This past Tuesday, Brooklyn Paramount was stuffed tighter than I’ve ever seen it, bodies pressed shoulder to shoulder for the long-awaited return of The Band CAMINO. Fans filled every crevice of the grand ballroom, welcoming the trio back to the city that never sleeps – their first time here since their 2023 headlining in the heart of Manhattan at Hammerstein Ballroom. But this time, they came bearing new stories, new scars, and new songs from their July release, NeverAlways, ready to let them unravel beneath the glow of Brooklyn’s old cathedral lights.

Ethan Tasch eased the crowd into the evening like dusk spilling through stained glass. Alongside three other polished instrumentalists, one lingering near a slide guitar, he carried the kind of calm that hums before the storm. The slide’s voice whined and shimmered against the acoustic strums, a silver thread stitching warmth into the room. The harmonies hovered like soft confessions, and by the first chorus, the crowd was quietly transfixed. Most didn’t seem to know his name, or that he’d be setting the tone for the night, but as the melodies unfurled, you could feel the shift: people inching closer, eyes fixed, falling under the gentle gravity of sound.

Then came almost monday, bursting onto the stage with a rush that shattered the calm Ethan had left behind. Their energy was untamable and contagious, Dawson Daughtry commanding every inch of the stage with a presence that itched your brain just right. His voice cut through the chaos, never faltering, even as he spun and leapt beneath the strobes. I’d heard their name before, a few tracks here and there, but nothing could’ve prepared me for the universe they created live. Their music felt like unfiltered joy, a kaleidoscope of sound that made you want to scream, dance, laugh, to shake off everything that had weighed you down. I walked away with a new favorite band and nearly every song of theirs queued on repeat. If you appreciate their studio recordings, almost monday is a must-see live show – their tunes truly blossom in a live setting and their ambiance is simply infatuating.

As the stage reset, a voiceover drifted through the room, offering fans a chance to win a signed guitar and free merch. Setlist.Fm promotions have become the norm lately, but this one felt different – personal somehow. Even the runner-up prizes mattered. In a venue this vast, where connection can sometimes feel distant, The Band CAMINO found a way to make the crowd feel appreciated, like we were part of something larger than the show itself.

And then, the fog settled. The lights dimmed. The air thickened. The audience leaned in, as if pulled by the same invisible thread. When The Band CAMINO appeared, the noise was almost spiritual. Brooklyn didn’t just sing; it erupted. Every lyric was shouted like a prayer, every guitar riff met with a heartbeat of its own. This wasn’t a night of discovery; it was a homecoming. The room was filled with people who’d grown up with these songs, who’d screamed them through heartbreaks and healing, who clung to them like lifelines. For some, it was catharsis. For others, surrender. And for all of us, it was something close to holy.

The show opened like a film reel spinning to life. “Has Just Begun” played against a hazy backdrop as silhouettes appeared behind the fog. When the lights finally bloomed in warm whites and golds, the sight was breathtaking: faces illuminated, hands raised, the ballroom bursting at the seams. Spencer Stewart paused early on to say that Brooklyn Paramount is the most beautiful room they’ve ever played, and he wasn’t wrong. The space feels like a church reborn, a sanctuary for anyone carrying heartbreak, hope, or restless adolescence. For one night, it became a cathedral for the broken and the brave – tears glinting, voices trembling, hands waving in rhythm with the music.

Midway through, the band teased an unreleased song, one already making quiet rounds on social media. Though it isn’t streaming yet, the crowd already knew every word. The chorus rose like thunder, proof of how deeply fans have held onto their work. The band promised the song would be out soon, but even in its unfinished form, it radiated with tension: every note a mark of care, every lyric a reminder that they build slow because they build to last.

After “Baggy Jeans,” the lights softened to white and the air grew still. The amplifiers gave way to acoustics, the noise giving way to intimacy. For three songs, the band stripped everything down: bare guitars, tender harmonies, the kind of quiet that demands your full attention. When “Berenstein” began the segment, my heart caught in my chest. It was the first song that ever introduced me to The Band CAMINO back in 2017, when I stumbled upon it by accident while shuffling The 1975. Hearing it now, years of waiting to see them live, it felt like everything had come full circle.

After “Hate Me Yet,” the band surprised us with a cover of Justin Bieber’s “DAISIES.” I’ll admit, I’ve never been much of a Bieber person, but their version felt lived-in, like it belonged to them all along. It was warm and imperfect in the best way, like something found rather than made. I hope they release it someday; it deserves permanence.

They ended the night the way it began: cinematic. “What I Want” closed the set, guitars shimmering under the glow, drums pounding like heartbeat and closure rolled into one. When the final note faded, the fog rose toward the ceiling and the crowd stood frozen in the afterlight – no one wanting to move, as if staying still could make the moment last just a little longer.

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