Words by Chad Berndtson

Photos by Andrew Blackstein, Geoff Tischman, and Chad Anderson

There’s a tendency to overanalyze Ween, and that's understandable. With such a diabolically eclectic catalog that can carom and pinball from rock to funk to soul to novelty craziness, it’s the kind of musical smorgasbord that sets critical hearts a-flutter, turns off more than a few unadventurous listeners, and leads to plenty of pretzel-twisting prose trying to get at just what makes it special. But then here’s Ween reminding us not to take things quite so seriously, eh? With song titles like “Put the Coke On My Dick” and “She Fucks Me” and “You Fucked Up” and “Poopship Destroyer”—the first two played at key points of Friday’s opening night blowout at the Cap, and the last two at the end of the run on Sunday—they’re (no joke!) nudging us to loosen up and boogie before we get a touch too scholarly.

And so we should—and so we did. Ween’s kaleidoscopic live repertoire pulls from nine different studio albums, plus covers, EPs, curiosities, teases, joking- and non-joking asides. Setlist construction for a Ween show means you get more-or-less the whole thing sprayed at you, or at least, that’s how it feels in the thrilling rock-n-roll moments of a Ween show. Only after, when scrutinizing the domino-like setlists that span hours, do you see the art and science in how the show was constructed, plenty of work by consummately excellent musicians to deliver a high-energy, relentless experience. The band—Freeman, Mickey “Dean Ween” Melchiondo, Dave Dreiwitz (no stranger to this stage!), Claude Coleman Jr., Glenn McClelland—has been reunited for nearly seven years now and seems to have re-lit the pilot light that keeps its entire gnarly airship in full flight. They know what they can do.

If this three-show run at the Cap would have been a great introduction to the Ween novice, it was also heaven for those who like to go down the rabbit hole with the expanse of the Ween repertoire. “Shamemaker,” “Koko” and “Old Queen Cole,” were among rarities that came in night one, along with “I Don’t Want to Leave You on the Farm,” and “I Wuz Nothin,” which has seen more action in the past few years but fewer than 10 airings in the last two decades. There were snatches of Led Zeppelin and Cat Stevens. There was Aaron “Gene Ween” Freeman on acoustic guitar for good-sized portions of this show, and, as we’d find out by Sunday, each show (check out that “Chocolate Town”!). There were jams and protractions and winking asides and false starts and moments of chaos and moments of delicacy. This is how it would be all weekend.

Night two, Saturday, included devil-may-care romps through Ween classics like “Piss Up a Rope” and “Pandy Fackler,” contrasted with tender moments like “Baby Bitch” (a Gene-and-Dean duo to start the encore). Night three, Sunday, found the band seeming to acknowledge its hardcore fans that had boogied their way through two nights already, leading off with the giddy “Fiesta” and roaring, once more, through the hairpin turns and swiping angles of Ween-dom, serving up still more classics (“Bananas and Blow,” “Roses Are Free,” “What Deaner Was Talking About,” the sludgy “The Grobe”) and still more “whoa” bustouts (the viciously heavy “Suckin’ Blood from the Devil’s Dick,” which like several of the rarieties Ween aired throughout the weekend, goes back a couple of decades.) Be glad they're still doing what they do and that we can embrace it without complication—American rock originals don't come around much anymore.