In a flood of white light, alert London rockers Savages are playing the last show on their current US tour inside Terminal 5, in Hell's Kitchen. The New York Times' ArtsBeat column has called the show a “victory lap” following the group's appearances at CMJ in 2012, but the four-piece is working hard on stage to whip up an incredible set. “Let's play an angry young tune,” singer Jehnny Beth says, introducing the sharp post-punk blast of Shut Up, from the group's debut album, Silence Yourself.

Savages.

Beth's is an apt directive: the second day of the 33rd annual CMJ Music Marathon has revealed a definite turn towards angry tunes from this year's hotly tipped acts.

Don't miss a beat with our FREE daily newsletter

Two of those acts also hail from the UK. The word-of-mouth on Welsh quintet Joanna Gruesome leaves people stranded at the entrance to tiny LES venue Pianos at 3.30pm. The band released its debut album in September, a collection of fast, fuzzy pop songs that escalate to thrashed crescendos. Live, they're even more erratic, skipping from Britpop floss to '90s pop-punk riffs to all-out chaos (a Flipper T-shirt is on show) within the span of a song. Singer Alanna McArdle alternately coos and screams, easily winning her audience with a casual smile in the transitions. A cover of Galaxie 500's Tugboat is the icing on the cake.

Joanna Gruesome.

Leeds' Eagulls, who earned favourable reviews at South By Southwest in March, also get an eager turnout at Pianos later in the evening, following a set of lounge room punk via the riot grrrl movement from Philadelphia's Bleeding Rainbow. (If having a novelty band name means standing out on the festival schedule, these acts have it covered. Still, there are certainly degrees, right Teen Girl Scientist Monthly?) Playing the middle set of the Kanine Records showcase, Eagulls make an appealingly anxious racket. Lanky vocalist George Mitchell requests more and more reverb from the sound desk until his hollering is washed back into the band's shuddering rhythms and wiry guitar hooks, making for a wonderfully grainy finish. Close to the stage, NPR's Bob Boilen, who hosts the network's new-music program All Songs Considered, is taking notes.

Down in Tompkins Square Park, the site of the violent 1988 protests against a police curfew that pushed homeless citizens out of the park at night, a large group has gathered to sing gospel and folk songs. Some rattle tambourines, others dance as they fill Alphabet City with a rising rendition of This Little Light Of Mine.

From Cameos in Brooklyn, where Atlanta's Mood Rings are playing sparkling pop ballads, all the way across Manhattan to Hell's Kitchen. Five minutes before Savages are due on stage, it's still possible to get into Terminal 5 with a festival badge despite prior warnings that badge entry would be limited and the mezzanine level of the venue reserved for 50 or so VIPs. Inside, however, the lower floor of the 3,000-capacity venue is buzzing, and when the band walks out, it's to great applause. It's hard not to be reminded of the live power Interpol once wielded as songs like I Am Here and Waiting For A Sign are delivered with perfect, measured intensity. The latter song is augmented by support act Duke Garwood on clarinet (Garwood also played on the album's recording) while the album's closing number, Marshal Dear, moves Beth to a piano before she ends up in the audience during Husbands. “I told you we gonna have a party,” she nods.

The set list at Pianos.

In the thick of CMJ, it's possible to believe the western world's next band crush can only come from those acts in attendance. It's true that bands wanting to do the kind of business Savages are doing need to be ready and willing, but it also feels important to remember there's music being made outside the program. Across Manhattan once more and deeper into Brooklyn than most CMJ venues can be found, Danish punks Iceage are causing havoc inside The Acheron in Bushwick. CMJ passes aren't being accepted as currency and nor need they be: the band room is full of sweating bodies keeping hydrated with cheap cans of beer. The Matador-signed band quickly stalks through the despondent hardcore anthems of its second album, You're Nothing, released earlier this year. Dressed in a button-down shirt, singer Elias Rønnenfelt huffs with the best of them as he paces the small stage. It's truly a wonder they haven't yet been booked by any Australian festivals.

A very drunk man wanders down Bedford Avenue in Williamsburg with a giant pumpkin under his arm. “It was cheap,” he calls across the street in an accent, possibly German. Further down the street a barrel of the bright orange carving pumpkins is on display outside a corner grocer. But onwards…

Inside a warehouse that looks to be also a residence (a shelf of records and books sits to one side; beers are being served across a kitchen counter), another 'unofficial' party is underway. It's a showcase hosted by Terrible Records, the label run in part by Grizzly Bear's Chris Taylor, and there's only one more act left on the bill. To a stylish crowd, Kirin J Callinan – himself sporting new blonde streaks through his hair – plays songs from his Embracism record. Through the album's rickety, looping title track and the melodic new wave pop of Halo, Callinan, backed by drums and synth, shows he's worked out how to play a pop song live without losing any of the physical awkwardness and sonic experimentation that makes him fascinating to see live. It's less apparent whether the smoke rising from behind his amp is being caused by a smoke machine or a burning fuse.