I’m not packing clothes for this year’s CMJ Marathon in New York City. In fact, I’m not even bringing down a laptop. Instead of spending five straight days inhaling various poisons, feverishly blogging on the same nonsense that everyone else is covering, and ransacking my weathered eardrums with out-of-tune guitar shreds and swollen bass lines, I’m limiting my trip to one day and two nights, and seeing how much I can cram in.

Ever been hugged too hard? It’s a bit like listening to the BESTIES, purveyors of either the bristliest indie pop ever sprung from Brooklyn or the most adorable punk rock. Their songs — poppy paeans to lost time, lost loves, and lost lofts — threaten to be devoured by their own cuteness, but the Besties have dueling penchants for volume and bombast, and the result is more whee! than twee.