Just the right amount of drab and dreary, Caveman hit a lot of sweet spots for lovers of mid-’00s indie. The New York group crafts rickety, psyche-influenced melodies obscured beneath dry synth washes and kitchen-sink percussion. They have a compact sound that sometimes manages to be more grand than the sum of its parts, with the instruments bleeding into one another creating an obscure, fuzzy sheen that is often very satisfying. The compressed, catch-all approach recalls the heyday of Broken Social Scene, even if nothing the band has released thus far quite approaches the brilliant, tuneful cacophony of the Canadian collective at its peak. In fact, unlike the great bands of not so long ago, Caveman’s presentation can feel a little plastic. They’re not what you’d call adventurous. These are guys who have figured out a formula and are executing it skillfully and effectively. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.
One thing Caveman does share with BSS and many other favorites circa 2004 is an emphasis on melody. “Old Friend,” from their debut long-player CoCo Beware (which, incidentally, is either a shout-out to the classic parrot-bedecked pro wrestler or a desperate plea to be booked on the Conan show, or both), is graced with a thumping and soaring melody that is instantly memorable. Vocalist Matthew Iwanusa to great effect utilizes the boyish mumble/croon popularized by The Shins’ James Mercer and fellow recent-retro fetishist Taylor Rice of Local Natives. His performance is lofty and inviting while at the same time being remote and fidgety. Even if you’ve never seen the band live you can imagine him performing — standing still at the mic, his right arm strumming the guitar slightly, his mouth barely moving as he sings, eyes darting up occasionally but mostly staring down. To those who long to return to a recent golden age the image is perfect. Perhaps too perfect.