In a packed, reverberating Santo’s Party House, people all around raised hands slowly, every clap in unison, heads lulled into bobbing back and forth. Some drifted into the ecstasy of synths and drums, others just had a friggin great time. Body Language, by name alone, brings to mind the effect they produce with their techno-pop-rock hybrid: dancing (and also flirting). Their great success is to move butts, both to their gigs, and of course at their gigs. They are like a loud electric lullaby, not rocking you to sleep obviously, but inducing a state that destroys the will to stand still. On top of all that they have the personality of being quirkily timid, sexual, fun, and nonsensical.

The sound is electronic: Matthew Young on pronounced sound through the vocoder, Grant Wheeler on vocals keyboard/synth/talkbox, Angelica Bass on sly vocals and glockenspiel, and Ian Chang as the human drum machine (and vocals). All members are quite serious about their music, in that they play their instruments really well, put on a fantastically energetic show, and friggin love what they’re doing. The audience can feel it as they shout into keyboards, bounce off glockenspiels, clap their hands, and sing all four in unison. The bright feel brings everything a sense of partying, of a night that has just begun, in the right way, and just a little sexual energy. There’s a lot of negative crap out there, but Body Language is on a whole other level. They just might brighten up the day.

They took the stage, the duo, be-flanneled and hairy, singer and guitarist Omer Leibovitz’s worn features circling, bird-like, in front of the microphone, while Layton Weedeman saddled up next to him, nestled by a drumset. Mercury Lounge’s audience filtered in punctually.  Though cold as shit and rainy outside, inside was warm and cozy with fans and friends savoring the raw flavor of blues-burnt rock.

You know them, you love them, because The Courtesy Tier are seasoned performers and musicians, and play together like a no-frills dynamic duo, neither member pushing for the prominent role. Pretty much constant playing is required by both for their rocking symbiosis — Omar provides the thrashy guitars and punk-blues vocals, and Layton the clicking, splashing foundation of drums and vocal harmonies. The vibe was all the more welcoming as the Courtesy Tier sounds pretty mature, because they don’t treat the audience like idiots. They are comfortable presenting their own thing, fine with being themselves onstage, not relying on patronizing shock value or cutesy bullshit.

The set was songs on the short side, lyrics as honest and forthright as their instrumental playing: “I need a friend… I need a friend… I need a friend to show me how to live again.” They capture simple, serious, important feelings that none of us pay particular attention to, and preserve them in concise songs that just get the point across. But they’re not downers either, as each song has a Hendrix-like heaviness and an old school blues influence (often with unison guitar and vocal lines), played with smashing precision. They’re playing at Don Pedros on Feb. 6^th in Brooklyn, recommended!

On a blustery evening at Park Slope’s Tea Lounge, Zevious broke out the videogame metal/jazz with nightmarish intensity. The thorny trio is a brainchild of Mike Eber, Jeff Eber, and John Deblase, but while conceiving of music that is difficult, dissonant, and dense may sound easy, the actual performance is a different beast. And Zevious is beastly — they executed every odd measure, polyrhythm, and wild polytonality masterfully. Audience members peered in wonder over their laptops as Zevious melted faces with creative grooves.

It would be wrong to say that they are in any particular genre — with apparent jazz and metal influences they straddle two complex realms and point out the similarities. Mike Eber’s stifled electric guitar led the controlled mayhem, occasionally introducing his improvisational voice in fleeting, claustrophobic melodies. The originality of his playing can hardly be done justice here — compositions and improvisations seem to express the witty, devious, and eccentric elements of his personality. He has found a perfect match in his cousin Jeff, who can do absolutely anything to the drums. And the electric bass playing of John Deblase adds an ebullient, dangerous storm of heaviness. 

Zevious has explored the dark side with tremendous results, providing turbulent songs with quirky names (“Coma Cluster,” “Mostly Skulls,” “That Ticket Exploded”) to seduce everyone’s inner demons. Zevious is capable of some heinous shit and unbelievable complexity, but thankfully you don’t have to understand it to be in awe of it.

Brooklyn three-piece Beloved Rogue finds beauty in the simple things.  Last Wednesday at Matchless as part of Jezebel's Resonance, the band showcased their ability to compose minimal yet engaging songs.  Contrasting raw vocal harmonies with experimental guitar solos that sometimes wandered through shoegaze and other times wailed in a psychedelic way, Beloved Rogue added an edge to their chilled-out pop tunes.

Splitting the vocals between guitarist Sean Finnegan’s higher-range and guitarist Alex Koch’s tenor voice served the band well.  Oftentimes singing together but also switching lead, the dual voices offered a change of pace from other indie trios.  Michael Petrucelly provided consistency with his drum lines, sometimes playing a sort of call-and-response with the vocals, but Finnegan’s solos are what carried the set.  His tasteful use of echoes, delays and phase effects brought together various styles and influences, adding a dreamy quality to his guitar riffs.

However, by the end of the set, the tempo swayed and a few harmonies were missed.  It would have been nice to see them go out with a bang, but as they practice more and further develop their style, Beloved Rogue will stake their claim in the Brooklyn scene.

Watch their new video below and check out their website for a free download of their new EP, Polaurora.  Catch them live again next year on February 22nd at Cake Shop.

The Asteroids Galaxy Tour

One telling thing about the Copenhagen-based duo was the diversity of their crowd. Like their songs and style, the crowd was a mélange of disco betties, hippie flower children (one guy wore a matador shirt with a sunflower tucked behind his ear), and chic ravers with a few hip hop enthusiasts thrown in. Basically, The Asteroids Galaxy Tour has something for everyone. There was a song with jingle bells, one with shakers, several with Lindberg’s sultry voice favoring croons over lyrics. Their slower songs let their jazz roots show while most of their numbers couldn’t be classified as anything but dance tunes. At one point, the band invited hip hopper Vexedlo onto the stage to flow, adding another layer to an already stylistically diverse show. Lindberg shared her mic and Vexedlo leaned into her; it’s during this number she allowed a small smile, the only one during a song, betraying her Indie nonchalance. It was clear they were having a good time. In their last song, “The Golden Age,” the chorus repeated “sing it out loud / let yourself free.” There wasn’t any doubt that the band has followed its own advice.

The best part of seeing The Galaxy Tour live was the shocking quality of Lindberg’s voice. In some of their recordings she sounds tinny, almost whiney, but live, her voice cut through in happy contrast to the muddy mix. There were sound issues at the onset, but she (and the rest of the band) managed to adapt to this and pull it off overall. It was unclear after seeing them live why they wouldn’t go ahead and absorb the musicians into The Galaxy Tour full time because, despite Lindberg’s dynamic stage presence and powerful lyrical styling, it was the accompaniment that really fueled the band’s greatness. They’re not one to be missed next time they’re in the City.

Bottle Up and Go brought their sloppy grunge-blues to Glasslands for CMJ, kicking off a short set with twanging slide guitar and distortion-tinged vocals. The songs are really straight-up rock, tightly performed, country-steeped, and best accompanied with shots of whiskey. Keenan Mitchell played unison guitar and vocal melodies, backed by Fareed Sajan’s explosive drumming, and sonically mixing it up with baritone sax squeaks and shrieks.

The band has a solidly recognizable sound because of its sparseness — the lone guitar and drum sound features melodies that are proudly blues-drenched. Harkening back to American folk songs, three chords per song is all they need. The draw is in the intensity, and their urge to spread that energy like fire through an audience. Like Howlin’ Wolf mixed with Melvins, Bottle Up and Go are the anti-indie rock.

Kevin Johnston is a powerful singer and songwriter. His epic rock originals could easily become corny if not for the honest, mature approach by Johnston and band, steering clear of blatant pop influence without sounding unfamiliar. They stick to the tried and true: the catchy songs, interesting and unpretentious melodies, clear arrangements, reserved playing, all spoke for themselves. 

In the middle of an obnoxiously packed Spike Hill, the theatrical mood was set by enthusiastic fans singing along and Johnston’s lyrical melancholy. On “Shed Some Light,” Johnston paints a pleading portrait of shame and confusion that everyone relates to: “The things that I want and the things that I’ve done can’t be spelled out to just anyone/Ashamed to admit that the thing I’ve become is too dark to see.”  This level of beauty, conviction, and mass appeal are a very rare thing.

The band consisted of Kirk Schoenherr (of Smother Party and Third Space) with that precious, spaceman Schoenherr sound, Spencer Zahn on electric bass, and Sam Levin (also of Smother Party) on drums. Zahn’s contagious smile was as important to the band as his understated bass playing, and Levin, as always, had the power and control to adapt perfectly to any musical environment. Johnston’s voice is perhaps better left untouched, since it can only be described in the cheesiest terms: majestic, soaring, effortless, impassioned, etc. In other words, it’s the real deal, and from the look on the faces in the crowd everyone else felt it too. His performance brimmed with everything worthwhile about pop music, and left the crowd hungry for more.

At their most recent performance, The Mandingo Ambassadors started a dance party yet again with their contagiously catchy Afropop.  Despite playing every week for only a collection of tips, the band possessed a genuine energy, a sense of joyous respect for the music and its traditions.  Every member swayed as they played, emphasizing the hand drum’s complicated patterns with their feet, moving the gentle bass lines along with their hips.  Vocalist Ismael Kouyate sang intricate melodies in English, French and Mandinka with beautiful ease as he danced, interweaving his words and tones with guitarist Mamady Kouyate’s upbeat, tropical riffs.  The horn section only enhanced this tropical feel while drummer Andy Algire played cut-time fatback grooves along with the rich, earthy tones vibrating from the djembe.

While it’s easy to say The Mandingo Ambassadors have a Latin-tinge, jazzy flair or Caribbean vibe, the opposite is actually true: Latin, jazz and Caribbean music all have Manding roots.  Originating in the 13th century amongst the Manding people of Western African, this music combines elaborate, sparkling melodies with syncopated rhythms, and, almost as importantly, energetic dancing.  

Midway through the first set, a Barbes bartender announced the passing of the tip jar along with encouraging everyone to dance.  “I can’t because I’m working, but you guys have no excuse.  You should get up.  The music plays off the dancing,” she explained.  And indeed it did.  Once a few people were up on their feet, the guitar lines changed pace, matching that of the dancers and then increasing, challenging them to keep up. 

At one point, M. Kouyate rose from his chair and engaged a young woman sitting down as he swayed and played.  She stood up and quickly fell into the groove, tossing her arms side-to-side as the two faced each other and tapped in a circle around the floor.  Kouyate’s guitar became an extension of himself as he moved, rapidly popping his fingers over the strings as if they, too, were just dancing along.  The rest of the audience backed this up, dancing more vigorously and even shouting occasionally, while the band continued their never-ending, pleasant flow of music.

Whether trading the lead or playing a layered, feel-good chorus, The Mandingo Ambassadors bounced through both sets with a light, relaxed feel.  This is not to say they played loosely.  Each transition was strikingly tight, each song ended in perfect unison.  They could have played till dawn and people would have stayed dancing; time becomes nonexistent when The Mandingo Ambassadors are on stage.

Catch them every Wednesday at Barbes or stay tuned to their MySpace for other upcoming gigs.