Cave Singers Invite Us In, Hit Whale Bong

It seems the homegrown folk-trio comprised of Pete Quirk, Derek Fudesco, and Marty Lund—also known as the Cave Singers—has developed quite a following in the past several months. Headlining their own show before embarking on a two month long Anglo-Saxon-Franco-Scando tour supporting the big ol’ Band of Horses, Neumos was packed to the gills this past Saturday evening (1/26) to properly send them off (I saw one member outside receive a plate of homemade cookies…sike!). The mood and enthusiastic fervor of the audience were quite different from a show they played back in October with Vancouver, B.C. druganauts Black Mountain, and their performance flourished as a result. Back during that autumn concert, which was on a Saturday, the crowd was sparser and less familiar with their fledgling catalogue, but this time around, the spectators appeared to have quite a bit more appreciation and knowledge of the band and their bona fide roots music. The threesome has been cave singing (publicly) for a little over a year now, but their popularity has undoubtedly been inflated by the October release of their brilliant debut, Invitation Songs, which crept itself into the top 5 of my favorite records last year.

The lady and I weren’t in attendance for the first slot, occupied by singer/songwriter J. Tillman; we were, fortunately, able to catch the second act: the local classic-rock quartet (in its current form) that answers to the name Whalebones. They performed admirably for the headliners, channeling a twisty and spacious version of 70s rock ‘n folk that Buffalo Springfield would’ve been proud of. Lead vocalist/guitarist/spokesman Justin Deary, whose voice recalls the great Neil Young, guided the band while brandishing a well-plucked Gibson with a top quality paint job. As good as he was, however, the best musician of the four might have been the band’s brand new bassist: Heather Something-or-Other. Looking a bit like Patti Smith, her bass lines grooved, pounded, and shook the songs into genuine triumph, all the while shifting and bending her torso to the beat like an ol’ tyme, bad-ass rocker. The highlight of the set turned out to be the final three songs, the second to last one in particular (not really familiar with the names). The tunes featured more than a few impressive changes, some extended jams, and a splash of harmony from keyboardist Amy Blaschke (also of Night Canopy fame). The dual male/female vox worked well for this group, and they warmed up the crowd reeeeeeal nice-like.

The Cave Singers arrived on stage to a bevy of friendly cat calls, and proceeded to launch into a passionate set dominated by new songs (at least songs that weren’t included on their lone album—seven by my count), and current No. 1 Hits (“Seeds of Night”, “Dancing on Our Graves”, “Helen”). The new ones played well, and seemed to feature more of Master Lund on the guitar rather than on percussion. Fudesco took his usual seat off to stage left. I thought maybe he felt awkward being the extremely tall one playing with a couple of shorter dudes, but upon further inspection, it’s simply part of the relaxed, basement-style atmosphere these guys like to play to. There’s the kitschy table lamp, randomly placed on a cabinet; there’s the dim, red lighting that’s static throughout; there are friends poppin’ in to help out the band (most notably ex-PGMG vocalist-cum-mercenary-drummer Andrea Zollo, who sung back up and played percussion for a few songs); there’s the friendly vibe between the band and the crowd; and, oh yeah, there’s Quirk indicating that “this feels just like our basement”. So there you go.

Despite the frequent requests for album songs, the band pressed on with new ones, embellishing both with the usual accoutrements: Quirk’s chilling melodica on “Called” and “New Monuments”, two (!) different washboards, harmonica, a dash of electric guitar, and Fudesco’s steady hand. They even returned for a two-song encore, albeit about ten seconds after they had left. The Cave Singers have made their mark so far creating familiar music with an unfamiliar tone, and with apologies to the talents of Lund and Fudesco, Quirk’s mesmerizing nasal croon—combined with his improbably impulsive yelps and “tight bros.” disposition—makes the music. It’s nearly impossible to not be affected by his lyrics, their songs, and hearing them jell into an even better live band was an indisputably fantastic experience.

But don’t take my word for it. Fly to one of those Euro-cities they’re soon playing and check it out. Duh.