MrJBays

Hello, New York

Union Square Noise Choir

 
 

a nostalgic for new york concept album…

PROJECT BACKSTORY

Union Square Noise Choir didn’t form the way bands are supposed to.
There was no rehearsal space. No classified ad. No plan.

Like most things in New York City, it happened by proximity and persistence.

Each member arrived in the city for different reasons — some chasing music, some running from something else, some just trying to survive long enough to figure out who they were. Their paths crossed the way paths always do here: on subway platforms, fire escapes, late-night diners, neighborhood bars, and corners where music spills into the street whether anyone asked for it or not.

Union Square became the center point — not as a destination, but as a constant crossing.
Everyone passes through. No one fully owns it.
It’s where voices overlap, rhythms collide, and strangers briefly share the same moment in time.

The band’s sound reflects that collision:

  • grunge and blues rubbing against street jazz

  • analog imperfections left intact

  • found percussion and human timing

  • songs that feel overheard rather than performed

Hello, New York isn’t a love letter or a mythologizing of the city.
It’s a document of movement — trains pulling in, storefronts closing, rain on pavement, conversations half-finished, people becoming themselves in real time.

Union Square Noise Choir is less a band than a temporary alignment
a collection of uncommon pieces forming a cohesive whole because, for a moment, the city decided they should.

And like the city itself, it’s understood this won’t last forever.
That’s what gives it weight.

ALBUM THEMES

  • belonging without ownership

  • anonymity as freedom

  • noise as community

  • imperfection as truth

  • movement as identity

This is music made inside the city, not about it.

 

TRACK 01

Hello, New York” opens the album like a quiet acknowledgment rather than an introduction. It’s the sound of stepping back into the city without fanfare — listening before speaking. Gritty blues, grunge texture, and raw saxophone drift together over a warm, imperfect groove as the city seems to answer back. The song isn’t about arriving to conquer anything; it’s about recognizing a place that has already shaped you. Worn, intimate, and unresolved, the track sets the tone for an album that treats New York not as a backdrop, but as a living voice — one that teaches you who you are simply by letting you walk its streets.



Stand Clear of the Closing Doors

This is the album’s pulse — immediate, physical, unforgettable.

Description:
A raw, brass-driven surge of energy pulled straight from a crowded subway platform. Built on pounding rhythm, overblown horns, and shouted phrases, Stand Clear of the Closing Doors captures the communal chaos of the city in motion. It’s loud, imperfect, and alive — a reminder that New York doesn’t move for you, but it will carry you if you keep up.



All Nite Diner

This track is the emotional counterweight — quiet, human, and deeply intimate.

Description:
A lo-fi spoken duet assembled from half-heard conversations and unfinished thoughts, All Nite Diner feels like sitting silently in a booth while other lives drift past. Warm bass, brushed drums, and fragile piano leave space for overlapping voices that reveal more by accident than intention. It’s a song about shared loneliness, fleeting connection, and the strange comfort of being surrounded by strangers at 3 a.m.



The Rain Doesn’t Slow Me Down

This is the album’s release — movement turning into joy.

Description:
Gritty, analog, and slightly euphoric, The Rain Doesn’t Slow Me Down is a poetic sprint through the city after midnight. Raw vocals, loose percussion, and rain-soaked guitar collide in a song about belonging — not because the city is easy, but because it’s alive. It’s messy, defiant, and hopeful, celebrating the moment when exhaustion gives way to momentum.

 
 

the band

 
 

Marcus Hale — vocals, guitar

Marcus arrived in New York with more notebooks than plans.
A songwriter who never trusted polish, he plays guitar the way he talks — direct, emotional, sometimes reckless.
Marcus’s voice carries the weight of loving a city that never promises anything back.
He doesn’t try to dominate the room — he lets it happen.


Gabriel Cruz — tenor saxophone, vocals

Gabriel grew up hearing music echo off concrete — block parties, church steps, subway platforms.
His sax lines feel conversational, sometimes playful, sometimes aching.
He treats melody like dialogue, weaving around voices rather than sitting on top of them.
In the Noise Choir, Gabriel is movement — the sound of the city refusing to stand still.


Mia Turner — bass, vocals

Mia plays bass the way New York walks — confident, deliberate, unapologetic.
She came from a background of soul, funk, and underground rock scenes, and her lines don’t decorate the songs — they decide where they go.
Her vocals add warmth and grounding, a reminder that even in noise, there’s intention.


Theo Mercer — keys, trumpet, percussion

Theo is the quiet architect.
Switching between upright keys, muted trumpet, and found percussion, he fills the negative space.
His parts feel accidental but precise — like overheard thoughts or reflections in windows.
Theo doesn’t push songs forward; he lets them expand.


Riley Knox — drums

Riley doesn’t keep time — she negotiates with it.
Her drumming is loose, expressive, and emotionally charged, full of imperfect accents and sudden restraint.
Buckets, sticks, rims, hands — whatever’s there becomes part of the kit.
She plays like the city sounds: alive, reactive, and never static.


Elijah Morales — baritone saxophone

Elijah is the anchor.

A late-night subway regular and lifelong observer, Elijah plays baritone sax like it’s carrying the weight of the city’s lower levels — tunnels, basements, unanswered questions.
His tone is heavy, patient, and unshakable, grounding the chaos around him.
He doesn’t solo often, but when he does, it feels like the city pausing just long enough to breathe.

Elijah believes music should feel inevitable.
Like traffic.
Like weather.
Like a train arriving whether you’re ready or not.