Sound Tribe Sector 9 (18 and Over) - Night One

This is no drill, people. Sound Tribe Sector 9 is descending upon us for a night that's sure to recalibrate your sonic sensibilities. If you don't know STS9, you're about to. Picture jazz, electronica, funk and rock all funneling through a kaleidoscopic wormhole that spits out a euphony that's got critics and fans alike reaching for descriptors like "genre-bending" and "futuristic." This jam band juggernaut's live sets are legendary, full of intricate improvisation that unravels like a cosmic thread. Their music is a living organism, constantly evolving in real time, and this is your chance to be part of the petri dish. It's 18 and over, so bring your ID along with your curiosity. If STS9's ethereal odyssey doesn't make you question your auditory reality... well, we might need to check your pulse.

Don't sleep on night two of Sound Tribe Sector 9's sonic expedition. Hailing from the avant-garde corners of the jamtronica universe, STS9 is ready to teleport Brooklyn to another dimension with their heady blend of intricate electronica, pulsating grooves, and transcendent visuals. Imagine soaking in a post-rock symphony, then launching into a galaxy where The Orb meets Godspeed You! Black Emperor on a psytrance dancefloor. Don't be that tragic Tuesday morning tweet lamenting about missed moments and alien encounters. The future is here, it's weird, and it's raving in 5/4 time signature.

Haul out your dancing shoes and glittery eyeshadow, folks, because Gimme Gimme Disco is coming to town. A heady, hedonistic blend of dance floor nostalgia and unapologetic glamour, this is not your run-of-the-mill indie event. Think less lo-fi mumbling in a dimly-lit dive bar, and more Studio 54-esque sequins and synthesizers. This is your chance to groove to ABBA deep cuts, belted out under the glow of a disco ball. So come on, hipsters, trade in your vinyl records for platforms and polyester - Gimme Gimme Disco is here to defy your expectations of cool.

Buckle up and adjust your sonic sensory receptors for the third electrifying night with Sound Tribe Sector 9. Uniting under the gritty, pulsating banner of post-rock and electronica, STS9 promises to shatter the ennui of everyday life with their genre-bending frequencies. This Colorado-bred collective, famous for their improvised psychedelic jams, takes you on a wild, expansive ride across the musical cosmos. We're talking tangential voyages into jazz, drum and bass, and even the deeper realms of classic rock. Your Spotify algorithm won't know what hit it.

No, your third eye isn't playing tricks on you—their shows are indeed an audio-visual spectacle, a sensory overload that makes even the most blasé hipster crave for more. If you're tired of humdrum band performances, STS9 is your high-octane antidote.

This isn't your typical indie band tucked away in a grimy basement; STS9 is a full-on, synesthesia-inducing experience. Catch them on the third and final night for a symphony of sound and light that'll make your Monday morning blues look like the palest shade of gray. Get ready to dance, head-bang, or just get lost in the rhythmic ether—whatever floats your cosmic canoe.

Get ready to have your eardrums elegantly assaulted by the sonic spells of Laerz. This enigmatic ensemble is ready to make the cavernous depths of your music void quiver with their profoundly immersive tunes. It's an auditory experience that'll shake the gloomy cobwebs from your soul, and make you question why you've been wasting your nights in a Netflix-fueled lethargy. Laerz's music is more than just soundwaves, it's a potent concoction of raw emotion and layered soundscapes that'll leave your synapses sizzling. They're the kind of band that make you feel like every other gig is just a rehearsal. So, if you're ready to trade in your ennui for a night of euphonic ecstasy, then it's time to dive into the deep, dark and delectably distorted world of Laerz.

This isn't just an album—it's a sonic diary of heartache, a love letter to the lonely landscapes of desolation, and a daring exploration of the tender, messy emotions that come with love and loss. Cate Le Bon's seventh record "Michelangelo Dying" is a raw, unfiltered expression of intimate vulnerability. It's an ethereal journey that takes you from the quiet corners of Hydra, Cardiff, London to the windswept desert of Los Angeles, all through a soundscape brimming with textured arrangements, looping drones, and percussive synths. Le Bon's poignant lyrics will catch in your chest and linger long after the last fading notes of the album's centerpiece "Is It Worth It (Happy Birthday)?". This record isn't for the faint of heart—it's a testament to the transformative power of heartache, the universality of love, and the uncharted landscapes of human mortality. And if that's not enough, the legendary John Cale appears on the mournful "Ride." This is music that dares you to feel, to grieve, to love, and to survive. So plug in, tune out, and let the hauntingly beautiful melodies of Cate Le Bon guide you through the messy labyrinth of the human heart.

Catch your breath and cancel your plans because Dry Cleaning is back on the scene. This isn't your run-of-the-mill indie rock gig, it's a spiritual transfusion of radical sounds and lyrical prowess. With Secret Love, these South London sound mavericks continue their uncanny courtship of 80s US punk paranoia and stoner rock strut, pushing boundaries and triggering dopamine hits faster than you can say 'avant garde'.

Lyricist and front-person, Florence Shaw, dredges up the hidden and unspeakable, making confessions that are as haunting as they are addictive. Armed with their latest release, they're not just playing songs, they’re hosting a spoken-word seance, summoning the spirits of Laurie Anderson and Sue Tompkins. Prodigious producer Cate Le Bon describes it as akin to walking through a city - and she's not wrong; each track is a borough, a street, a hidden alleyway you're compelled to explore.

Opening act YHWH Nailgun complements the engrossing headliner with a raw indie ferocity that'll make your heart skip a beat. This isn't just a concert, it's a revelation. The kind of night that makes you feel like you've discovered fire, the wheel, and the secret of the universe all at once.

So, if you're tired of scrolling through your feed, looking for that jolt of coolness to snap you out of your ennui, here's your chance. Say goodbye to the humdrum, say hello to Dry Cleaning. You'll thank us later.

In the vibrant, often chaotic realm of indie music, there's a bittersweet symphony about to play out. What's Her Face, the six-piece band known for their soulful male/female harmonies and charismatic stage energy is about to hang up its moniker for good. The band's acoustic-driven originals, a tasteful meld of soul, blues, and folk, will be performed one last time under the familiar name before they embark on a new journey. A new name, a debut album looming on the horizon—why not be part of this intimate transformation?

Sharing the stage, of course, is Front Desk. The genre-bending sextet straight out of Chicago's electrifying music scene. Their unique flavor - a thrilling fusion of funk, soul, rock, and jazz - has a reputation for making shows a playful improvisational playground, with tunes that have the crowd singing along and begging for more.

And let's not forget, AG & The Groove, offering a sound that's equal parts nostalgic and refreshingly new. These cats know how to set the theme for an impromptu night of sonic exploration.

Again, this is your last chance to see What's Her Face, as they are, before they morph into their next avatar. So, grab your plus one, soak in the tunes, and bid adieu to a name that sparked many a memorable night. This is not just another show—it's an indie rite of passage. The only question left is, are you in or out?

Shame's new album, Cutthroat, is a veritable showdown at the intersection of raw tension and liberating release, with the five-piece firing on all cylinders. Think of it as a joyride - a reckless, exhilarating spin down the backroads of punk and indie-rock, where every note is a rebel yell and every lyric is a spit in the face of complacency. With Grammy-winning producer John Congleton pulling no punches, shame's sonic evolution is souped-up, supercharged, and guaranteed to make your heart pound like a bass drum.

Ditch the ennui, because Cutthroat isn't about wallowing in self-pity - it's a riotous "fuck you" to the status quo. The record dissects the bleak reality of our current era with a biting humor and a merciless eye, painting a vivid portrait of conflict, corruption, and the primal hunger for something better. This is shame at their most unapologetic - with a fresh, confrontational sound that's as explosive as a live wire, and just as electrifying. And when that slams into their new electronic experimentation? It's the sonic equivalent of igniting a can of gasoline.

From the blistering title track to the final echoes of the closer, Cutthroat is a masterclass in indie fury and dancefloor hedonism. So strap in, because this joyride is about to go from 0 to 100 - and you won't want to miss a single, heart-stopping second.

Get ready to have your sonic senses reprogrammed by Purelink, the Midwestern sound-tinkerers who've made Brooklyn their latest analogue playground. The trio, consisting of Millia, kindtree, & Concave Reflection, are set to indoctrinate you with their heady blend of dub basslines, IDM swirls and trip-hop grooves, all served under the umbrella of their trademark experimental ambient stylings.

Having proven their mettle on the Lot Radio residency roster, Purelink has been making waves in North America's electronic music hotbed. Their recent 2023 album, "Signs", launched via the revered Peak Oil imprint, has been strafing run across the echelons of the music scene—racking up accolades from the likes of Pitchfork, Resident Advisor, and Crack Magazine, to name just a few.

Now, the anticipation is building towards their next full-length release, "Faith", due out on June 6th. The new project features vocal contributions from Loraine James and spoken word from Angelina Nonaj, bringing a fresh perspective to their signature sound.

Get yourself to the nearest dancefloor or risk missing the chance to witness the evolution of a future classic. With the number of gigs they've racked up alongside innovators like Huerco S, Tirzah, Loraine James, & DEBONAIR, their performances are a sonic kaleidoscope you just can't afford to miss.

Whether you're looking for an evening of introspective electronic journeying or the catharsis of a dancefloor moment, don't sleep on Purelink. This immersive, effervescent, and utterly epochal event promises to shake up your perception of what electronic music can be.

Swimming Paul is set to take the stage, armed with their signature blend of dreamy shoegaze and jangly indie rock that's as refreshing as a dive in a chlorinated pool on the hottest day of summer. Following their breakout album "Cannonball Catastrophe," this show is destined to be a scene-defining moment—a chance to say you were there when Swimming Paul made waves. It's an 18+ event, so the vibe promises to be both inclusive and invigorating. If you've grown tired of the same old Spotify playlists, this is your chance to immerse yourself in something truly splashy.

Prepare to have your indie cred tripled and your playlist revamped—Woof, What's Vital, Violet Waves, and Zeno Camera are amassing in a sonic collision that promises to be more seismic than when Sonic Youth discovered a new guitar tuning.

We're talking Woof, the lo-fi trailblazers, bringing their distinctive blend of dream pop and bedroom folk that feels like listening to a Smith's record in a rain-soaked attic. Then there's What's Vital, coming in hot with their anthemic post-punk ballads that can turn even the most mundane Monday into an age of rebellion.

And just when you think you've hit peak indie, Violet Waves cascades in with their synthpop symphonies that make you feel like you're living in a pastel-infused, VHS aesthetic. Closing the show, we've got Zeno Camera—part experimental noise band, part existential philosophy seminar, their set is set to be the kind of dizzying existential ride that leaves you questioning everything but their talent.

This isn't just a gig. It's the indie equivalent of Woodstock. And missing it? That's about as cool as not knowing who Pavement is.

Grab your favorite ironic band tee and your kid cousin, because The Rock and Roll Playhouse is dropping the needle on an all-ages jam that's making the rounds from your mom's book club to the underground chatrooms of indie heads. This isn't your average "I'm just here for the juice boxes" kind of gig. No, this is a deep dive into the majesty of the rock canon, served up with a side of games, stories, and an invite for the ankle biters to rock out like they're headlining CBGB.

Can you imagine a mini mosh pit of toddlers bouncing to the Beatles? It's avant-garde. It's whimsical. It's the kind of subversive spectacle that makes you reconsider the boundaries of genre and generation. And, with a gentle nod to little eardrums, the volume's turned down, so no need to worry about your niece developing a taste for tinnitus.

As the kids thrash, you'll be consenting to your image being captured in all its glory - so style accordingly. Get there early to nab advanced tickets because, like a limited run of vinyls, these won't last. Oh, and remember to opt into The Rock and Roll Playhouse mailing list—it's the secret handshake to a whole new world of indie for the under 10s.

.

Just when you thought your winter blues couldn't chill any deeper, MELT ICE is here to thaw you out with their Stand With Minnesota Benefit Show at the inimitable Bottom Lounge. This isn't just any gig—it's a call to arms, a crusade against scalping that's hotter than a My Bloody Valentine guitar solo. As the band's ethereal tones and lyrical ice picks chip away at your frosty ennui, you'll find yourself awash in a sea of like-minded indie aficionados, all rocking to the same beat of subcultural fervor.

Beware of third-party tricksters selling bogus tickets online—Bottom Lounge won't vouch for those. But don't worry, you'll snag your authentic entry pass in good time for the event. If your e-ticket hasn't fluttered into your inbox by T-minus three days, holler at the Lounge and they'll get you sorted.

Prepare for a Minnesota winter's night that'll leave you more stirred than a pensive Sufjan Stevens track and more electrified than a synthpop shockwave. This is a night not to be missed, a beacon of cool in the dark depths of a mellowed-out mid-winter.

Prepare to lose yourself in the magnetic swirl of Ruby’s sonic landscapes, a band whose blend of melancholic shoegaze and fiery post-rock has the power to transmute the mundanity of life into an ethereal dreamscape. With support from Coach House, the amorphous art-pop collective that’s been collecting buzz like lint in Brooklyn's underground scene, and The Fighting Godot, whose existential punk is as paradoxically enthralling as the absurdist play it cheekily nods to, this promise to be a night of revelatory indie revelations and blissful auditory immersion.

The names on the bill may be unassuming, but their artistry is anything but. Ruby's heartrending lyricism, Coach House's fusion of electronic and acoustic textures, and The Fighting Godot's confrontational yet cathartic energy come together for an evening that is sure to be etched into the annals of indie lore.

So, dust off your Doc Martens, don your most ironic graphic tee, and prepare for a night where the vibrations of the bass linger in your chest long after the last note has faded. This unmissable lineup is a siren call for the city's indie-obsessed, a promise whispered in the dark corners of the underground that nights of potent, unfiltered music are still alive and kicking. The only question left is, do you dare to dive in?

Groove your way into the guts of the underground with goodkitty, the synth-purring dream pop outfit that's been making the scene swoon with their kitten-soft melodies and lion-hearted lyrics. Sharing the stage are the indefinable Jawson Dell, who’s been known to shapeshift between raw, gut-punching grunge and quietly haunting acoustic sets, and the inimitable damsel., whose lo-fi, angelic warbles could make even the most hardened hipster shed a melancholy tear. A night of such unique flavors promises a palette of sound that’ll leave the Williamsburg crowd yearning for more. Pull on your thrifted Levis, polish your Doc Martens, and surrender to this triumvirate of indie titans.