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.