One thousand or so bands (give or take a few shaggy haircuts) hit New York City every fall for the CMJ Music Marathon, a five-day band-a-palooza where new acts get noticed (see Arcade Fire) and scores more get drunk at open-bar showcases. For the next few days, Rock Daily will be bringing you reports on the bands we consider most worthy of your time after CMJ has packed up and moved on: Hip-hop is already pretty scarce at the indie-rock focused CMJ, so it didn't help matters that the fest's two best rap lineups were scheduled for the exact same time on Saturday night in different parts of town. At the Lower East Side's 205 Chrystie, hot underground Pittsburgh MC Wiz Khalifa (a former RS Breaking artist) was holding it down with mixtape-circuit star DJ Green Lantern. But further uptown, at the Highline Ballroom, an indie-rap all-star team proved to be the stronger draw. Sweet-voiced female MC Psalm One from Chicago kicked it off, followed by a solo set from Dilated Peoples' Evidence.

But the place didn't really erupt until albino legally-blind Muslim rapper (yeah, take a minute with that) Brother Ali brought his fiery rhymes to the stage. With a preacher's cadence and poetic couplets on everything from his failed first marriage to civil liberties (he calls himself "Howard Stern meets Howard Zinn"), the MC, who recently released The Undisputed Truth on Rhymesayers Entertainment, had the crowd screaming "A-li! A-li! A-li!" "Imagine a chubby albino kid from Minneapolis," he said from the stage, cutting off the chant. "KRS-One is more of a father to you than your own dad. Melle Mel is your uncle in you mind, and you memorize every word Rakim ever rapped. You start making rap records without any record contract and you finally make it to New York, where all of your heroes come from and the crowd is chanting your name." Louder: "A-LI! A-LI! A-LI!"

Headliners Little Brother came up next and described the night's show up to that point the best they'd ever played. MCs Big Pooh and Phonte lacked Ali's vocal clarity, but it didn't matter, since most of the fan-packed house knew every word -- even to songs on their new album Get Back, which doesn't come out until Tuesday (Phonte acknowledged that he himself leaked the record -- which wasn't much of a surprise since the "genre" category on leaked tracks comes up "Don't Ever Say Phonte Never Did Nothin For Y'all Niggas ... lol Enjoy!"). Phonte mixed up the set with his trademark comedic interludes on everything from T.I.'s recent arrest ("Dude should have said he was stocking up to fight Osama") to their departure from Atlantic Records ("Kunte Kinte got his papers!"). It was certainly the hip-hop highlight of the fest (sorry Tip), but of course, it didn't have much competition.

One thousand or so bands (give or take a few shaggy haircuts) hit New York City every fall for the CMJ Music Marathon, a five-day band-a-palooza where new acts get noticed (see Arcade Fire) and scores more get drunk at open-bar showcases. For the next few days, Rock Daily will be bringing you reports on the bands we consider most worthy of your time after CMJ has packed up and moved on:

The copious bitching and moaning that precedes CMJ -- the exhaustive hype, the hordes of bodies, the wristband drama -- all but vaporizes once you're actually at a show, anticipating the goods. And if there's one up-and-coming band whose songs can send whiners packing, it's MGMT. They might not be an outright psychedelic band, but there's no way around the colorful escapism provided on their mercurial electro-pop debut Oracular Spectacular. Friday night's audience of evenly divided male and female, washed and unwashed attendees was a little worn out by the time the band hit the stage a bit before 1 AM, but bobbed in place to their Flaming Lips-like fantasy jams. MGMT themselves were more timid than expected, and didn't totally harness their music's potential to beam listeners out of a dank basement club and into the clouds -- but there'll be plenty of time for that in the coming months. MGMT seem poised to ride excellent track "Time to Pretend" into a realm where they won't have to visualize success. Prior to entering the land of pretty swirly-pop make-believe, gravity was firmly enforced during Foreign Islands' furious set. The Brooklyn-based band unloaded post-punk dance tunes that could've put a fissure in the earth's crust -- kind of like what Franz Ferdinand would sound like if they were fed nothing but steak and eggs for twelve months straight. The band's high-energy frontman Mark Ryan kept the audience scared, excited or both.

[Photo: Sam Horine]

One thousand or so bands (give or take a few shaggy haircuts) hit New York City every fall for the CMJ Music Marathon, a five-day band-a-palooza where new acts get noticed (see Arcade Fire) and scores more get drunk at open-bar showcases. For the next few days, Rock Daily will be bringing you reports on the bands we consider most worthy of your time after CMJ has packed up and moved on:

One night after Dan Deacon metaphorically brought the house down, the Bowery Ballroom played host to another anticipated CMJ showcase. First up on the bill were the Tiny Masters of Today, featuring two siblings, thirteen-year-old guitarist-vocalist Ivan and eleven-year-old bassist-vocalist Ada, and a father-figure-like man on drums (yes, folks, we know it's onetime Jon Spencer Blues Explosion kitman Russell Simins). The wear-and-tear of CMJ showcases seemed to drain the youngsters, as the duo seemed lethargic throughout their performance, like they've been staying up way past their bedtimes. When they were on, they sounded like pre-teen Ramones playing Paddy Cake, especially on songs like "Hey Mr. DJ" and the Ada-sung anti-George W. rocker "Bushy." The band closed out their set with a Kidz Bop-esque version of House of Pain's "Jump Around." Yeah, they were cute, but hopefully this band's sound continues to mature or they might grow up and no one will like them anymore, like Frankie Munoz.

Next up was the decade that spawned the Tiny Masters, the 1990s. While their name conjures up images of grunge and Bill Clinton, the Glasgow trio is more indebted to the late Seventies/early Eighties, especially given the Buzzcockish riffs and Elvis Costello bounce of their songs. Singer-guitarist Jackie McKeown, who was once in a band called the Yummy Fur with Franz Ferdinand's Alex Kapranos, delighted the steadily-increasing Bowery crowd with songs from debut album Cookies. U.K. single "You're Supposed To Be My Friend" and "Enjoying Myself" (with a Modern Lovers' "Road Runner" tease) even had the cross-armed in the crowd swaying before closing out their fast eight-song set with "See You at the Lights."

After a spirited set by Pela, British Sea Power took the stage at half-past midnight to introduce American audiences to songs off their upcoming album Do You Like Rock Music? If your answer to that question was "Yes," then BSP's set didn't disappoint. While the band seemed more restrained during this visit than at their Bowery visit in 2005, the band still had the full attention of the crowd, especially a contingent of die-hards in the front. Some fans were singing along with new songs like "No Lucifer" and "Lights Out For Darker Skies," even though those songs won't be released until January (can someone say "album leak?") Guitarist Noble was especially on point, eviscerating his guitar strings on new tracks like "Atom" and "The Pelican." While the older material lacked the urgency it used to pack on previous tours, the band and the crowd surged to the next decibel level on the set-ending performances of "Carrion" and frequent stage-demolishing closer "Rock In A." While British Sea Power didn't bring the Bowery down like Deacon, they still did their fair share of damage.

You know Chicago's hip-hop scene is on the rise when a) Kanye West cameos on hometown rapper Kid Sister's "Pro Nails," and b) big, beer-chugging guys wave their cuticles in the air to its girlie chorus: "Got her toes done up with her fingernails match." Last night at Hiro Ballroom, the pint-sized diva, backed by West's DJ A-Track and sporting a platinum-blonde bob, got the crowd bouncing to kiss-off anthems like "Telephone" (chorus: "Nigga, quit callin' me!"), the Tangerine Dream-remixing "Let Me Bang" and the old-school banger "Control." But "Pro Nails" topped the show. "You ladies remember when you went to prom just because you wanted to dress up like a bride and get your nails did?" she asked, by way of introducing the track, and at least one quarterback-shaped dude hollered back in response.

Earlier that night, Cool Kids echoed the same Eighties-style vibe as Kid Sister, adhering to the golden rule of old-school hip-hop: As one journalist in the crowd put it, "When in doubt, rap faster." While a video screen mashed up Muppet Babies footage with clips from Michael Jordan-era Bulls games, the Chicago duo kicked things off by asking everyone to shake their key rings to their version of LL Cool J's "Jingling Baby," moved on to the M/A/R/R/S-sampling "Pump Up the Volume," and even played a track called "88," where they bragged about taking things back to the days of acid-washed jeans. At nineteen years old, the group's MCs, Chuck and Mikey, are probably too young to root their nostalgia in that part of the past. But their fresh, stripped-down sound definitely feels like it has a future.

[Photo: Dziekan/Retna]

One thousand or so bands (give or take a few shaggy haircuts) hit New York City every fall for the CMJ Music Marathon, a five-day band-a-palooza where new acts get noticed (see Arcade Fire) and scores more get drunk at open-bar showcases. For the next few days, Rock Daily will be bringing you reports on the bands we consider most worthy of your time after CMJ has packed up and moved on:

"Fuck, yeah!" shouted Randy Randall of the guitar-and-drums avant-rock duo No Age at the beginning of the pair's set at Bowery Ballroom. It was a neat summation of last night's lineup: No Age, Dan Deacon and Deerhunter all revel in the art of glorious, sloppy, demented noise.

No Age rocked the stage as if they had written the greatest guitar riff since AC/DC's "Back In Black," even though their songs are supremely messy two-minute bursts of chaos. Plus, they had a great spirit: Randall took turns playing from the top of the P.A. speakers or banging his head into his amp while drummer Dean Spunt at times slapped hands with the kids in the front row. When Randall claimed "We're really excited to see you guys," to the audience, you believed him.

A performance artist from Baltimore, Dan Deacon performed at his table of mixers, samplers, ring modulators and pitch shifters on the floor of the venue. Since he was in the middle of the action, the crowd crammed dangerously around him, jumping up and down like tweaked-out aerobics instructors to synth-rock bangers like "The Crystal Cat." For Deacon, it was too much and near the end of his set he shouted, "This level of shoving is just ridiculous." So he asked the crowd to push back and create passageways so a few fans could run in circles around the balcony of the ballroom and back down to the floor.

Things calmed down considerably for Deerhunter, the shoegazy four-piece from Atlanta. Their set was the perfect way to wind down from Deacon's maniacal exercise-rock, especially when they kicked into the kraut-rocking groove of "Cryptograms." It's too early to say for sure, but this felt like one of the best showcases of the festival yet.

[Photo: Ryan Muir]

One thousand or so bands (give or take a few shaggy haircuts) hit New York City every fall for the CMJ Music Marathon, a five-day band-a-palooza where new acts get noticed (see Arcade Fire) and scores more get drunk at open-bar showcases. For the next few days, Rock Daily will be bringing you reports on the bands we consider most worthy of your time after CMJ has packed up and moved on:

Given the success of Arcade Fire and Broken Social Scene, it's no wonder that there would be groups like the Most Serene Republic cashing in on the whole "collective" thing at this year's CMJ. But this Canadian septet came off more like an indie-rock version of High School Musical at their Bowery Ballroom gig last night. The band turned in a forty-minute set of too-over-the-top anthems, which showed off their jazz-and-classical-influenced chops (that's good) and Broadway-ready vocals (in this case, bad). Their second record, Population, is much, much better: a thirteen-track headphones-appropriate disc that takes its time unfurling some pretty orchestra-heavy tunes. Frontman Adrian Jewett seemed to pick up on the disappointed audience. Toward the end of the group's set, he said, "You're all critiquing us. You all probably have a blog or a Web site and you're going to write [bad things] about us." That neatly summed up the vibe of CMJ: many bands like Most Serene Republic get hyped, then disappear. But thankfully, twenty minutes after they exited the stage, Dean and Britta -- tireless professionals who used to front the excellent dream-pop band Luna for over a decade -- came out to show the new kids how it's done.

[Photograph by Ryan Muir]

Another year of CMJ draws to a close and the smelly, tight-jean-wearing kid that's been crashing on your couch for a week heads back to college in Arkansas. Check out the highlights of the weekend's shows after the jump.

Friday 11.3

• At the Canal Room, L.A. up-and-comers The Little Ones delivered cheery indie-pop with enough tambourine-shake to make Stevie Nicks jealous. Displaying a quirky, sunny sound sandwiched somewhere between Belle and Sebastian and Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, the group showed off tunes from their debut, Sing Song EP, literally drawing the audience forward with their infectious enthusiasm and surf-rock melodies. And considering they just formed earlier this year, the Little Ones may just take the indie-rock title of band who has the most fun onstage. In other words, there's nothing little about them. [CHARLEY ROGULEWSKI]
• Until we saw the Hold Steady at the Annex in NYC on Friday, we had never attended a secret show that managed to stay a secret. This one did. Ushered inside the mostly-full-but-still-comfortable room, we were able to order a drink, find a spot, and totally see without any hassle. The band tore through a handful of mostly new tunes (including our official favorite song of 2006 "Massive Nights" and the always awesome "Stevie Nix") while passing around a bottle of Jack, sweating and singing most of the lyrics vaguely near a microphone. How does a band this loose stay this tight? No idea, but every time we see them it's like a casual visit from God, if God were a chubby thirties-ish glasses-wearing Twins fan with an inexplicable thing for Soul Asylum. [ELIZABETH GOODMAN]
• It was a rock & roll shitshow where the CMJ badged were getting turned away left and right for Albert Hammond, Jr.'s first solo show at the Mercury Lounge, a.k.a. the joint where Hammond Jr.'s guitar career took off with a little band called the Strokes several years back. Who didn't get turned away? Hammond's Strokes bandmates Fabrizio Moretti and Julian Casablancas, the Shins' Dave Hernandez, former Smashing Pumpkins guitarist James Iha and even Hammond's legendary pop singer-songwriter dad, Albert Hammond, Sr. From the evening's first song, "In Transit," to the close of the nine-song set, just about every tune sounded like it could have, been well, err, umm on a Strokes set list. Even "101," the catchiest track on Hammond's just-released solo album Yours To Keep sounded like it would be a great cover for Casablancas and Co. The rocker "Holiday" and closer "Hard to Live in the City" best displayed the main difference between Hammond's solo work and the Strokes' -- Hammond's hoarse, unpolished vocals, which gave the familiar (and stellar) songs a down-and-out charm. [CHARLEY ROGULEWSKI]
• We felt lucky to catch My Brightest Diamond's set at teensy club Rebel and we're pretty sure everyone else in the crowd felt the same. The band was conceived as a quasi-solo side project by Shara Worden, a classically trained opera singer and erstwhile member of Sufjian Steven's backing band. In other words, from an indie-rocker's perspecitve, Worden's resume preceded her. Her haunting voice and quirky stage antics captivated the full room, and the accompanying string quartet further contributed to the show's enchanting mood. Resembling a mix of Regina Spektor and Karen O, Worden alternated between frenetically strumming her guitar and bouncing around behind her mic stand, enticing the audience to do the same: "You gotta get random on this one LadySovereign style," she joked. [ERICA FUTTERMAN]
• A modest crowd of Brooklyn hipsters turned out early for Los Angeles based singer-songwriter Ferraby Lionheart, and those lucky few caught one of the unknown gems of CMJ. Taking the stage without a word, Lionheart and his band dove right into the charming folk of his self-titled six-song EP, which the singer later informed the crowd "would normally be for sale, but I forgot them." Clever and heartfelt, Lionheart's songs are about what you'd expect from an L.A. folkster, but better. Lines like "If you find a crack in time / call me up and we can just be friends this time / you'll think I'm in a rock band / and I'll wonder if you're too smart for me" along with tasteful harmonica, poppy piano riffs and catchy melodies make Ferraby Lionheart a name to remember. After Lionheart closed out the set with a cover of "Pure Imagination" from the Willy Wonka soundtrack, a faceless audience member screamed, "Who are you?" "Who are you?" Lionheart was quick to return. "I'm Ferraby Lionheart. Maybe you've heard of me." [DANE SMITH]
• Hoards of indie-rockers and CMJ devotees descended to the dingy basement of the Lower East Side's Cake Shop as The Black Hollies played a raucous set to a booze-swilling bunch. Poised under a blanket of twinkling white Christmas lights, the Jersey City foursome kicked out the jams with minimal blather between tunes. Their sound, a mashup of British Invasion blues, guitar heroics and psychedelia that would bring a smile to Brian Jones' face, the Black Hollies performed a mix of tunes relying heavily on tracks from their latest release, Crimson Reflections. Half way through the set, frontman Justin Morey dispersed maracas and tambourines to the headbanging crowd. The stage, no larger than a few arm lengths in each direction, provided an ideal and explosive environment for a potent show. [WILLIAM GOODMAN]

Saturday 11.4

• When the Clipse came on just before 1 a.m. Saturday night, the Knitting Factory was packed for one of the few CMJ shows featuring a major-label hip-hop act. The Virginia siblings played only two songs from their forthcoming, Neptunes-produced sophomore album Hell Hath No Fury . But that didn't matter: It was a treat to see guys who'd spent quality time on Pharrell's yacht play a small venue during an indie-rock festival. Even better, hot rhymes, stellar old songs and mixtape cuts made the show feel like a gift to diehard fans. The set: Eleven songs in forty-five minutes, featuring trick flows and enthusiasm to spare. The Clipse principals Malice and Pusha T are two guys who love to rhyme like fat kids love cake, dropping witty wordplay and insistent needling that sounded simultaneously acrobatic and laid-back. The set was short, but in a leave-em'-wanting-more rather than a what-the-fuck? way. Here's hoping we can watch them blow up all over again, but won't have to watch them the Clipse for T.I. (or whoever) at the Garden next time they come through town. [CHRISTIAN HOARD]
• There were skinny jeans and heavy eyeliner as far as the eye could see when Brooklyn's The Honorary Title took to the Lower East Side's Annex for a short and sweet set of honeyed emo. That much-contested moniker is apt here: Jarrod Gorbel's gorgeous pipes, mixed with heart-rending melodies and lyrics crammed with unbridled pain provided some of the truest emotion we witnessed on the CMJ circuit. And even though choruses on some songs -- "stay away from me," or "I think you know" -- sounded a bit formulaic at times, the quartet succeeded in transcending the less appealing stereotypes of the genre. Bassist Aaron Kamstra multi-tasked with some fancy diddling on keys, sugaring things up with a little bright pop punch in the Dashboard Confessional vein. [GAVIN PAUL]
• Garage rock band The Willowz should have felt right at home in their CMJ venue Saturday night. Rebel's bare concrete walls and narrow space felt like someone's expanded garage, smartened up with ear-busting amps and primitive multi-colored lighting. Richie James Follin and his fellow bandmates thrashed around, long hair flying in their faces. The Willowz tested out some new tunes from their forthcoming album, but Follin's falsetto stood out best on the more familiar "Making Certain", which had even the slightly off-put hipsters in the back tapping a toe. Meanwhile, a completely different crowd filtered in for the short set that followed from up-and-coming indie band Margot & the Nuclear So and So's. If lack of name recognition cast any doubt on their popularity, the packed-in fans -- a mix of shaggy-haired indie rockers and high school girls in tube tops -- made it clear that word is spreading. By the time the endless parade of instruments was brought on stage, it was a miracle all eight band members fit too. (This band is used to small spaces: all the members live together in the same three-bedroom Indianapolis house.) Despite the rash of activity onstage, the sound was surprisingly cohesive. Nursing a beer, Edwards sang bittersweet tunes filled with pleasing harmonies (thanks to keyboardist Emily Watkins' backup vocals), while Hubert Glover's trumpet provided the perfect accent to tunes like "Vampires in Blue Dresses." When the set reached its close, Edwards tried to appease the crowd's groans of frustration by plugging their Sunday night show at the Knitting Factory -- to which one of the younger girls responded, "But I have school the next day!" Ain't life a bitch? [AMANDA TRIMBLE]
• New York's hipster-heshers showed up in force for Canadian metal outfit Priestess's show at Bowery Ballroom. Insane drum solo's, whiplash-grade headbanging and the sweet, Sabbath-informed guitar grind of frontmen Mikey Heppner and Dan Watchorn got the crowd into an uncharacteristically unbridled lather. The audience thinned out a bit when hard-rocking New York band Diamond Nights took the stage at midnight, and the folks who departed the venue early can rest assured they missed out. Swirling together the strut and pomposity of Led Zeppelin, the histrionic snarl of early Billy Idol and the cheeky pop sensibility of the Cars, the band blazed through instantly addictive tunes like the gunning glam number, "The Girl's Attractive." Singer Morgan Phalen added new meaning to the phrase "crack problem," poured as he was into skintight jeans that left little to the imagination. Perhaps that's why each time he jumped off the stage to serenade the assembled fans, a googly-eyed phalanx of girls surrounded him. Like similarly over-the-top rockers the Darkness and Wolfmother, Diamond Nights does a fair amount of tongue-in-cheek rock posturing and an interlude involving dancers bedecked in sparkly tops and blindfolds brought the cheesiness index to splendidly ridiculous heights. We're glad we stayed for one more whiskey to watch. [LAUREN GITLIN]

[photo: Gary Wong, www.thewongway.org]

It can take a lot to get New York's indie-rock lovers to schlep across the East River. But Missouri band Somebody Still Loves You Boris Yeltsin -- whose catchy, hook-laden tunes remind us of early Weezer -- have already won their share of fans. And from the headbopping and foot-tapping that their their sunny twee-pop sound inspired, the crowd seemed satisfied to have made the journey for the foursome's CMJ performance last night. The boys seemed unsure of themselves on stage at first: Except for occasional asides like, "This is for anyone who's from Columbia, the country or the city" between songs, they kept audience interaction to a minimum. Endearlingly awkward for the first part of their set, the guys loosened up halfway through when three of the four members rotated instruments. With a long-winded (and painfully of-the-moment) name and some more experience, SSLYBY could well be the next Clap Your Hands.

Throngs of suburban college students flocked to Times Square last night for their hip hop fix as old-school Bronx rapper Percee P took the stage at B.B. King's Blues Club. Joined onstage by former Lootpack emcee Wildchild -- whose own energized set had the house bouncing -- Percee made a point of encouraging up and coming rappers in the crowd to keep pushing their tapes on the street. (He made a name for himself selling his mixtapes on the streets of Brooklyn.) "I meet so many of you out there pushin' your tapes," he shouted. "Don't give up on your dreams. I'm livin' my dream up here." After guesting on a crowdpleasing new Wildchild track entitled "The League," (whose chorus, "We are the league of extraordinary gentlemen/The fantastic five MCs," inspired the audience to sing along), Percee got down to business, backed by veteran turntablist J-Rocc of the Beat Junkies. The rapper wasted no time blazing through his half-hour set, including a five-minute a cappella performance that had the crowd on their knees. Closing with a solid mix of new rhymes and classic tracks from his nearly twenty-year career, Percee thanked the audience and humbly took his place among the crowd.

The two faces of electronica showed themselves last night with two dramatically different CMJ shows: One, a cinematic performance from Swedish duo The Knife at NYC's Webster Hall; The other, a sweaty, full-on dance party courtesy of mash-up/raver Girl Talk at Mercury Lounge.

Olof Dreijer and Karin Dreijer Andersson of brother-sister duo the Knife seemed intent on creating an aura of drama for their first-ever U.S. show: between the masks they wore and the hazy light the stage was bathed in, the pair appeared supernaturally removed from the throng of fans, who shrieked before every ambient intro. Formed in the late Nineties but only now getting their due Stateside, the Knife -- with their Radiohead-pulses and Anderssons's Bjork-like vocals -- could easily have been the token art-rock outfit during the Ibiza dance party heyday. Today they are in a field of their own, creating some of the most original lounge-electronica out there.

The same cannot be said of Girl Talk, the indie laptop gimmick that is DJ Gregg Gillis. The most impressive thing about Gillis' hour-long set was that he managed to get everyone in the audience on stage to dance while splicing together songs reminiscent of that one Spring Break trip to Cancun we've been trying for years to forget about. After the hype Gillis spawned with his genius mash-up album, Night Ripper, his live set was a genuine disappointment.