Is CMJ the new South by Southwest? The week-long showcase of up-and-coming independent artists that takes place at venues across New York City is, refreshingly, nothing more than just that. These days, the corporately bloated South by Southwest can only claim to be as much. CMJ didn't feature any pop stars or overbearing sponsors, and you've probably never heard of most or any of the featured artists. A few recognizable names—the Kills, Cold War Kids—sat atop the bill, but for the most part CMJ is meant for bands still waiting to be discovered, not those who already have solid fan bases and are fishing for a licensing deal. For now CMJ is an event that even the jaded music lover can appreciate. Over the course of the past week, we combed the big and small venues of Manhattan and Brooklyn looking for the best of what's to come. Below are some of our favorite artists we discovered. Familiarize yourselves. —Ryan Bort
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Twin Peaks
Twenty-four hours after the Brooklyn DIY venue Glasslands announced that it would close its doors come New Year's Eve, Chicago's Twin Peaks took its low-slung stage for 30-odd minutes, and destroyed it. Rock and roll was alive and well in that particular windowless corner of Williamsburg during the band's set of pounding, ruthless, party-willing-and-party-ready-garage-rock. The four young dudes don't look old enough to drink because, well, they aren't (and yet, that doesn't stop them). Singer-guitarist Cadien James taunted the crowd with intricate solos while wearing a full-body penguin suit. The unexpected star of the band, the second singer-guitarist Clay Frankel, had the poise and intensity of a much more veteran frontman. He bobbed and thrashed, crooned and shrieked. As instant-classic as Twin Peaks seemed, their performance was utterly present and in-the-moment this night—sloppy, scuzzy, slushy fun. All told, there were maybe 350 crammed into the 250-capacity warehouse. Soon, this property will become the Brooklyn headquarters of Vice Media. Glass-walled towers will continue to rise around what was once a pile of leaky bricks covered in graffiti. But for those 30 minutes, Twin Peaks fulfilled dreams of a very different kind of New York night. —John Hendrickson
Courtney Barnett
We have re-entered an Age of Anxiety, and, if there is one constant, we know the only way to beat it is listless punk and grunge music. Courtney Barnett is 1970s downtown Manhattan all over again, but inherently less communal and maybe less good. I don't know if you've talked to a 70-year-old recently, but the kids are all on their phones now, and they're all too lazy, and they all hate the very idea of family, and none of them will eat bread because of the gluten involved, and none of them will talk to one another anymore. It's almost like there should be lyrics rebelling against that sort of condemnation:
Are you eating? You sound so thin.
I don't know what I was thinking, I should get a job
I don't know what I was drinking, I should get a dog
Should get married, have some babies, watch the evening news.
Courtney Barnett wrapped those words around three or four power chords, then dolloped a solo on top of it. At Webster Hall, it sounded like one continuous fireball for about an hour on Wednesday. She said hello for the first time at the end, then played her best song, "History Eraser," which sounds like a Misfits single, then left. Who knows if she'll last. Courtney Barnett isn't the next Bob Dylan, but who cares? Play three chords. Play a guitar solo. Expect nothing. Leave. —Ben Collins
Happyness
This London trio came to CMJ with a healthy dose of '90s nostalgia. The alt-rock band has smooth, slacker melodies and vocal inflections that recall Pavement frontman Stephen Malkmus more than a little, but that wasn't a bad thing. Thick bass lines and alternately clear and sludgy guitars made for a nice instrumental combination, but lead singer Benji Compston was suffering from bruised vocals (he comically downed cough drops and even sprinkled the bag onto the crowd during a Wednesday night set). This band makes perfect rainy-day music: contemplative but not world-weary, mellow rock, but not soft rock. It's an ideal act to explore as the days get shorter and colder and wetter, more like London. It's gloomy, yes, but it won't put you to sleep. —John Hendrickson
