Caveman

In The City With Caveman

Caveman Pastiche is having a major moment.  Last summer, it was the sounds of the 80s, as I played Twin Shadow’s debut Confess on repeat, but this year, I am reaching for a further-spanning album, with sexy jams reminiscent of every-great-band-I-ever-heard – thanks to New York band Caveman, whose self-titled sophomore album was released earlier this month.

 

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Caveman formed in 2009 after Matthew Iwanusa (vocals), Jimmy Carbonetti (guitar), Stefan Marolachakis (drums), Sam Hopkins (synths) and Jeff Berrall (bass) all met up by various acquaintances in their hometown of New York City.  When I meet the band, on Valentine’s Day, “All The King’s Countrymen” off their debut plays in the lobby of our meeting spot, the Ace Hotel.  I have never been in a hotel room with 5 grown men, but they graciously welcome me as professionally as possible.  At the time, they are fresh out of the studio, about to embark on another national tour, and sweeping the country off it’s feet with gorgeous, glimmering, self-referencing atmospheric rock.  Interestingly enough, Caveman and I are both on a quest.  It begins and ends in New York City – the path to metamorphosis.

 

What Do You Do To Prepare For A New Album? I ask them. They respond in unison, “Tour”.  And How Long Did It Take To Record The Album? “8 months.” Wow that’s quick I think to myself, maybe by today’s standards a long time, but these guys ebb and flow with it all effortlessly.  Such is the case with such talented musicians, who epitomize all the cool boys I’ve met coming of age in New York’s music scene, passionate and knowledgeable about their domain.  We talk about the Troogs, 90s music, touring of course, and their beautiful instruments.  Jimmy, the guitarist, handmakes and sells them at his Lower East Side shop, Carbonetti Guitars.

 

As I finally lend myself to the album, I find the harmonic convergence of it all – overwhelming.  Slowly it works its magic on me and I uncover a sensuality I forgot I had.  The lead track off the album,”Strange To Suffer”, whispers sweet nothings in my ears in just under two minutes, which is perfect considering the internet has killed my attention span.  “Where’s The Time” is my remedy, kneading away at my overstimulated brain, and by the time I hear “Pricey” I’ve found the love.  I’m hearing a little Fleet Foxes, a little Phil Collins, a little Beach House, and I realize at this point, the brilliance of this album lies not in its earth-shattering epic-ness.  Its brilliance is in entering my memory and attaching itself.  Transcendent and uncanny.




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