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This basement dive resembles a tiki-themed dorm room or a bachelor pad pining for the space age: Rorschach tapestries and backlit neon Buddhas hide behind booths, beanbags and lava lamps pepper the space, and a casual jean-chino aesthetic reigns. The Cave runs on more democratic principles than the city’s pricier sing-song palaces, however. All who drink may sing, and there’s also four back rooms of various sizes for private parties. College theater troupes tend to overrun the place on weekends and service may suffer in turn, but none of that seems to matter by the time midnight rolls around and the whole floor is belting a chorus as one. — Patrick Coffee