As much as we’d like it to, the onset of summer and all its trappings doesn’t extinguish loneliness and the allure of its vices. And since every feeling deserves a soundtrack regardless of season, the quietly despairing have no better place to be than The Basement when nomadic singer-songwriter Cass McCombs and shoegaze quartet Lower Dens visit Nashville this week. The lonesome in our midst should make the meager trip to Eighth South to feel better — not worse — about their solitary station, partaking in our city’s rich, almost uniform history of purging demons with song. Even Hank Jr. turned inward sometimes, though McCombs and Lower Dens trade in sounds that are far less commercial than those of Bocephus, and in polar-opposite ways. McCombs is a brooding but hopeful writer, a former Dylan acolyte who has in recent years turned away from rootsy bedroom folk and embraced dark and dusty piano balladry in its wake. Lower Dens, led by frequent Devendra Banhart collaborator Jana Hunter, are just as centered on loss, though their melancholy is channeled through a lugubrious, splintering rock that’s as broken as it is strangely uplifting. This isn’t a pity party after all; it’s a solemn embrace of our nature — a catharsis, even. And that’s something to smile about.