Pitchfork

Fans lamenting the break-up of Pretty Girls Make Graves should be thrilled by the first offering from former bassist Derek Fudesco's new project. But anyone expecting a rehash of his last band's brash, rhythmic punk, beware. As this dark, moody folk song proves, this is a new side of Fudesco; he has left the fiery fury of Elan Vital behind in favor of a slower burning aesthetic. After all, following years of experimenting with post-punk throb, post-hardcore bite, and post-disco shimmy, what's left to do besides unplug your axe and embrace post-modern Appalachian appreciation?

Here, under Pete Quirk's reedy warble, Fudesco's nimble hands pluck a rolling, repetitive melody on an acoustic guitar as brushed percussion laps at his heels. Despite the Cave Singers' Seattle address, there is something homespun and earnest about their attempt at Smoky Mountains Gothic, as if this song was written by the black sheep of the Carter Family or, perhaps, was an outtake from the O Brother Where Art Thou? soundtrack. But instead of coming off like a genre exercise-- Pacific Northwesterners in hillbilly drag-- they infuse their simple instrumentation with a shaggy, minor-key modernity that would be at home on any Matador release. Quirk's voice is almost nasal enough to be annoying, but instead, with its Dylanesque timbres, it reminds us that pop songwriters have been aping traditional folk conventions since before these guys were zygotes. And since the Cave Singers don't hew to them conservatively, their meditative take on folk tropes transcends the genre.