Profile

This venue is closed.

It supposedly operated as a Dominican speakeasy in the late seventies, but this cavernous space—located next door to a Mr. Kiwis bodega and underneath the tracks of the JMZ—has now been reborn as something only vaguely illicit: a D.I.Y. music space for a litany of obscure, ascendant, and even international bands across a bevy of genres, from l0-fi indie rock to dubstep to throwback hard-core. Locate the bouncer milling around the unmarked door shooing the noisy away, then climb the narrow, rickety staircase, backed up early on with bike-messenger dudes waiting to get their hands stamped; then, pass through an entrance area boasting a large mirror and a merch table. The stage itself is tucked in the back of the triangular main room, facing the hypotenuse; the makeshift bar—usually a few girls handing over Busch Lights or mixing sloppy rum and cokes in plastic cups over a card table—is stage left. There’s also a unisex bathroom (only two stalls) and a smoky back room for mid-set breaks. The space is definitely unique, but the best part of Market Hotel is undoubtedly the chaotic quality of the shows, channeling the spirit of basement parties and VFW-hall gigs everywhere. — Amos Barshad