Last Friday I went to Bowery Electric to catch the end of the Cantora records showcase. I headed out the door towards the chic Cooper Union building and could see the crowd splattering out into the street from a block away. It was loud, it was hot, and there were a ton of people downstairs. By an excellent twist of fate, Slam Donahue didn’t take the stage until around 10:30 by which time I was able to finagle my way into the back, where the guys from Emil and Friends were hanging out and I peeped the beginning of Slam Donahue’s set “Big Brother” style via a flatscreen monitor in the green room.

Slam Donahue has a presence, and it’s not just because of drummer Keenan Mitchell’s golden mane. Sporting an electric-acoustic guitar David Otto’s vocals were on point, trading off on a couple songs with bassist Thomas Sommerville. They played several songs I hadn’t heard before, which had a much more organic feel than a lot of their stuff they’ve released online. The crowd was into it, but I heard people asking questions about their, “sampler” which Sommerville was manning. Out of the little box with buttons and lights came sounds eerily reminiscent to Pink Floyds “sound effects” and I dug how they mixed electric and acoustic elements within their set. They killed their staple songs, closing with what I believe was, “Its Scary”. I have never seen an acoustic guitar employed to make that much noise.

Emil and Friends took their time getting ready and I used those previous moments to squeeze my way into getting a birds eye view from up by the bar. They opened with a short jam after a humble introduction where Emil cleverly called to question what the letters in CMJ stand for. College Music Journal? What?

Ending the synthesizer space rock jam, a twangy guitar cut into the mix followed by a punchy drum beat and just like that—Emil and Friends had us all. The song, which I Have yet to indentify, reminded me of a modern day David Bowie sensibility, with theatrical elements, but at its base rocking enough to get the crowd going and the free of hearts feet moving.

Distracted by two girls drinking gin clandestinely from a flask next to me, I wasn’t able to catch the name of the songs, but Shauna and Monica, told me, “this music is perfect for this point in my night.” What they truly meant by that I will never know, but I think everyone else was feeling just about the same way. – Ed Guardaro

The Delancey is about as close to Brooklyn as you can get before you make it back across the Williamsburg Bridge. It also contains two entirely different venues within its three floors and roof deck. On the main floor, a popped collar dance party occupied by amorous lovers of house music. In the basement, it was Deli Magazine’s Avant-Indie stage. Despite some timing setbacks, this may have been one of the most fun ways to finish my marathon.

First, it was The Denzels. Of all the bands playing CMJ, this group has arguably the shortest commute to the stage. The Bushwick-based quartet sing surf rock songs on existential subjects, but seeing them live makes me just think about how much fun everyone is having. A highlight was first single ‘Slow Death.’ Despite the morbid lyrics, the execution live was light and joyful. No wonder the band’s on everyone’s playlists these days.

Around 10:30, Ambassadors brought a heavy groove to rest in the Delancey’s basement. A man possessed by the spirit, frontman Sam Harris held the audience in his net with firm commands to both band and crowd told loudly over flying percussion gestures. In between Harris’ richly crooned verses, keyboardist Casey Harris enveloped the songs in rich pads with his Nord lead/stage 2 combo, and along with the dueling percussion by drummer Adam Levin and Harris alike, the hands started really flying through the air. This tapestry filled the room whether things were piercingly loud or downbeat and funky.

Next up, The Mast was an intense two piece with a beautiful lead singer crooning heavily distorted blues over rattlesnake percussion. Trading a kit for bongos, metal plates and kick drum alone, the lack of bass and keys only added to the group’s tension, like things could break down at any moment. Only the screws kept turning more tightly, as singer Haale’s haunting soprano left a thick residue to settle in the basement. This is a sound that sticks inside your ears for some time, swirling a fine residue of dreamlike passages even after a good night’s sleep.

See coverage of Sea of Bees‘ set here.

Following Sea of Bees, I’m note sure why, but I found the Yellow Ostrich young man less cute in person than I had thought he might be. Sure, the boyish haircut is bound to get him attention, but he’s not afraid to put his axe to good use at the right moment either. This is a welcome transition from the once solo artist now comfortable fronting a fairly hard-hitting group. There are a lot of lyrics about who he is sprinkled throughout his set. Is singer Alex Schaaf a hot air balloon? Maybe a marathon runner? Whatever he is, he held the crowd firmly in his hand with the group’s intimate warmth and noisy guitar gymnastics. This band’s shows keep getting bigger and bigger, but Alex’s warmth and depth keep the sound intimate even when at it’s largest.

After Yellow Ostrich, Monogold quickly brought the dance party back to the floor. Sounding not unlike Tanlines but without a synth to be found, the three piece re-purposed instruments usually reserved for punk vibes as the only backing needed to lift singer Keith Kelly’s falsetto high above the shifting tribal energy. The beards were amazing too, especially the braid found in bassist Mike Falotico’s hair. My friend Sarah was responsible for that trick, and I seriously think it helped take the grooves to the next level.

Last band of the night for me was Not Blood Paint. I don’t know why, but the group’s members were all wearing turkey feathers (these guys always wear wicked costumes on stage). I also don’t know how Seth Miller is able to play drums in a sweater, but I’ve stopped questioning such things when seeing NBP a long time ago. Few bands could pull off turkey feathers with this much panache, but this might as well be the look of 2012, as much as it becomes the band. Playing several new songs from their upcoming debut full-length, NBP made everyone forget it was already well past three in the morning while we joined their cult and danced away any traces of exhaustion.

And then it was finally time for bed. It was a great evening to an insanely great week, and I can’t wait to do it all over again next year. – Mike Levine (@goldnuggets)