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Tribe is a feast for the senses. For your listening pleasure, DJs spin cutting-edge hip-hop and funk. The bottles on the bar, lit from behind with changing colored-gel screens, are a field day for the eyes. Congenial bartenders mix up tasty drinks, though most of the attractive, low-key patrons opt for drafts. The psychedelic projections on the wall are a pleasing distraction from the hideous upholstery on the banquettes. But there is such a thing as sensory overload, especially on weekends, when the tiny, unventilated space is overwhelmed with too much testosterone. — Tisa Coen