f you have occasion to be walking along the easternmost reaches of Rivington Street on the Lower East Side, you will happen upon a step-down bar with a curious window display of fresh-baked empanadas. Golden and untouched they sit still, acting as a beacon to the well-healed locals that now take up residence in the neighborhood. The bar belonging to those flaky crusted delicacies is Label, a music-first watering hole that's perfect for letting your hair down while escaping from the shaggy hipster set.

At Label, it's entirely about the music; more specifically, the underground beats. The perfect main course for those tasty Colombian appetizers, DJs spin non-commercial Latin funk, soul, house, drum and bass, and Afro-beat from Sunday to Wednesday. The sound system is powerful and clear, surging through the non-descript speakers that furtively dot the narrow bar and lounge. A long aisle stretches between the upfront bar and the back-area DJ booth, leaving plenty of space for you to carve out a niche and dance, should the mood strike. Also, nicely-appointed lounge chairs and tables let you sit and soak in the sound while you suck down your drink.

Admittedly, some of Label's light touches left me scratching my head. I admire the weathered editions of Victorian novels placed in small bookshelves above the lounge, but am I meant to treat this bar as a writer's haunt - a parlor room, if you will - while Seu Jorge solicits my hips? The illuminated antlers along the mirrored wall of the aisle are festive enough but, again, in the wrong spirit.

The bar itself glows fluorescently like those you see in Heineken commercials. There are no noticeable distinct touches, save the empanadas (I keep going back to those, don’t I?) There is no drink menu evident; no list of cocktails that might pair nicely with the worldly grooves. The whole bar space feels like a missed opportunity, as if the empanadas were more or less a stunt to draw you inside an innocuous lounge. Thank God for the DJ’s. The music sets the tone, but the rest of the bar fails to keep up. Perhaps, before expecting a full carnival inside, Label needs time to reach full stride. –M.C.N.