PHOTOS BY SEAN O'KANE

Every fall changing winds blow into New York City and disperse the viscous smog of summer, finally cooling temperatures and setting the scene for, oh say, over 1,000 bands and innumerable fans to prance around the Big Apple sweater-clad soaking up sets from bands, new and old, discovered and not. But as many CMJers are realizing, or slowly remembering from experiences past, the steadfast metropolitan festival can be, um, a little sticky. "Why is it so fucking hot?" said one snazzy suited hipster Wednesday night (Oct. 17), "I'm sweating my ass off… gross." Indeed.

But as seasoned CMJ attendees know, the glory is all in the sacrifice; late nights, sweaty masses, perpetual drunkenness, and a seemingly endless queue for, well, everything, all in an attempt to catch a glimpse of the next breakout artist. Keeping this mantra in mind, SPIN.com burrowed deep into the bedrock of Manhattan, bellying up to a string of sets at Lower East Side haunt the Delancey in hopes to catch one such act to blow our socks off.

Making the trek from homeland New Zealand, Cut Off Your Hands took the stage just as droves of night-crawling, badge-sporting fans began to fill the dank basement's every nook and cranny. Belting out tunes from stateside debut EP Shaky Hands and 2007's Blue On Blue, notably "Still Fond," mouthpiece Nick Johnston dangled from the venue's exposed water pipes, honing his hyper-sexual demeanor with eyelash bats and lyrics to boot: "I'm so fond of you and that's the truth / I still want you by my side / Darling I want you to come back home again." The packed, yes, totally packed house, bounced, sang along, and clapped in time near the front of the stage, or really an eight-inch elevated platform, as the remainder of the band churned out a sickeningly catchy blend of power-pop ooooh las, hip-rockin' post-punk backbeats, and sleek guitar fingerings. Borrowing six-string pep from the Smiths, the refined forward motion of the Killers, and stick work from Gang of Four, Cut Your Hands Off was a delightful start to CMJ noche numero dos.

Foreign Born's Matt W. Popieluch / Photo by Sean O'Kane

In a sonic sea change, California's Foreign Born tamed fans' rabid, party-time mood (incited by stage predecessor Cut Off Your Hands) with acoustic led selections replete with melodramatic guitar slashes a la U2 circa 1988, and building drum crescendos. "Letter of Inclusion," epitomizing the best and worst of this quartet's shtick, ballooned with twinkling six-string picks and impressed with song structure and quivering vocals, but later the epic crashes and freeform rhythms flirted with disaster. Other tunes, like "Into Yr Dream," from the band's debut LP On the Wing Now, illuminated Foreign Born in a new light; rollicking drums, attention demanding rhythmic changes, no bullshit riffage and screaming vocals got heads bangin'. But set closer "Union Hall" was simply perplexing; the chanting, pirate-tinged deck swabbing ballad was lost on not just this journalist, but also a few other concertgoers, nervously checking the status of their drinks.

Also showcasing their debut record, Dim Mak's The Ortolan, the Los Angeles-based psych/punk/folk quartet the Deadly Syndrome offered an instrumental amusement park as acoustic guitars, keys, xylophone and more bolstered tightly woven pop songs dripping wet with atmospheric lead guitar trappings. What's more, frontman Chris Richard's voice, never overbearing, acted not only as a tool for lyrical communication, but also a solid melodic force adding to the band's groove. Set opener "Heart" initially trips, skips, and picks in apparent confusion before finding its legs with a searing punk riff, ushered in by building drums and a perky key riff. The next tune, the jangly "Emily Paints," rolled out with guitarist William Etling's bubbly skiffle and Richard's sassy rhymes before driving into a chorus of dueling keyboards and a dance floor calling rhythmic assault. "Eucalyptus," the opening track of the band's new record, was a mid-tempo selection featuring a catchy xylophone bit, which was intermittently mimicked with swirling guitar licks and vocal melodies.

New York City's Red Romance, formed from the ashes of Ambulance LTD, simply offered the evening's tightest performance. Sporting a suit vest and button up, frontman Matt Dublin and crew kicked into a solid set of back to back tracks from the newly minted quintet's self-titled debut. "Don’t Cry" and "Just One Kiss" illustrate Dublin's affinity for the finer things in life: pop hooks and all their trimmings. At a skin and bones level, the Red Romance's tunes embody cut and dry musical infection. And "Break Away" exemplifies its zenith; a thick frosting of synths and simple, hum-worthy lead guitars float atop a solid Motown bass and backbeat spine -- something other bands often refuse to do: accept simplicity. True, turning heads with a common mold is tough, but it's tried and true, and Red Romance showed us why. 

Nick Johnston flexes his CMJ muscle / Photo by Sean O'Kane

The Deadly Syndrome's Chris Richard / Photo by Sean O'Kane

The Red Romance / Photo by Sean O'Kane