The Caverns

There are venues built for convenience, and then there are places like The Caverns—carved into the earth, reverberating with time, the kind of space that makes music feel older, deeper, closer to something primal. Pelham doesn’t ask for your attention. It earns it.

Ruby Waters opened like a storm rolling through the hills—gritty, tender, unpredictable. Her voice wrapped around the cave walls, filling the pockets of air between strangers, and left the crowd hushed and wide-eyed.

Then Shakey Graves took the stage—barefoot, loose, electric. It wasn’t just a performance; it was a séance of sorts. Rattling through stories and strings, tapping into something dusty and American and a little broken in the best way. The cavern turned every stomp, every string bend, every breath into something physical—like you could feel the notes in your chest before you even heard them.

Outside, the stars stretched wide over the Tennessee hills. Inside, it was nothing but echoes and awe. A show like that doesn’t end when you leave. It lingers—like red clay on your boots or the last hum of a reverb pedal still hanging in the dark.