At a Polite CMJ, Trash Talk’s Aggression Is a Relief

Some things happen at Trash Talk shows that don’t happen at other CMJ shows. Theirs is the show most likely to start at an insanely late hour, the show where you are most likely to get punched in the head by the lead singer, the show where you are most likely to receive a flier marked #OCCUPYCMJ bemoaning the stranglehold of corporations over various aspects of the music business, from retail outlets to radio to touring.

Thursday night — oh, who are we kidding? Friday morning — Trash Talk exploded all over the tiny basement of Cake Shop, which may want to rethink the height of its stage. Its just a few inches off the ground, which made it easy for Lee Spielman and his super-long hair to fly into the crowd, or stomp into it, or for the crowd to fly into him, or try to take his microphone.

This set, part of the showcase for Life or Death PR, barely nudged past 20 minutes, with half of that devoted to song dedications and the catching of breath. Trash Talk play visceral, sprightly and surprisingly flexible hardcore, with every piston firing at top speed. At one point during the show, the band’s drummer broke either his drum pedal or his kick drum — it was tough to tell — and at least twice, Mr. Spielman’s microphone went silent, leaving him screaming to himself. At one point he was maybe quoting Waka Flocka Flame. Throughout, he remained calm, even humane, even as his body was at war.

For a CMJ that thrives on politeness — open-minded and buzz-susceptible people happily herding from one small space to the next to anoint bands they will then herd to see in larger spaces — this was more than a relief. In the context of hardcore shows, maybe it would sit in the middle, but in the context of this week, it was a declaration of aggression. It was precisely the sort of show that the TV behind the Cake Shop bar was made for. That TV is small and grainy and displays what looks like surveillance camera footage of the stage. It looked like an episode of “Oz.”

As ever, a Trash Talk show was an opportunity for masculinist ritual. The show was one circle pit after the next, and there’s was a ferocious intimacy between band and crowd. At one point, Mr. Spielman was crowd surfing (in this low-ceilinged venue, no small feat) and grabbed a fan by the hair as they screamed lyrics together; later, he allowed a fan to sing some lines, then the fan got excited and grabbed the microphone for himself, and seconds later Mr. Spielman all but tackled him to get it back.

This was easily the most communal show of the night, and probably the festival. Before the last song, Mr. Spielman wanted to share even more. “Get on the stage,” he said encouragingly, warmly even. “Get busy with me.”