A little while back I went into a record store and was
looking through the racks of used CDs before I unexpectedly crossed the
threshold into the 99 cent bin. One second I was looking through discs of The
Who, XTC, Yes, and Zappa, and the next I found myself sifting through a number
of cutout albums by bands I had never heard of, CD singles by rightly forgotten
90’s artists, and budget compilation CDs (second rate imitations of packages
like Now, That’s What I Call Music). I
diligently combed through the discs, reasonably sure that I was not going to
find anything of any real quality, until I came across an EP by The Cavedogs,
entitled Six Tender Moments.
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| Their 1991 EP, complete with the cutout scar |
The Cavedogs, a Boston-based power-pop (if you must label
it) trio consisting of guitarist Todd Spahr, drummer Mark Rivers, and bassist
Brian Stevens released the EP in 1991 on Capitol Records after the band had
left their first label, Enigma. It was a much more rag-tag affair than their
albums, comprised of alternate versions of songs from their first album, non-album
cuts, and a couple of covers (including a cheeky version of “What’s New,
Pussycat?”). Also, with two of the songs being in-studio performances (one from
KCRW at Santa Monica College and another from WERS at Emerson College) this EP
just has a made for college radio feeling to it.
It was a serendipitous find. I had recently rediscovered the
Cavedogs when listening to my iPod on shuffle and the song “Right on the Nail”
came on. I hardly remembered the song, from their first album Joyrides for Shut-Ins, and in that
moment, I found myself hearing it again for the first time. The song was
cryptic, full of attitude, and with a hypnotic melody colored by a sneering
vocal delivery, all propelled by frenetic acoustic strumming and the most solid
power-pop drumming since Pete Thomas of the Attractions. It compelled me to
check out their albums again.
I had not given them a listen since they first came out when
I was thirteen. I was not listening to much current music at that time (I don’t
think I was listening to any music by any band that wasn’t named The Who). I
only bought Joyrides because The
Cavedogs were friends of my step-brother, and I had met Todd and Mark a couple
of times when he was visiting home on weekends and would drag his friends
along. He also had played me tapes of theirs, one with the handwritten title Seven Songs Destined to Change the World
(I cannot find anything in their discography by that name, so was either an off
the cuff title scribbled on the cassette or merely a product of my unreliable
memory) and a tape replicating a radio broadcast with songs interspersed with
comedic commercials (à la The Who Sell
Out), one of which featured a peanut-chocolate candy bar called “Kick in
the Nuts” and the unintended consequences that would occur when it was asked
for. I dug their humor and they wrote good songs.
Joyrides for Shut-Ins
didn’t find its way into constant rotation at that time, but it was cool
knowing guys, even if really only in passing, who had a record out. Their blurb
in the “New Faces” section of Rolling
Stone in October of 1990 was the first time that anyone I knew personally
appeared in those hallowed pages, and I just thought that was so cool. I also
remember Spin Magazine giving favorable reviews to Joyrides and its follow-up, the somewhat harder edged Soul Martini. It seemed to everyone that
this band’s intelligent and sardonic version of power-pop was going to be huge.
Sadly, it was not be. I can’t say why it never happened for
them, and I don’t suppose it matters. I am not going to try to be Bob Lefsetz
and lecture on the nearly impossible task of capturing lightning in a bottle
(and then selling it), on whether it was a failure in marketing, or whether it
was a matter of timing (it is tempting to blame the grunge movement which
occurred at the same time for overshadowing many great bands on the east
coast). It’s just sad. Not only for the band, but for other people who might
have really liked what they were putting across, something that had the energy
of the stuff that was coming from Seattle, but never overshadowed their melodic
sense or penchant for harmony.
Listening back to their two albums and the EP, I couldn’t
say that they didn’t show their age, but I was pleased to find that they had aged
well. Their sound was definitely of the era, but it doesn’t sound as dated as
many records from that time. I can think of many people my age who would listen
to these albums, particularly tracks like “Right on the Nail,” “Tayter
Country,” and “Proud Land” from Joyrides and
“Here Comes Rosie,” “Boy in a Plastic Bubble,” and “Sonny Day” from Soul Martini, and feel like they were
hearing their favorite songs from their teenage years for the first time. It
makes me want to tell everyone to go out and buy these records.
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| A good place to start |
Unfortunately, all of their CDs are out of print and, with
the exception of one live track on a compilation of 90s Boston bands, none of
their music is even available on iTunes. If you want to find their stuff you
have to comb the 99 cent bins (I have found used copies of their albums on
Amazon.com, all for 99 cents or less). It’s a depressing prospect. Since I
started finding Cavedogs CDs in the bins (and all of their discs that I
own were bought there, as even my copy of Joyrides
is a replacement of my first copy which my brother stole), I now get curious
whenever I find an album in there by a band that I don’t know. After all, many
of these albums were recorded for major labels, some A&R guy believed in
these acts, somebody put some money behind them. Many great bands never get
signed and these bands did. How many masterpieces have been dumped in there?
(I’m not trying to argue that being signed to a label indicates artistic merit,
but it is something to think about.)
The only good thing about their relegation to the bin is
that one can buy their whole catalog for a few bucks, and I think that people
should. These guys are really worth (re)discovering. Their music was by turns propulsive
and lyrical, intelligent and silly, basic and progressive. They had a brand of
humor and cynicism that was distinct (and distinctly Bostonian, which may be
one of the reasons I latched onto it), an acute pop sensibility, and a way with
a hook. Maybe it would be helpful if they made it easier for potential fans by creating
a compilation of the best cuts from their albums and EPs and releasing it as a digital
download. They could call it The Kings of
the 99 Cent Bin. They have a good sense of humor, they might find that
cute. Probably not, though.
