The Cave Singers at The Earl (Atlanta - 6/5/12)

Seattle-based folk-rockers The Cave Singers are a band born from the ashes of others.  Founded in 2007 by former Pretty Girls Make Graves bassist-turned-guitarist Derek Fudesco, vocalist Pete Quirk of Hint Hint, and drummer Marty Lund of Cobra High, The Cave Singers have cobbled together a distinctive sound that is very much their own.

It is a sound both balmy and bleak, delightfully twangy and occasionally raucous yet quietly melancholy at the same time, all blended together with a shrewd maturity that could easily confound them for an act far older than five years. It’s the kind of music that’s perfect for a melancholy Sunday—just lively enough to brighten your mood, just weary enough to appeal to your hangover.

Recording their first album, Invitation Songs, mere months after the breakup of Pretty Girls Make Graves, The Cave Singers have been on a steady track ever since, following up with two more excellent records—2008’s warm and breezy Welcome Joy and 2011’s rather darker No Witch—both of which have become personal favorites of mine. The band has passed through Atlanta several times since then, most notably as openers for  fellow Seattlites Fleet Foxes, but somehow I kept missing them. In fact, it was not until this past Tuesday evening at The Earl in East Atlanta that I was finally able to experience The Cave Singers live.

The show began with two very different but not particularly memorable opening acts: the mellow country blues of Shane Tutmarc and the spastic garage punk of Dan Sartain.  Finally, after a bit of hemming and hawing, The Cave Singers took the stage.

The night’s lineup included the three founding members plus Fleet Foxes bassist and flutist Morgan Henderson, who rounded out the quartet quite nicely with his rich, multi-instrumental sounds. However, it was vocalist Pete Quirk, looking like the long-lost towheaded cousin of the Luigi Brothers with his small stature and baseball cap, who really set the tone for the night.   Quirk’s lovably awkward between-song banter and spasmodic little dances endeared him to the audience and provided an interesting contrast with the rawness of his vocals, along with a whole slew of instruments he’d pick up, play, and throw aside—guitar (electric and acoustic), tambourine, harmonica, melodica, maracas.

Drummer Marty Lund provided the steady heartbeat behind Quirk’s warm warbling while guitarist Derek Fudesco was nothing but a mask of shaggy brown hair and sound, completely immersed in his music with no audience interaction whatsoever. The music, however, was great, from the clambering stomp and swagger of “Black Leaf” to the wistful amble and creak of “Swim Club” to a sun-dappled rendition of “Beach House” that made you want to pick it up and wrap it around you like a warm blanket. 

Ultimately, the performance was an apt re-creation of their recorded work, but didn’t really bring anything new to the table, aside from a few unfamiliar songs that hopefully indicate a new album in the works.  The Cave Singers turned out not to be a band that really jams out live, which was a bit frustrating as they seemed like they could be capable of doing so.  As such, while they played a fair number of songs, the entire performance, encore included, lasted only a little over an hour.  Perhaps they forgot that this time they were, in fact, the headliners we all came to see.

The Soulphonics & Ruby Velle at The Earl (Atlanta - 2/10/12)

I love a good dose of sweet and funky soul, especially with a big brassy-voiced female vocalist taking the spotlight.  Which is why it feels like blasphemy that this past weekend was my first ever experience seeing one of the best soul/funk revivals Atlanta has to offer: The Soulphonics & Ruby Velle.

Yes, they took up residence at Starbar, which is walking distance from my house, for a full six months of Wednesdays in 2009, but in all fairness, I didn’t live in that house until 2010 and well... Okay, you get the point.  I was stupid. But not anymore!  Now that I’ve gotten a taste, I know exactly what I’ve been missing, and I will take every opportunity to make up for it.

It was a very chilly Friday evening in Atlanta—the kind that makes all the lily-livered Northern transplants (i.e. me) whine about how we thought Georgia was supposed to be warm, goddammit.  But upon entering toasty East Atlanta mainstay, The Earl, I immediately ditched my coat and settled in for what was surely going to be a wonderful evening of music.  And so it was. 

Ruby Velle, a healthier-looking, Florida-born Amy Winehouse doppelganger with a strong and sultry voice to match, commanded an enormous stage presence that far exceeded her tiny stature.  She was backed by a lively and talented six-piece band, dressed in suits and featuring a rollicking three-man horn section (note: if you want to guarantee a good review from me, just add a horn section). 

The Soulphonics know what they’re doing, and thus are happy to let Ruby soak up the spotlight while they groove out in a semi-circle around her.  They find a happy equilibrium between vocals and instrumentals, never letting their music fade into the background but never overpowering Ruby’s vocals either, despite the volume that a six-piece band with three horns is capable of.  The charming sense of communion between Ruby and the Soulphonics was palpable, and really cast a cozy glow over the whole show, amplified by that special sense of pride you get from seeing a great local band in your own beloved town.

Cool, calm, and totally compelling, The Soulphonics & Ruby Velle strutted their way through an assortment of classic covers and classic-sounding originals, never straying from the boisterous blend of funk and soul that they do best.  From a smooth as butter rendition of Dusty Springfield’s “Son of a Preacher Man” to rousing covers of James Brown’s “Think” and Arthur Conley’s “Sweet Soul Music,” these modern day masters paid tribute to the greats, with a fun-loving reverence that said greats certainly would’ve appreciated.  

The band’s own original catalogue, while small, is stacked with back-to-back gems, from the freewheeling “Feet on the Ground” to the steamy swagger of “The Man Says”, to the mellow glamour of the Soulphonics most recent single, 2011’s “My Dear.”  These original tracks blended nicely with the classic covers, adding to the evening’s overall sense of fluidity. 

Pre-encore closer “Heartlite,” was the runaway highlight of the whole performance, with its exuberantly bouncy melody, catchy hooks, and vivacious vocals waking us from the inevitable lull that such a cohesive bunch of melodies can evoke.

Ultimately, this was the kind of show that just makes everybody feel good, whether they’re dancing, listening, chatting, or all three.  A perfect way to spend a Friday night in Atlanta, and one that I hope to repeat in the very near future.

Cass McCombs at The Earl (Atlanta - 1/19/12)

On a cool January evening in East Atlanta, Baltimore-based singer/songwriter Cass McCombs performed at The Earl.  Not knowing much about McCombs from the outset, I wasn’t quite sure what to expect.  Upon leaving, I still wasn’t quite sure what to say.  Here’s my attempt.

Rightly or wrongly, first impressions are important, and I felt like McCombs made a mistake by opening his show with the pretty but plodding “Prima Donna,” off 2009’s Catacombs.  The song, with its overwrought, somewhat whiny lyrics and barely-there percussion, ambled along without anything that even attempted to grab and reel in the audience.  Whatever the reason for this decision, it felt misguided to me, and didn’t make me excited about being where I was, preparing to experience what I was about to experience.

Photo © Nick Rallo

Things certainly improved as the show progressed, but it felt like a painfully slow process.  This is not to say that the music was unpleasant; in fact in was quite soothing and lovely at times, but it just never wowed me, even when it felt like it was supposed to.  The band itself seemed suppressed, especially at the beginning, with nothing to play but repetitive, slightly boring hooks while McCombs crooned into the microphone with a broody face and tousled brown hair parted straight down the middle.   I guess it boils down to the fact that McCombs’ voice seemed to be what was emphasized here, and nothing about it really moved me.  It felt devoid of passion but also devoid of that desperate desolation that makes a voice like Elliott Smith’s (an artist that McCombs has been compared to more than once) so spellbinding.

As they strolled through tracks from an extensive decade of discography—from 2011’s “Robin Egg Blue” to 2004’s “AIDS in Africa”— McCombs’ five-piece band had the look, feel, and sound of a nerdy 90’s stoner band transported into 2012.  There was a moody, Slacker-esque white boy earnestness about the whole performance that seemed dated in this decade, despite the pop-culture lyrical references to Facebook and Bradley Manning, the American soldier who was charged for “aiding the enemy” by passing classified information to WikiLeaks in 2011.  I certainly appreciated the tribute to Manning, but the style of the song (aptly titled “Bradley Manning”) felt unsubtle and a bit contrived. 

So did tracks like “Love Thine Enemy,” the opener from last year’s Humor Risk.  The song’s simple melody served only to highlight McCombs’ rather cloying and monotonous directive: “love thine enemy / but hate the lack of sincerity.”  Okay, if you insist. 

The band’s drummer, dressed in a blue striped rugby shirt that stylistically set him apart from the rest of the band, was the only guy on stage who seemed determined to keep me awake, despite the fact that he was forced to satisfy himself with endearingly spastic head nods in order to keep time between the slow shuffley beats he was assigned to play.  O loveable drummer, you seemed capable of so much more! 

The keyboardist did get a chance for a passionately drawn-out solo that was much appreciated by the audience, but it was one of the rare moments of vigor in an otherwise drowsy evening.  Even the rollicking Allman Brothers “Ramblin’ Man” outro that came near the end felt cut short, as though the band had been under strict orders not to upstage McCombs’ vocals. 

Am I being cynical? Probably.  Maybe I was looking for something that I should’ve known not to expect here, but the overall performance left me with a pesky sense of lack that I couldn’t shake. In the end, I simply could not see what set Cass McCombs apart from all the other moody, scraggly-haired singer/songwriters out there.  And in a world full of moody, scraggly-haired singer/songwriters, I think that’s important.