The Cave Girls share a sisterhood

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Robin Campbell had always dreamed of being in a band like the Cave Girls. She was the lead singer for the Last Call Girls, a job she’d done for three years and had enjoyed. But what she really had in mind was something different.

“I always wanted to be in an all-girl band,” she says, sitting at the head of her dining room table. “My band before was a mostly girl band, and it just — there was one guy.” She glances at the male photographer I’ve brought for our interview. “I don’t mind — I’m not a crazy feminist type of person or something — but with females, there’s not the communication breakdown that there sometimes is between women and men. In marriages, they say the most important thing to do is communicate, and it’s hard to communicate with the opposite sex sometimes. There’s a uniformity with us.” Another pause, then a grin. “And I’ve always thought that girl bands were awesome.”

At this point, Campbell’s 12-year-old daughter, Cady, abandons the television in the living room and approaches our group. She taps her mother on the shoulder, and Campbell shakes her head, a warning in her eyes.

“I just needed to correct her on the definition of feminism,” Cady announces, her voice clear, her tone recalling a young Hermione Granger. Campbell covers her eyes with a hand, and I motion for the girl to go on.

“I’m really sorry,” she says, though her contrition presents as delight when all eyes turn toward her. “A feminist is somebody that wants equality for both sexes. Not someone that wants women to be overpowered and stuff. That’s something else.”

“Thank you, Cady,” says Sara, the Cave Girls’ drummer and, with Campbell, the band’s co-founder. She laughs and adds, “Thank you for the clarification.”

Sara prefers not to reveal her last name — she has asked me to call her Stone Age Sara. She has a sensitive day job, she explains. I observe her toned drummer’s arms and sharp eyes and agree to oblige her.

“I remember meeting Sara because I was waiting on her at Harry’s Country Club,” Campbell says, “and then she was waiting on me at Jazz. That was how we knew each other — same circles. And I was always like, ‘What is it about that girl? She seems so nice and cool.’ ”

It took five years for Campbell to discover Sara’s skills as a drummer, when the Last Call Girls and Sara’s then-band shared a bill at Davey’s Uptown Ramblers Club in 2009. Collaboration wasn’t such a big jump from there, and in 2013, bassist Lizz Weiler came onboard.

All three women are in their 30s, and the Cave Girls is not the only creative outlet for any of them. Weiler also plays in Lawrence rock band Vedettes; Campbell heads up the Trainwreck Trio with her husband. Sara’s schedule seems the most demanding: She has an additional weekend job as a hair stylist at the Calico Beard, and she plays in three other bands with her husband: the Heavy Figs, the New Lost Souls and the Mad Kings.

“I don’t know how many times I’ve said I wish I had three extra days in the week, just so I could cook,” Sara says. “But I think that you have to decide to not pursue some things that you want to pursue in order to make time for your music. Obviously a roof over your head and food in your stomach and families and loved ones, those are priorities. But a lot of time, I get home from work, spin right back around and go to band practice.

“For me, I have to give up some of my home life, but that sacrifice is worth it to me,” she continues. “I just love these women. Playing with them means a lot to me. When we get together, our guards are completely down, and we don’t have to worry about proving anything. We’re really happy when we play together, because when we do get to just be the Cave Girls, those are moments that I think that nobody in this band takes for granted.”

Downstairs, in a tight room in Campbell’s basement, is where the band meets weekly and hammers out the meaty garage rock songs destined for the first Cave Girls album. It’s about half-finished, they tell me — and they are eager to get it done and release it, because they have new material they’d like to refine.

Kansas City should be eager, too. Even in Campbell’s cramped practice room, the Cave Girls go at it like they’re getting paid. Sara beams from behind her kit, holding back laughter as she locks eyes with Campbell, who belts out — in her grainy, snarling voice — the tongue-in-cheek lyrics to “Sun Fresh” (a tune about the ups and downs of midtown grocery shopping). Weiler, who gives off nervous energy in conversation, appears wholly zen as she curls into the deep bass lines.

“Sun Fresh” is a catchy new tune and a goof — not all of them are like that — but even so, Campbell’s guitar rips through the center of it. She wraps the room in fuzzy reverb. I would worry for the neighbors if it didn’t sound so good. The Cave Girls play with an unselfconscious joy, as if this were their natural state.

Back upstairs, Campbell takes a moment to glance around her home. She has scented candles and incense burning, and Cady’s art covers the walls. Books and craft projects are in stacks.

“In my childhood imagination, I assumed I would make money doing this, which is a funny thing nowadays to think about,” she says. “There’s good gigs that come along, and you get a little bit of extra money, but it’s never anything you can depend on. To me, that’s been a sacrifice along the way, but it’s also an opportunity not to be solely motivated by money. For me, this band is a liberating thing.”