Slipped Discs

Starlight Girls - Fantasm

Strong-armed sass splashed in passionate pop-rock, “Fantasm.” stalks shell-shocked old-school cool for a retro-riveting peepshow hanging baited beats on meaty hooks in roasted licks from suave harlots. Coyly toying with stylish guile, the intoxicating, Starlight Girls go solid-gold aerobics on stealth-bomber romps selling sly jive to tube-way clubbers clutching runaway cravings for go-go booted doo-wop and tasered New Wave funk.

Aoife O'Donovan - In The Magic Hour

Smart and languid, rich and fluid, O’Donovan captains swift literate dissertations navigating renegade chamber-folk arrangements with supple couplets mustering robust poetry. Pithy descriptions slipped in winsome acoustic rhythms and heartbeat-sweetened bop, “Magic,” bundles sharp departures within swirling mermaid currents, wrapping eagle-eye observations around resonant musical tributaries rooted in honest feeling. Aoife returns to Wisconsin March 31st playing Stoughton Opera House.

The High Llamas - Here Come The Rattling Trees

Sleepy bossa nova teases tweaked in breezy rose-colored twee, “Trees,” plants lounge-bound jazz under intimate fictions harvesting fizzy individual vignettes afloat in arpeggiated patience from mellow bedfellows. Caressed in pleasant sentiments washed in soft somnambulist magnificence, pedigreed harmonies squeeze quaint counterpoint into subtle unhurried melodies as THL’s sedate landscapes welcome warm organs, sunny marimbas, titillating harpsichord and shy nylon-string guitar.

Laser - Night Driver

Stroboscopic doctors operating on dance-floor courtesans kidnap ultra-metropolitan happenings and tunnel under hard-wired after-parties as master craftsmen Laser chills silken willfulness into delicious post-modern parables; frisky disco whispers visit neon grooves for synth-pop dipped in cloaked programs. Drive-by glamour-shots caught in paparazzi spotlights, “Driver,” slides behind electric dreams pulsing in sultry weekend getaways, speeding through tubular maneuvers, lighting incandescent souls.

Swahili Blonde - and only the melody was real

Junkyard-robot paradises swerving and lurching to choreographed sci-fi smack-downs, “melody,” builds rattling plastic masterworks pulled between trashy studio catastrophes; calm Kraftwerk charm spread over squelchy face-melters for a paved yellow-brick cavalcade. Spooky tinker-toy goofs spilling from ray-gun playgrounds in scintillating bionic burlesque, Swahili Blonde’s strong contradictory mysteries evaporate with strangely engaging after-tastes of timeless grinds from sleek, creaky off-kilter windmill-tilters.

Daughter - Not To Disappear

Cooked in narcotic tonics and strewn in saw-tooth gauze, Daughter’s frail pale sunset introspections turn veiled dream-rock into arrested confessions wrenched from tempestuous interventions. Drenched in repentant tension, “Disappear,” veers fearlessly into fierce bittersweet longing as hushed lyrics hung under contorted atmospherics bake deep existential aches into mesmerizing empathy, trapping slow claustrophobic explosions within tangled temptations roasting smoldering ghost-poached transmissions.

Quilt - Plaza

Wide-eyed pop-rock trotted through cosmic meadows and hatched inside blazing paisley; the sly unbridled psychedelics of, “Plaza,” waft through magical Saturday after-thoughts with trippy sixties innocence and wise enlightened hindsight. Narco-minstrel convictions gliding inside slinky guitar-driven rhythms, Quilt’s groovy moon-struck doodles swing between sparkling star-dusted harmonics and suspiciously delicious ear-worm turns for a sweet voyeur’s voyage around dreamy sugar-coated scenery.

Chris Storrow - The Ocean’s Door

Panning for AM Gold, Storrow strikes a rich gripping balance between personal concerns and universal truths, embracing muscular arrangements where sensitive perceptions harvest strong longing from bold, noble loneliness. Deep feelings disguised in common sense and sympathetic recollections, “Door,” restores faith in basics, turning mid-tempo mementos into defiant reminders decorated in lush, layered luxuries and galvanized in brassy, catchy catechisms.

Sarah Neufeld - The Ridge

Scratching an itch that spirals into Möbius strips of flickering art-pop mischief, “The Ridge,” hypnotizes with raspy gypsy patterns whose bewitching births spark spirited omens drawn from curious, furious compositions releasing uncontrollable golems chasing scathing cadence with demonic logic. Magnetic, emphatic and enigmatic, violinist Neufeld follows her dark, archaic muse through lively, divergent paths that resonate in splendidly menacing cadenzas.

Porches - Pool

Calculated heartbreak slowly toasted over synthesized soul; Porches’ minor-key melancholy combines jazz accents, gleaming beats and delicate melodies to build sensible sentimental digi-pop props laced in restless pleasures. Underwater waltzes courting cyber-seamless teases, the terse, immersive, “Pool,” retools chilled skills with romantic stanzas, managing languid dangers through plush constructs tasked with humanizing plastic perfections, dissolving mechanical candor into well-timed designs.

DMA's - Hill’s End

Brandishing mammoth jangle-pop sincerity grown from humble strumming and plainspoken hopes, ” End,” elicits supersonic pub-rock issuing epic declarations with bluesy introspections arousing courageous choruses inside passionate mop-top holocausts, yearning for stability, grateful for relief. Portraying everyday heroes facing hard-won options to honest problems, Australia’s demonstrative DMA’s doles out down-to-earth words rooted in the larger-than-life decisiveness of red-blooded unrequited confessionals.

Holy Esque - At Hope’s Ravine

Seething in bittersweet seizures, Scotland’s Holy Esque harbors karmic carnage beneath emotional oceans, dredging ominous concoctions from feverish allegiance and schizophrenic penance. Ravaged embattled cadavers roaring in glorious indie-rock flourishes, “Ravine,” careens around lean fiends screeching disturbing reverberations, shuddering and sputtering while tortured six-string scorchers parlay embryonic sonics lit in brazen flames into staunch conquering monarchs fueled by turbulent urgency.

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