Last week, when the Cave Singers played Red 7 on a Monday night, I wasn’t expecting the absolutely packed house that filled the indoor room. I mean no discredit to the band, comprised of indie rock veterans who’ve released records on juggernauts of indie labels. But the fact that they were able to pack a club so completely in Austin (who has a tendency to stay at home) on a Monday is a testament to how truly great the band is, a fact that would soon be reinforced by their live show.
Before the Cave Singers started killing it, local psychedelic rock outfit Smoke and Feathers laid down some heavy tunes with Josh Terry at the helm. The band is self-described as Southern psychedelic rock, and the group clearly knows exactly what they’re aiming to achieve. Smoke and Feathers create songs constantly blending and vacillating between these styles. The crowd seemed to have shown up in full force for the band as concertgoers danced, laughed, cheered, and bantered with them like old friends.
From the moment they stepped onto the stage at Red 7, the Cave Singers were a band entranced and entrancing. The three members were all business, wasting little time with conversation or small talk.
Instead, lead singer Pete Quirk delivered his grainy vocals with startlingly immediate emotion as guitarist Derek Fudesco emitted more energy than imaginable from a seat onstage, hunched over his guitar. Often, Quirk closed his eyes, gesturing wildly with his hand, standing without guitar or with only a melodica. The sight was affecting—an artist completely unadorned of any instrument, simply radiating the pure force of a song. His delivery seemed to come from another plane.
If the crowd was full and energetic for the opener, they were unparalleled during the Cave Singers’ performance. As soon as the first set ended, in fact, people began jostling to get down front for the performance. Fans gave loud hollers when Qurik announced that they had never been to Austin to play outside of SXSW, adding that they were loving it. It seems to be a recurring theme that for all its greatness, the behemoth festival bears many flaws and frustrations. The crowd enjoyed with equanimity the ruckus psychedelia of “Black Leaf” and the wistfulness of “Haller Lake.” Everyone dug drummer Marty Lund’s washboard on the single from No Witch, “Swim Club.” After this well received and captivating performance, we hope that the Cave Singers have found adequate reason not to be such strangers to these parts.
