce Self-Expression

Fantastic Negrito kicked off Sunday with a jolt of raw emotion and jagged funk. Dubbing himself a “recovering narcissist” and “marketing nightmare,” he brought a James Brown-meets-Blues Brothers aesthetic to the stage, spitting hard truths over tight grooves. His standout track—about father abandonment—cut deep, but it was his cheeky “I don’t do covers, I do mentions” lead-in to “Walk on the Wild Side” that had the crowd howling.

St. Paul and the Broken Bones followed with gut-wrenching soul and theatrical flair. Clad in all black, the band’s three-piece horn section punched through emotional crescendos while the frontman’s sequined coat caught the fading sun. Their set, complete with a wailing sax player who climbed into the VIP area and a guitar solo sampled over Eminem’s “My Name Is” felt both astonishing and oddly revelatory. 

Sammy Rae & Friends brought nothing but joy. Every song felt like the best first date, charged with expressive, loving energy. She led the band like a lightning bolt of charisma, giving equal spotlight to her keytarist, horn players, and backup vocalists. A song about social anxiety turned into a communal moment of catharsis. Even the Led Zeppelin cover felt less like nostalgia and more like a reclamation.

Then came Cake, turning existential dread into entertainment. Their deadpan delivery of “Frank Sinatra,” glittering under a bubble disco ball, was followed by a sharp-tongued reflection on oil consumption and audience apathy. A t-shirt cannon replaced their true pipe dream of a hot dog launcher (“budget cuts,” joked lead singer John McCrea). “Sick of You” came with a disclaimer for the depressed, and the elongated audience banter skirted the line between satire and genuine exhaustion with the current political landscape. 

Later, a tiny side-stage surprise came in the form of Braiden Sunshine, who delivered funky ska breakdowns and third-wave bounce that evoked Faith No More meets RHCP. Unexpected, but undeniably fun.

Finally, Bleachers closed the weekend with an arena rock-ready extravaganza . Jack Antonoff had fangirls screaming, middle-aged dads pumping fists, and toddlers in earmuffs bouncing on shoulders. He opened with a short skit about frequency and connection, then powered through a xylophone-laden set that included two drummers and stage presence that would make Bruce Springsteen jealous . At one point, he declared, “Get on someone’s shoulders,” and much of the crowd obliged. A true star as a producer and a frontman, Antonoff held the entire field in the palm of his hand.

If Capitol Groove had an unofficial motif, it was saxophones. The weekend averaged at least two per set, weaving their sultry sounds through soul, funk, reggae, ska, and jazz-fusion. Whether used as an exclamation point, a seduction tool, or a vehicle for crowd control (in St. Paul’s case), they underscored the weekend’s thesis: music is best when it's expressive, unpredictable, and played with love.

Capitol Groove succeeded because it trusted its artists to show up fully and its audience to meet them there. Here, you could be a parent and a party person, a political thinker and someone who just wanted to dance. It wasn’t trying to be the biggest or flashiest festival. It just wanted to be a good one. And in every way that matters, it was.

Review by: Jay Bartell

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