After a frenetic dash through Manhattan, I crammed into the rush-hour L train to Brooklyn. The scene was like a faded polaroid. Clusters of aging indie fans were decked out in the uniform of 2017: overly-cuffed light-wash jeans, thrifted windbreakers in bright, primary colors and beat-up vans. Some compared the best pre-show IPAs they could grab on a Thursday night. Others reminisced about scrappy basement shows and underground raves, then pivoted to swapping wedding stories and complaints about juggling their kids’ schedules. It was hard not to feel a sense of time warping around us. The scene felt like a flashback, as though we were all chasing a moment that had already passed us by. Outside Brooklyn Steel, the crisp fall air offered a quiet contrast to the city’s chaos, as we prepared to be drawn further into Ginger Root’s expansive world-building project.

Indeed, the last time I came here was in August 2017 for a Washed Out show, and tonight was like a time capsule. These Ginger Root fans seemed like the 30-something versions of that crowd, trading barista jobs and cramped roommate-quintuples for weekend trips upstate with their fiancées and meticulous budget spreadsheets. As a 24-year-old who tends to follow “the scene,” I’m usually among the elders at other events, but here, I found myself comfortably nestled in the median, a quiet observer of this familiar yet transformed gathering. While the world hurls forward, there are still artists with an inventive nostalgia and finesse for the funky rejuvenation of bygone sonic palettes.

Ginger Root’s approach to music is just that: a transfiguration of painfully familiar city pop/funk pastiche. Yet, it is the earnest originality of this revivalist Americanized city pop and its multimedia experimentation that attracts indie music nerds and analog tinkerers alike. Cameron Lew is a videographer first, the accompanying visuals for SHINBANGUMI! advancing the narrative of the last EP’s. The title roughly translates to “new season” of a TV show from Japanese. There’s intricate lore behind it — Ginger Root Productions is the project of a fictional music supervisor, fired by a media conglomerate called Juban TV. Tonight’s mise-en-scene was just as watertight. Sprinkled across the stage were mini CRT screens set up for a live video installation — with a startling VHS broadcast of Juban’s “CEO.” He flickered across the main screen, declaring that the production was under tight control of the company. Lew emerged, wielding a remote with a comically long antenna, then hit a twirl, and shut off the display with an anti-corporate smirk.

Lew and his live cameraman, the over-the-shoulder VHS wielding David Gutel, moved in sync like an electric tango. Each moment was framed, captured, distorted, and re-displayed in a seamless feedback loop — the show felt like a living, breathing tape. Glitch was a key component, the fabric of the performance, part of the immersive narrative. It felt like a time machine powered by 1980s Japanophilia, imparting a playful atmosphere lifted straight from the archives of a half-forgotten TV network. The enthralled crowd hurrahed and razzed along, our city pop aficionados here for the whole performance.

Ginger Root at Brooklyn Steel photo by Tuhin Chakrabarti

Before the first notes of “Better Than Monday” dropped, Lew’s dry, signature, self-aware, anti-capitalist wit seized our hearts. There’s an introverted charm on display. He’s not too showy, his lyrics a bit emotionally restrained. He’s more of a non-client-facing editor, cooped up and surrounded by screens — which is a role he’s actually had and prefers. During the performance, Cameron would quip like, “Don’t you hate it when…” starting off with something relatable then trailing into some absurdly abstract garble about spirituality or psychology, all while maintaining the oddball charm of a late-night TV host who knows he’s got nowhere to be the next morning. Lew, in his characteristic nerdy charm, leaned into his introverted nature —unsexy, emotionally withdrawn, but lovable. His dress— beige pants and a tweed jacket — embodied this academic style. Far from pretentious, it drew the audience in, including the entire venue on an inside joke. It was all part of the lore: a man who created his own TV network after being ousted from the corporate machine, now making his mark in the Juban District. In another moment, he apologized for the high ticket costs, claiming that they’re actually running an “experiment” on the crowd that necessitated the prices.

This was an experiment indeed, as this tinkerer-turned-mastermind sung into a red telephone, his voice tastefully distorted like an intercom from a bygone era. “Better than Monday” and “All Night,” two tracks from the new album, dripped with a synthetic nostalgia — performed against a backdrop of lo-fi visuals pulled straight from a late ‘80s cable-access broadcast. The audience responded in kind, nodding along with a mix of approval and reverence. Lew’s vocals, processed and warbled, gave the performance a DIY, lo-fi tinge, reinforcing that delicate line Ginger Root walks between modern experimentation and analog worship. His retro-futuristic pulse felt right at home in Brooklyn Steel’s industrial setting, which contrasted perfectly with this glitchy sound.

“Out of State” and “Karaoke” were familiar, comforting echoes from 2020’s Rikki EP, recalling the formative days, when Cameron Lew’s quirky vision first took shape. For a moment, it was as if we’d slipped back into those simpler times, wrapped up in the nostalgia of his carefully crafted universe. Lew’s world is easy to get lost in, with its glitching visuals and analog daydreams. But as we spilled out into the crisp autumn air after the show, reality crept back in. We exchanged knowing smiles and nervous laughs, but deep down, we all felt it: time had moved on. Cameron may have mastered the art of rewinding time on stage, but the rest of us couldn’t escape the truth. Maybe we weren’t just here for the music. Maybe we were all chasing past versions of ourselves, or the utopian promises of early technologies.

Order tickets for Ginger Root HERE

Words by Tuhin Chakrabarti