Slipped Discs

Strand of Oaks - Eraserland

Cavernous rapture riding twilight-bitten blues through fog-bound ballads, Strand of Oak’s embroiled scuffles muscle shuttered moods mounted in hounded folk-emo majesty; serrated raves paved in brave self-doubt. Birthed in melodramatic surges and contemplative fates, “Eraserland,” draws gritty vision-boards from pendulum-swinging cliff-hangers, amending tender reflections into glorious reforms then sending fond remembrances sullied ultimatums. SoO plays Madison’s High Noon May 2nd.

Turning Jewels Into Water - Map of Absences

Indigenous intermissions splicing dark jungle twitches into crack manufactured happenings, “Map,” uncaps globe-trotting trances ramped in cyber-industrial tribalism; pumped drum-circle glitches casting powerful incantations cut into funky, digitized reductions. Smooth-glass balderdash orbiting beyond ambient tampering, TJIW’s precisely positioned fractal catapults make remixable trips for eternally recurring contortions, future-pop art-museums beamed back to Earth in slick, rhythmic linguistics and shape-shifting kismet.

Stella Donnelly - Beware of the Dogs

Modern folk-punk chronicler and attentive connector, Donnelly’s tidy just deserts and sturdy straight-talk cockiness mix dry-wit feminism alongside pop-tart earth-angel bliss for saucy possibilities served over cheeky, breezy themes. Half coy, half boisterous, grounded in tight, understated arrangements, “Beware,” out-stares clever revelations with playfully upfront charms; criss-crossing gender politics through bright bouncy tunes while grooming jump-rope grooves espousing revolutionary truths.

E.B. the Younger - To Each His Own

A traveling troubadour’s suitcase packed in friendly, good-time rhythms, whose casual crooning blooms beneath anecdotal hopes and good-neighbor fables, “Own,” intones gentler times where intelligence brought cleverness and differences came with benefits. A pseudonym for Midlake’s Eric Pulido, E.B. cushions his personable concerns in electric chamber-folk overtures tumbling down soft-pop rabbit-holes with swelling melodies carrying earnest verses to beautiful conclusions.

Ten Fé - Future Perfect Present Tense

Subtle, nudged percussion bubbles beneath plush, baritone buskers; Ten Fé‘s somber cosmopolitan optimism crafts cool, hatchet-burying hooks wrapped in romance-enabled danger and cozy ear-candy allure. Muscular seductions tucked inside tender censure and tempting exceptions, “Tense,” consents to tuxedo-clad attitudes, vetted etiquette promising safe havens for part-time players, cat-walk majors and dawn-breaking trainers. Ten Fé plays Milwaukee’s Back Room March 28th.

Hand Habits - placeholder

Spotlessly evocative waif-pop folk-rock, “placeholder,” sprinkles whole-grain psycho-twang glitter over well-fed bohemian beds blessed in wall-to-wall melancholy and polished in life-learned mercy.  Aching in patience and woozy with rumination, Hand Habits’ appetite for mellow magic produces tasty licks, condensed sentiments and caressing chords; wind-tossed willow wisdom refracting passive windowsill considerations into water-nymph symphonies where sparkling downstream daydreams become sun-ripened masterpieces.

Ralph Heidel - Moments of Resonance

Germany’s Heidel leads the collective Homo Ludens into knitting-needle cathedrals housing sharp scissoring rhythms, spacious chamber-music infusions and crashing cinematic windfalls. Fashioned from brooding jazz, sweeping classical bombast, collapsible ballet and Geiger-counter trance, “Resonance,” pounces in pondered reconnaissance; intuitive movements chasing break-through conclusions through enigmatic rapture, heralding swelling peril lurking in prog-rock preludes and trick-or-treat suites livid in devilish relish.

Rozi Plain - What A Boost

Ghost-jazz serenity coasts in seamless tonal flows painted bright with uncanny poise superimposed over immaculate alien fairy-tales; “Boost,” boots soft narcotic software rinsed in whispered swinging, manicured splurges and game-maker restraint. Hushed, art-pop hymns sprout horns in formal proportions as tactful mastermind Rozi Plain plots, flip-flops and slow-bops, hosting tasteful, post-modern world-beat roaming in golden ratios, raving beneath well-behaved races.

Wand - Laughing Matter

Exploratory story-tellers, L.A.‘s Wand rock jam-band bangers and space-folk head-trips, spreading electric medicine by mashing heavenly frenzy from math-rock flash into epic splash-down psychedelia spanning grand, mechanical fantasies and anxious, impatient improvisations. Lost inside friendly schizophrenia, “Matters,” rattles, straddles and roars with stammering mantras building into sizzling six-string siroccos only to fade quietly among cryptic wizard’s riddles riding long-distance bliss.

Weyes Blood - Titanic Rising

Lush, air-brushed constructs papered in three-layered prayers and cross-stitched wishes, the radiant, “Rising,” reaches for embraceable transcendence past unseen horizons warmed in weather-beaten sunbeams and pitch-bent redemption. Forward-looking and nostalgic, Weyes Blood’s comforting bell-bottom ballads, tweaked in sweetheart country-rock and frosted in seventies ballroom pop, gently envelope sumptuous swirls with breathless momentum while guiding climbing song-lines into sublime musical design.

Tim Baker - Forever Overhead

Stepping away from Hey Rosetta, frontman Baker’s solo debut inserts trade-wind sway into sensitive reflections, leveraging unrequited insights and celebrating swift, uplifting attitudes with tranquil choirs, contrapuntal gumption and unaccompanied honesty. Fortunate tourniquets to melodic memories whose resting heartbeat hugs simple wisdom, “Overhead,” visits missed opportunities with transformative discourse touring fearless interior dialogues and soft-shoe moves partying in hardy camaraderie.

Lady Lamb - Even in the Tremor

Gospel-polished indie-rock waltzes scale emotional heights while, “Tremor,” unearth deep-seated dreams leaning into groovy crusader-flavored closure for potent proactive unpacking excavating universal statements from autobiographical chapters. Humble rumblings teasing seething Phoenix pleads, Lady Lamb enlists simmering soul-kitchen brass and maypole folk-singer strings in a rich blustery production that impresses as it caresses, yielding bold philosophical control over lively existential pleasures.

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