Other shows in Los Angeles

Emerging from the gritty underbelly of Brooklyn's sonic tapestry, GEESE is the band your favorite band is quietly obsessed with. This isn't just a gig—it's a high-voltage communion of post-punk revivalism and youthful defiance, where the DIY ethos crashes into a sonic wall of euphoric chaos. Imagine the sonic lovechild of Television's raw storytelling, with a touch of Parquet Courts' frenetic energy, all swirling amidst a backdrop of frenzied guitar riffs that could tear through the fabric of reality itself. It's the kind of night where decrepit warehouse walls will sweat with the resonance of something pure, raw, and urgent. If you're not there, perched on the edge of an existential epiphany with a PBR in hand, are you even part of the scene? Catch them now, or pretend you were there later.

Emerging from the gritty underbelly of Brooklyn's sonic tapestry, GEESE is the band your favorite band is quietly obsessed with. This isn't just a gig—it's a high-voltage communion of post-punk revivalism and youthful defiance, where the DIY ethos crashes into a sonic wall of euphoric chaos. Imagine the sonic lovechild of Television's raw storytelling, with a touch of Parquet Courts' frenetic energy, all swirling amidst a backdrop of frenzied guitar riffs that could tear through the fabric of reality itself. It's the kind of night where decrepit warehouse walls will sweat with the resonance of something pure, raw, and urgent. If you're not there, perched on the edge of an existential epiphany with a PBR in hand, are you even part of the scene? Catch them now, or pretend you were there later.

Emerging from the gritty underbelly of Brooklyn's sonic tapestry, GEESE is the band your favorite band is quietly obsessed with. This isn't just a gig—it's a high-voltage communion of post-punk revivalism and youthful defiance, where the DIY ethos crashes into a sonic wall of euphoric chaos. Imagine the sonic lovechild of Television's raw storytelling, with a touch of Parquet Courts' frenetic energy, all swirling amidst a backdrop of frenzied guitar riffs that could tear through the fabric of reality itself. It's the kind of night where decrepit warehouse walls will sweat with the resonance of something pure, raw, and urgent. If you're not there, perched on the edge of an existential epiphany with a PBR in hand, are you even part of the scene? Catch them now, or pretend you were there later.

Prepare your senses for an auditory overload as Peaches storms through your city, bringing her boundary-pushing, electro-clash anthems that will have your heart racing faster than a Brooklyn-bound L train at 3 a.m. This is not your grandmother's concert—unless your grandmother crowdsurfs and believes that gender is just a construct. Opening the night is Gelli Haha, the synthpop provocateurs who've been making waves in the basement gig circuit with their kaleidoscopic beats and lyrics sharper than a Williamsburg bartender's glare. This night promises a sonic rollercoaster where DIY ethos meet unapologetic artistry, creating an atmosphere so electric you'll wonder if you accidentally licked a battery. So, dust off your vintage pleather and prepare to dance your ennui away, because missing this would be like skipping the last party at your favorite underground venue before it becomes a gentrified vegan bistro.

If you haven't yet vibed with Channel Tres, consider this your wake-up call from the universe. The Compton-born maestro of G-funk house is bringing his audacious beats and buttery vocals to an undisclosed Brooklyn warehouse, transforming it into a pulsating epicenter of late-night cool. This isn't just a gig; it's a sonic journey where your feet won't know the meaning of rest. Imagine the soulful spirit of Barry White getting down at an underground rave, and you've got a taste of the magic Tres conjures live. His grooves are the soundtrack to your next life-affirming dance floor epiphany, and missing this would leave your FOMO with no chill. So grab your most ironic band tee and prepare to lose yourself in the kind of night tales are told about.

Listen up, cultural connoisseurs: this weekend, the Navy Pier Open Air is about to get a seismic jolt of sonic bliss, courtesy of Hugel. If you're not already familiar with this Parisian maestro, consider this your wake-up call. Hugel's beats are like a mischievous love child of electro and deep house, birthing tracks that flirt with your soul and seduce your senses. Imagine a dance floor where Daft Punk, Disclosure, and your coolest friend’s Spotify playlist are having a rager, and you’re halfway there.

This isn’t just a gig; it’s an odyssey into the heartbeat of the EDM underground. Hugel doesn’t just play music; he curates an atmosphere, a vibe so infectious it could turn even the most cynical scenester into a full-blown dance disciple. And let’s be real, your meticulously curated Insta feed is thirsty for some authentic, unfiltered joy that can only come from losing yourself in the music beneath the stars. So ditch the Netflix and whatever pretentious plans you had because this is the kind of night you’ll reminisce about at afterparties for years to come. Get there, or forever pine in the purgatory of FOMO.

When the clock strikes midnight, reality blurs into a kaleidoscope of bass-heavy beats and neon dreams as AC Slater takes center stage. This is a night where the underground pulses with the energy of tomorrow, a sonic journey crafted by the kingpin of Night Bass himself. If you’re looking for a party that will leave your eardrums tingling and your feet sore, this is it. Imagine sweat-drenched walls reverberating with the echoes of an uncontainable crowd, every drop and snare hitting like a secret handshake among the elite. It’s the kind of night that turns strangers into co-conspirators and leaves you boasting to your friends about the time you got lost in the groove of something legendary. Grab your tickets, rally your crew—this isn’t just another night out, it’s the stuff of subcultural legend.

When the Irish troubadour Foy Vance rolls into town, you don't just attend—you embark on a sonic pilgrimage. This isn't your run-of-the-mill gig; it's an emotional exorcism set to a soundtrack of soul-stirring swoons and gritty blues. Imagine the intimate charm of a speakeasy, where every chord feels like a secret only the chosen few are privileged to hear. Vance’s raw, whiskey-soaked vocals will strum your heartstrings while his storytelling spins tales you didn’t know you needed but won't be able to forget. If your heart isn't left aching and your mind spinning, you might want to check your pulse. Miss this show, and you might as well admit your Spotify Discover Weekly has better taste than you.

Snakehips are swooping into town, ready to electrify the night with their signature blend of future beats and nu-disco grooves. This isn’t just a gig—it's a pilgrimage for anyone who knows that the real magic happens when synths collide with sheer talent. Forget the mainstream noise and dive into a soundscape that’s as smooth as a silk bomber jacket and twice as cool. This 21+ soiree promises to be cashless and utterly priceless, with the kind of vibe that makes bottle service seem passé. Your golden ticket awaits via TicketWeb and TIXR—don’t let some third-party shenanigans lock you out of the sonic utopia that is Snakehips live. Dust off that ID, don your sharpest threads, and prepare to ride the wave of modern electronic mastery. Miss this, and you’ll be left scrolling Instagram, wondering why the best nights are always the ones you don't make it to.

When the Irish troubadour Foy Vance rolls into town, you don't just attend—you embark on a sonic pilgrimage. This isn't your run-of-the-mill gig; it's an emotional exorcism set to a soundtrack of soul-stirring swoons and gritty blues. Imagine the intimate charm of a speakeasy, where every chord feels like a secret only the chosen few are privileged to hear. Vance’s raw, whiskey-soaked vocals will strum your heartstrings while his storytelling spins tales you didn’t know you needed but won't be able to forget. If your heart isn't left aching and your mind spinning, you might want to check your pulse. Miss this show, and you might as well admit your Spotify Discover Weekly has better taste than you.

If your Spotify algorithm hasn’t introduced you to Plini yet, consider this your cosmic hint to get in tune with the universe. Picture this: a night where prog-guitar wizardry meets existential catharsis, all under the shadowy, sweat-glazed glow of the Metro's iconic stage lights. This isn’t just a gig; it’s a pilgrimage for the soul-searching soundscaper. Add Night Verses and Portraits into the mix, and you’ve got a lineup that promises to melt faces and mend hearts in a single riff. Doors fling open at 6:00 PM, and if you’re not there to witness the magic unfold, prepare for a tidal wave of regret that no amount of TikTok doomscrolling can quell. Remember to flash your ID, snag your tickets from Metro’s site, and email for any special accommodations you might need—because no one should miss having their consciousness expanded due to logistics. Consider this your official invitation to join the cool-kid congregation and bask in the sonic sermon of the year.