The Saturday night began a bit on the slow end, but once 9pm came around the room began to fill up, people trickling in one by one to see Ohio's own Pomegranates who were second on the bill. They make look a tad younger than what you would expect, but their sound proves that they're seasoned in terms of playing live and being in a band. While the genre of indie-pop is rife with as many bands as there are stars in the sky, the Cincinnati group has a unique and creative sound that they've nurtured for years now. Their brand is shimmery, dreamy and pulsating — once it hits you, it permeates, and before you know it, your body's swaying uncontrollably like a slithery snake. Lead vocalist Joey Cook, a little body in a big striped button-down, has got a voice that turns heads; one part nasal,  the other childishly endearing. Tambourines that ring to beckon, choruses that are shouted with umph!, and keyboard arpeggios that dance playfully — the Pomegranates have it all down to a science. Whether they were playing tracks off their last album Everybody, Come Outside, their debut Everything is Alive or even some new material (that they will supposedly be recording this summer), the boys performed tight enough to impress and fun enough to persuade even the biggest disbeliever in the audience. (Pomegranates made a bunch of new believers when they played BRM's SXSW "Emerging Artist" showcase, too.)

By 1030pm, the crowd was ready for the pop sensibilities to swallow them whole and then spill out onto Metropolitan Avenue. And there was no better band to fulfill these wishes than Aloha. Oh, how they were so charming and irresistible. When they took the stage, the audience sort of collectively lunged forward, filling all the little air pockets that once dotted the front of the room. The light scheme, which had been a puzzling array of Smurf blue and then Elmo red, became a dark and dramatic shade of purple (sorry, even an elusive or evil Barney couldn't feign the mood). They started their set with a fast song, blitzing through it with the utmost energy and feeling, probably partially absorbed from the crowd's anticipation and excitement. There was no doubting whether Aloha would live up to the wait. The band, who released their fifth album Home Acres earlier this year, has grown fully comfortable and confident with itself and their sound, and it shows. For over 60 minutes, they owned the stage, owned Knitting Factory's attendees. They proved why they've been a band for almost a decade and why they're still able to put out record after record — it's because we just can't get enough of them.

Words by M.Geslani
Photo of Aloha courtesy of Polyvinyl Records

This past Saturday at New York’s Hiro Ballroom, José James, accompanied by a pianist, bassist, drummer, and backup vocalist, exhibited his sultry vocal stylings. James enchanted the audience with his delicious baritone over a range of Latin rhythms, scatting that would make Ella Fitzgerald proud, and ample homage, playing samples from Coltrane’s “A Love Supreme,” and other beautiful songs that we know and covet.

James is a man with an ambitious plan: reawaken jazz in our everyday music consciousness. Increasing the acknowledgment of the jazz vocalists who have historically been at bottom rung of the music hierarchy, James performed a medley of standards, as well as original songs featured on his recently released LP, Black Magic, off of Giles Peterson’s Brownswood Recordings label. James is a man with an ambitious plan: increase the acknowledgment of the jazz vocalists who have historically been at bottom rung of the music hierarchy.

The relaxed and debonair vocals of James, and the ferocious techniques of his drummer, the seductive feminine vocals of his backup singer, the increased intensity of the walking bass, and the crisp piano trills were each independently extraordinary—and collectively—magical. James is part of a rare breed of performers whose live voice supersedes the quality on his recordings, and whose charisma captivates his listeners almost as much as the perfection of his voice.

From Samba beats and expressions of the avant-garde jazz era bass sound to heavy bossa nova piano, and elements of future soul and hip-hop—James flexed versatile vocal muscles—meandering between cultures, and between the voids of his band who were hip to follow his rapid transitions.

James has recorded and collaborated with artists as “out” as Flying Lotus (who provided a few productions on his new album) to more straight away jazz cats like Christian McBride. His versatility borrows from the styles of Gilberto Gil, Gil Scott-Heron and D'Angelo. His cross genre dynamicism is markedly sophisticated and beyond all else, captivating.

- Boyuan Gao

Ah, the fist pump. It’s a versatile little celebratory gesture. Tiger Woods pumps to celebrate after a big hole (insert too-easy joke here), Howard Dean pumped himself out of a presidential campaign, and rock fans have, of course, been making use of the pump for years. But rarely, if ever, is the fist pump executed with such frequency and vigor as at a Hold Steady show.

There’s just something about the way Craig Finn’s trademark sing-talk vocals careen into anthemic Springsteen-style rock choruses that makes the raised-fist motion irresistible. Finn recently made waves in the Hold Steady community when he announced their new album, Heaven is Whenever, would be “less anthemic,” but if their late-night set at the Music Hall of Williamsburg on Saturday was any indication, Hold Steady faithful have little to fear.

Finn and company didn’t hit the stage until around 12:30 – it was their second show of the night – but neither the crowd nor the band showed any sign of fatigue. The sold-out audience greeted the group with wild cheers and raised-beer salutes before they launched into “The Sweet Part of the City,” a twangy new ballad off Heaven that actually forces Finn to hit a few notes. Sure, it’s slow-paced as far as Hold Steady songs go, but with nostalgic lyrics about having nothing to do but drink and wander around aimlessly, it was delivered with more than enough liquor-soaked charm to keep the crowd interested.

Next was “Constructive Summer,” a straight-ahead, reverb-drenched fan favorite that toasts “Saint Joe Strummer.” The tune boosted the crowd and set the pace for the rest of the show, which they barreled through, leaving the usually verbose Finn little time for between-song banter. But that’s not to say it felt like a strictly business affair. The band kept the atmosphere loose and lighthearted, sipping beers between songs. Finn, ever the master of crowd control, even pulled out a few white-boy dance moves along the way.

The addition of a new guitarist, Steve Selvidge, gave Finn more freedom to explore the stage and interact with the crowd. It also allowed Selvidge and long-time guitarist Tad Kubler to rip some killer harmonized licks on “Rock Problems” and “Stevie Nix.” However, recently-departed keyboarder Franz Nicolay’s dramatic stage persona and astounding moustache were sorely missed. In his place was touring keyboarder Dan Neustadt, who hit all of the notes, but spent the set tucked away in the corner of the stage.

The group toned things down for the encore, which started with two acoustic tunes, “Citrus,” a hushed melodic song about “young and awkward lovers,” and “First Night,” a slow-burner that builds into an epic sing-along coda. But the electric guitars and mosh pit resumed for a jammed-out version of “Your Little Hoodrat Friend,” which closed the show. The crowd then shuffled into the streets of Williamsburg, reminded that rock n' roll still exists, and it wants you to pump your fist in jubilation as often as possible.

-Words by Adam D'Arpino

It doesn't get any better than live rawk and bowling, folks, and Brooklyn Bowl was the perfect venue for an extreme showcase of rock n' roll last Wednesday night. For starters, it's the only bowling alley I've ever been to where I could order hummus and pita (Brooklyn much!), and after midnight no less. The stage area adjacent to the lanes was large enough for Monotonix's crazed, pit-oriented performance, which is often achieved at house shows, where fucking things up isn't as huge a concern. But Brooklyn Bowl, while pretty brand spankin' new, is definitely punk rock in its ethos, and despite the nervous security guards, they basically let the band, and their wild fans, get away with rock murder.

First up on the setlist was Skeletonbreath, a band I absolutely love and have seen and covered before. Although on hiatus for quite some time, they have been cooking up a slew of new songs that they laid upon the audience. In top shape and with
as much passion as ever, the violin-bass-drums trio embarked on their gypsy-post-metal-jazz odyssey, which had the crowd both dancing and slamming (esp. Steve Yankou of punk band No One and The Somebodies!). Tracks like "Cavement" and "Taxidermist Convention" off Eagles Nest, Devil's Cage were also a real treat.

I took to bowling a game (pretty badly) in Skeletonbreath's lane, and looking for my lost phone (which, thanks to a kind Brooklyn girl, I got back) while the next band, Old Time Relijun, took the stage. Hailing from Portland, Oregon and on K Records, they are also experimental in nature, with an upright bass, saxophone, and somewhat screeching vocals.

Their deconstructed Gothic-churchy vibe was definitely, as self-described, "something weirdly wholesome." Th' Legendary Shack Shakers followed with their own brand of Southern Gothic rock, and also with an upright bass! The band's rock-blues-country sound was potent and well-executed, although occasionally a bit monotonous.

Finally, it was time for Monotonix to enter the crowd. And I mean enter. As is their custom, they set up their drums, guitar, mic combo in the pit; eager fans circled around, waiting for things to get raucous, in true Monotonix form. And raucous they got! As soon as the music started, copious amounts of beer, water, and whatever else flew everywhere. These Israeli dudes, from Tel Aviv, are long haired, mustached, and occasionally bare-assed, and singer Ami Shalev's broken leg (note the brace) didn't stop him from throwing himself into and against the crowd for the entirety of the rather long set. While the music was absolutely fun and old-schooly harsh (influenced by Zeppelin and Thin Lizzy, among others), the real danger and excitement came from their "stage" antics, and luckily the crowd was along for the ride, carrying the dudes, their drums, and the very long microphone cord all over the space. At one point, Shalev told everyone to sit down and "shut the fuck up," which was a much-needed break for the sweaty fans, until everything got crazy again. Shalev finally ended up on the actual stage, but of course this was just so that he could leap off. Amen, I say. And at least nothing and no one caught on fire.

words by Amy Dupcak (www.no-alternative.net)

photos of Monotonix by Lionel D. Bergeron

There’s something magical about a man who can follow up a high energy folk infused punk set—such as that by Roanoke VA based Red Clay River. However Tim Barry did that and managed to steal the show to boot.

Red Clay River combined the best aspects of a recent wave of folk infused indie and punk, and delivered it with a captivating, simple, sincerity that only people who lived this music could deliver.

Sincerity was something of a common thread for the evening, also being a distinct element of Tim Barry, the former frontman of Richmond punk act Avail’s set. Barry got on stage with just his guitar and the crowd more then adequately served as his band singing in all the right places and letting Barry fill silence with his heart-felt lyrics at others.

Each song seemed to have a story and a lesson, but Barry was able to skillfully avoid being preachy. Multiple times during the set Barry jumped off stage and walked around the crowd playing and coaxing individuals to sing with him as the rest of the crowd kept it going.

Barry is certainly not alone as a former punk front man transitioning in to the acoustic world; however he is one of the most renowned and captivating. He really seems to own any material he covers and is a master of connecting with his crowd.

-Words by TJ Olsen

Waiting outside Webster Hall was a line of black jeans and leather jackets, which was cool because there weren’t any 70-year-old truckers and this wasn’t a hair band concert. Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, the grunge-rock trio that sold out both of their NYC shows, had the street filled with people half an hour before doors opened, which was at 6:30pm.

Barely visible through the purple-tinted smoke, the show began when Peter Hayes walked on stage smoking a cigarette, followed by Rob Levon Been and the new, female drummer Leah Shapiro who immediately disappeared behind her drum set. The band started with songs from their new album, Beat the Devil’s Tattoo, at first playing very carelessly but then thrashing out chords on their instruments― Been in particular threw his bass around like its existence was severely agitating him. This, along with the incessant guitar feedback, strobe lights, and an over-worked smoke machine helped establish the generally dark persona the band has come to embody.

BRMC’s songs aren’t always fast, but they’re heavy and dirty, the kind that you feel in your knees and in your legs―and not just because of the vibrations pummeling off stage. The most fascinating thing about watching the band play is how many instruments Been and Hayes work with; occasionally switching who plays the guitar and who plays the bass (while both providing the same unobtrusive vocals), Hayes adds his harmonica and keys to the mix and Been occasionally works with a piano, giving the impression that they’re mad scientists in a musical laboratory.

There was a surprising moment about halfway through the two-hour set where Been sat down on the edge of the stage with an acoustic guitar and covered “Visions of Johanna” by Bob Dylan, followed by Hayes who, in the exact same manner played “The Toll.” The band also covered “Love Me Tender” by Elvis Presley, which at first seemed completely bizarre but as the song went on, actually made sense.

BRMC had the audience in shock when they played “Red Eyes and Tears,” “Ain’t No Easy Way,” and “Spread Your Love,” the band’s three oldest hits that were in no way a priority with an entire new album to pull songs from. For all three songs, the vocals sounded absolutely perfect, without any trace of exhaustion in the band’s execution despite playing for two hours straight. When they finished playing “Spread Your Love,” Hayes and Been were both smiling with sweaty faces and shaky hands, finally showing the emotion that the audience had been feeling all night.

-Words and photos by Lindsay Sturm