Article Contributed by Russell Levine
Published on 2026-03-07
Alastair Greene | Boca Raton, Florida | Photos by Russell Levine
Texas blues guitarist Alastair Greene and his power trio deliver a volcanic night of guitar fury at Boca Raton’s legendary listening room.
The air inside The Funky Biscuit on March 5 had the feeling of something slightly dangerous about to happen. Not dangerous in the criminal sense—more like the sonic equivalent of lighting a stick of dynamite in a small room and waiting to see what happens to the walls.
The Biscuit has been doing this to people since it opened in 2011. A musician-owned listening room with the reputation of having the best sound in Florida, it’s the kind of place where every note matters. Around here they define a “Funky Biscuit” as a beat or bass line that rattles your brain membranes and leaves you smiling in a state of mild musical ecstasy.
On this particular Thursday night, the delivery system for that sensation was the power trio led by Alastair Greene.
Greene walked onstage with the quiet confidence of a road-tested guitar gunslinger who has seen every type of club between Austin and Berlin. A Santa Barbara native now based in Texas, Greene carries the lineage of electric blues in his DNA—somewhere between the fire of Jimi Hendrix, the ferocity of Johnny Winter, and the soulful muscle of Stevie Ray Vaughan.
Music, it turns out, runs deep in the Greene family. During a conversation earlier in the evening, Greene spoke warmly about his grandfather, the late trumpeter Chico Alvarez, who performed with the legendary Stan Kenton Band. When Greene told his father he planned to become a professional musician, his dad offered a piece of advice that clearly stuck with him: “Well son, you won’t make a lot of money, but you’ll be doing something you love—and not many people can say that. So that’s wonderful.”
It’s a philosophy that seems to fit Greene perfectly.
But imitation is not part of Greene’s vocabulary.
From the first blast of “Fundershuffle,” Greene’s guitar playing came across like controlled chaos. His tone was thick and volcanic—one of those rich, tube-driven sounds that seems to grow teeth when pushed through a loud amp. The ferocity of his attack was startling; Greene doesn’t merely play the guitar, he wrestles it into submission, digging into the strings with a physical intensity that borders on athletic.
During extended solos, his phrasing moved like a storm system—quiet tension building, then suddenly exploding into lightning bolts of rapid-fire runs and searing bends. The room at the Biscuit is intimate enough that every micro-expression on the fretboard becomes visible, and Greene used that closeness to his advantage, leaning into the crowd as if daring them to keep up with the emotional velocity of the music.
And the man can sing.
Greene’s vocals carry the same grit and soul as his guitar playing. His voice isn’t polished in a pop sense—it’s textured, weathered, and perfectly suited for blues-rock storytelling. There’s a smoky warmth to it, but when he pushes into the upper register it becomes a raspy roar that rides the band like a second lead instrument. Songs like “Temptation” and the swaggering title track Standing Out Loud showcased a vocalist who has grown significantly over the years, delivering lines with conviction rather than mere technical precision.
Much of the night leaned into Greene’s recent work with Ruf Records, including material from the studio album Standing Out Loud and the gritty live release Live in Sin City. Tracks like “Slow Burn,” “Trouble At Your Door,” and “Temptation” landed with the kind of punch that only a road-tested band can deliver. These songs feel tailor-made for a power trio, leaving wide open spaces for Greene’s improvisational instincts to roam free.
Backing him was a rhythm section built for velocity.
Bassist Lonnie Trevino Jr. delivered thick, groove-heavy lines that kept the band glued together while still leaving space for Greene’s guitar to roam. Trevino’s playing is deceptively sophisticated—never flashy, but always exactly where it needs to be. His experience in the Austin music scene shows in the way he locks into the groove and lets the music breathe.
Behind the kit, Chris Trafton provided the evening’s thunder. His drumming was explosive but controlled, pushing the band forward with locomotive force while maintaining tight dynamics that allowed Greene’s solos to swell and retreat naturally.
Midway through the set, Greene tipped his hat to tradition with a rocked-out version of Junior Wells’ “Love So Strong,” followed later by the blues classic “Lawdy Mama.” Both became launching pads for ferocious guitar improvisations that seemed to push the limits of the small room’s structural integrity.
At one point, Greene joked with the crowd that he might play an entire set of songs about walking, leading into “Walking in Circles” and a groove-laden take on “Walkin’ Blues.” The humor felt natural—Greene carries himself like a musician who genuinely enjoys being on stage rather than someone simply fulfilling a professional obligation.
And that energy is contagious.
The latter half of the set turned into a full-blown blues-rock revival meeting: “Red Wine Woman,” “Am I to Blame,” and the swampy groove of “Bayou Mix” all landing like hammer blows. By the time the band tore into the closing stretch—“Say What You Want” and the raucous “Bullfrog Blues”—the room had surrendered completely.
Greene’s guitar tone was still ringing in the rafters as the crowd drifted out into the warm Boca night.
In a venue as sonically pristine and intimate as the Funky Biscuit, there’s nowhere to hide. Every note is exposed. Every vocal line stands naked in the air.
On this night, that vulnerability only amplified the truth: Alastair Greene is operating at a ferocious creative peak—singing better than ever, playing guitar like a man possessed, and leading a trio capable of turning a small Florida club into a full-blown electric blues storm.
And somewhere in the lingering echo of those final notes, you could almost feel the walls of the Biscuit settling back into place—after surviving a perfectly controlled musical explosion.
