Shred Yr Face III - The Cave Singers,Espers,Woods Live Review @ Brudenell Social (Leeds) - 16 Nov 2009

The Cave Singers

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Live Review

Shred your face. An altogether threatening turn of phrase which conjures up distorted images from some slasher movie full of mutilation, ripped flesh, blood and gore, all the while underscored by a sinister, brooding soundtrack splattered by bursts of coruscating chainsaw guitars and death defying, ear-splitting screams. The Bronx and Fucked Up's presence on the last incarnation of this tour would almost seem to affirm this view. How strange it is then to have the delicate lo-fi shuffle and gentle post-apocalyptic folk of Woods, Espers and The Cave Singers flying under the Shred Yr Face banner on this third such tour. Unless, of course that is, you take into account the frankly disturbing sight later on of Espers' Meg Baird and Brooke Sietinsons whose blank, expressionless demeanour caught starkly on stage in the faltering shadows of the Brudenell's green and blue half-light would seem to suggest either a voluminous intake of psychotropic drugs beforehand and/or their having just returned from day jobs as extras on some remake of Romero's "Night of the Living Dead".

It is a Monday night in Leeds. It is wet and windy, but this working men's club deep in Hyde Park's heartland of student bedsits and probably little changed from its 1970's pomp has attracted a respectable crowd of the usual slackers, littlest hobos and an assortment of Dharma bums. Woods, four young men fresh out of Brooklyn, tentatively get the evening's entertainment under way. As their confidence grows their deceptively melodic tunes slowly begin to adhere, culminating in a wonderfully strong rendition of Graham Nash's ant-war song "Military Madness".

Espers, who could quite easily pass for an Incredible String Band for the modern world and whose members could be seen at the bar just minutes before taking to the stage such is the wonderful intimacy of this venue, then proceeded to put in a wildly disconcerting set in which their eerie and unsettling presence was at complete odds with their mildly hallucinogenic and relaxed new folk sound. It was difficult to ascertain whether they were actually enjoying the experience, such was the emptiness of their expressions. It is perhaps easier to say that much of the crowd weren't.

Thank God then for the mighty and quite magnificent Cave Singers. Rising from the ashes of various hardcore/post-punk bands, these three men of Seattle now kick up a most unlikely, given their history, yet nonetheless formidable post-folk storm which owes as much to pre-war blues and the institution of the Smithsonian Folkways as it does to any emerging Americana. Drawing heavily from their second album "Welcome Joy", and at times sounding not a thousand light years from "Black Country Woman" era Led Zeppelin, they are indeed a most welcome joy to behold. By the end of their hour long set singer Pete Quirk's incongruous Big Brothers & Big Sisters of Suffolk T-shirt (given he looks like some Appalachian mountain man) is soaked with sweat, reflecting the effort he has put into the show. Guitarist Derek Fudesco, who looks as if he is about ten feet tall though is probably nearer seven, rocking back and forth as he does on his high stool, is similarly drenched by the end, testament to the relentless finger-picking he has maintained throughout. Whilst Marty Lund on drums looks as if he has just been out for a packet of fags. "So what else is happening?" asks Quirk half way through the set. On this evidence, and Woods apart, not much.

Simon Godley