BY JUD COST

It pays to keep your ears open when doing an interview. While grilling Fleet Foxes mainman Robin Pecknold for a Swedish magazine last summer, swilling java on an overstuffed couch in a West Seattle coffee house, he touted a pair of favorite Northwest combos: Blitzen Trapper and the Cave Singers. The Trappers hit town last week (see review of their September 27 show), so here's part two of the Pecknold daily double.

Walking into San Francisco's half-full Independent club last night to the quiet strains of Lightning Dust (no earplugs required) made me fell like I'd gone from one movie screenplay to another. Last night I was dodging leather-jacketed, heavily tattooed zombies in Night Of The Living Dead at the Warfield, waiting for Motorhead, and tonight I'm one of the astronauts in Pandorum. I've just awakened in deep space, but I don't know who I am or what my mission is.

One thing I do know: Even though I only caught their last two songs, Vancouver's Lightning Dust is onto a very good thing. It's about time somebody did a North American version of New Zealand's Bats, heartfelt electric folk-rock with catchy melodies, plenty of strum and room to breathe. Note to self: Next time these guys play, get to the club a little earlier.

Based in Seattle, the Cave Singers are living proof that red-blooded rock 'n' roll will never die as long as you can make music this compelling with just an acoustic guitar, a singer armed with maraca and tambourine and someone playing drums. Seeing vocalist Pete Quirk, guitarist Derek Fudesco and drummer Marty Lund in front of 150 hardcore local fans somehow felt like catching Country Joe And The Fish at Berkeley's intimate Jabberwock club in 1966, just before they made the big leap to stardom.

With a voice that sounds older than his years-something like M. Ward but touched more by the Devil's music-Quirk is in perfect synch with the intricate guitar patterns strung out by Fudesco, hunched over in a chair, picking away like the rebirth of both Robert Johnson and John Fahey. Although Amber Webber and Josh Wells from Lightning Dust sat in on a few numbers, the Cave Singers get around having to add more permanent members by using Lund's drums-whacked about as loud as possible with emphasis on busy kick-drum patterns-almost as a second melodic instrument. Add Quirk going from quiet folk tunes to falsetto-drenched sermons you might hear walking by the Highway Bible Baptist Church some summer evening and Fudesco's exemplary fretboard work, and you've got all you can handle.

These guys aren't much for onstage patter, preferring like Miles Davis, to let the music speak for itself. Quirk did open up once, however. "This song reminds me of the time my brother and I got drunk when our parents were out. We'd drive downtown looking for cigarettes. Everybody drives in New Jersey except for the people with DUI's." That seemed like a good time to pass around a bottle of tequila and a few smokes. A couple of jugs would have taken care of the entire house. Of course, artificial stimulants aren't required to feel good about spending a night with the Cave Singers. The music is really all you need.

The next time I bump into Pecknold, I'll make a point of getting a tip for the feature race at Golden Gate Fields. The man's on a hot streak.