Cab Ellis is Chaos Unconfined
Cab Ellis live at Bowery Ballroom, Jan 9th, 2026
Photo by Colin Lane - @colinlanephoto on Instagram
January 9, 2026 - New York, New York
Cab Ellis started the year off strong with a sold-out show at Bowery Ballroom on Friday, Jan 9th, and I’m pleased to announce the bruises across my arms and shins are lingering proof that I went. This is a band and a fanbase that devotes their literal blood, sweat, and tears to the experience that is their live shows. I was introduced to the band in early July as they played through their residency at Mercury Lounge, and their charisma (and many flung bodies) hit me like a truck at that first show. The room was filled to the brim, and the stage, for that matter, with a 7-person band emerging from the sidestage like some comical clown car (frontman Connor Abeles on vocals and guitar, Devlin Tenney and Olin Clark on guitar, Josh Uguccioni on bass, Chris Cotton on drums, Greg Carleton on sax, and Gabe Fraivillig on trombone). With a capacity of just 250, Cab Ellis packed the house and transformed Mercury Lounge into a masochistic sauna. The walls dripped with sweat as the crowd stood shoulder to shoulder and belly to back, a ferocious moshpit enveloped the center, and crowd-surfing became the exclusive mode of transportation. Frontman Connor Abeles thrashed around the stage as though he’d just found use of his limbs, then bulldozed through the crowd, mic in hand. The lead guitarist stage-dove, crowd-surfed the perimeter, downed an entire can of beer as he lay centered on the floor of the moshpit, then sprayed said beer back on the crowd, all while ripping an insane guitar solo. The band was tight, the bodies were loose, the crowd was ecstatic. I left my first Cab Ellis show soaked in my own sweat and the guitarist’s spritzed beer, bruised and battered, the night ringing in my ears. I’ve been addicted ever since.
Cab Ellis Live at Bowery Ballroom, Jan 9th, 2026
Enjoy this video my friend Casey took of frontman Connor Abeles sending us into “She Put That Man Over Me” via backflip.
Turns out Bowery Ballroom was no exception to their rule of restlessness; if anything, it was an amplification. Despite now having the proper space onstage to fit their army of musicians, the band made no hesitation to spill out into the audience, a habit their fans have an affinity for. They were Cab Ellis tried and true that night, exploding into the space with an immense vitality that invigorates their crowd. Abeles contorted, beer was spewed from mouths, the crowd shoved and was shoved, and every lyric was shouted back at the band with an incomprehensible zeal. The musicians left the stage that night with battered brass, halved drumsticks, and strings sputtering out of their guitar bridges. Successful night, to say the least.
What remains most impressive to me, beyond their consistency, beyond the charisma that seeps from this band’s fingertips, beyond the incredible musicianship laying resilient atop chaos ensued, beyond their audacity to backflip or dive headfirst into a crowd as though it were as easy as a pool, is the community Cab Ellis has curated for themselves. Their venues, no matter the day or time, are always bursting with a crowd that religiously lives by their music. I was shocked to discover they had less than 2000 followers on Spotify, because their crowd had revered them to a level of seeming superstardom. Now I understand Cab Ellis is a culture.
Moreover, it’s a community, and an encouraging, kind one at that. Strangers hoisted each other above and throughout the crowd, egging shy crowd-goers out of their shells, reassuring them that they're safe in every sense of the word. Others picked up those who hit the brunt of the mosh pit, and I myself was saved from hitting pavement by a few helpful waist-grabs. Conversations between songs with the band and the crowd-goers showcased longstanding friendships formed by the music there that night. Cab Ellis shows have equally the most aggressive and considerate crowds I have ever met. Between the shoulders and the sweat, we all become this amalgamation of one overarching mantra: music demands to be a visceral experience, and that experience is sanctity.
My first show at Mercury Lounge, I watched two women in the front row scream every lyric of every song as though it was a passion that retched out of them uncontrollably. They laughed and held each other, jumped and smacked the stage, stretched their fingertips towards the sky, banged their heads, and danced like this was the soundtrack to their lives. They were almost as magnetic as the band. I fell in love with them then and there, but I also fell in love with the fact that this consensus was the bare minimum for Cab Ellis’ crowds. At Bowery Ballroom, I watched mirrored iterations of that connection to music all across the room. I was so inspired by the night’s ecstasy that I crowd-surfed, which was a first for me. Cab Ellis makes me feel like I can fly, so naturally, I had to.
Cab Ellis incites us all to feel like the main character. The innate eccentricity of the band, the grandeur of their sound, the unapologetic, sporadic energy that sends them soaring (often literally)–they invite us to become these primal music lovers. They’re unconcerned with looking cool, unlike the boring shoegazers or the shiny pop divas. Their unadulterated self-expression goes beyond inspiring–it becomes palpable. Though stars themselves, they foster a selfless experience at their shows wherein you become part of something grandiose, rather than stay a mere spectator. This band demolishes the invisible wall between stage and audience, and incentivizes a further destruction of internal walls. Despite venue walls, Cab Ellis is chaos unconfined. As they writhe onstage, they inherently urge the crowd to become explosive, to personify the need for restlessness, the need for cathartic resilience against the niceties of everyday monotony.
Stripping us of our apprehensions, I have no doubt they will take the underground NYC scene by storm and revitalize the opportunity that underground alt-rock once presented. Not only do they have an incredible discography to support them, but a community that shows up for them and embraces their self-actualizing convictions. Much like Abeles’ body on that stage, I firmly believe their careers are anything but stagnant, and I’m elated to watch them grow from an already strong start. I’ve written and rewritten this live review over and over, and yet no words seem to sufficiently explain the euphoria of their shows. Take my ineptitude as proof that when something is so big, it wells up into something truly indescribable. The best vouch there is, is seeing them for yourself, so join the culture. You can find them here, around NYC (for now), and on Instagram @cabellisband. Come to a show if you ever want your inhibitions stripped and spit back in your face–or if you just want a beer spit in your face.