Slipped Discs

Jonathan Coulton - Artificial Heart

Smug, scrubbed and lovingly nurturing slick, swift charisma plus warm, unconstrained humanity, Coulton’s cajoling polemics pitch snickering curveballs, off-beat promises inside anti-hero overtures. Produced by TMBG’s John Flansburgh with vocal contributions from Suzanne Vega, John Roderick and Sara Quinn, “Artificial,” pumps out effortless guitar-looped waltzes, punchy New Wave wing-dings and buffed studio-savvy ballads, successfully launching a dazzling, sugar-coated geek-pop cabaret.

Gauntlet Hair - Gauntlet Hair

Strafed in hyperbolic claustrophobia, mashed clattering and cataclysmic metaphysics, Gauntlet Hair’s groovy psycho-swampy rock resonates in unchained jangle bouncing soundly around syncopated reverb and euphoric Morlock melodies. Jungle-punk and soul-blues influences catapult the Chicago duo’s wind-tattered caverns through avalanche-managed planets. “Gauntlet Hair,” grows freefall cacophony for cosmic canvases, scathing, raving romper room operas drenched in glorious noise and industrial ecstasy

Treefight for Sunlight - A Collection of Vibrations for your Skull

Brimming with spinning day-glo piano runs, trippy choirboy whimsy and tumbling pop-rock glee, TFS’s cartwheel zeal manifests youthful truths into carefree catalysts; magical infatuations spawning epic fascinations, arm-stretching sections nestling plush harmonies over Danish retro-psychedelia. Crashing clouds of angelic after-thoughts led by radiant sages, “Vibrations,” bounces merrily knitting rainbow ballets stoked in action-packed happiness, shimmering hymns kicking in quivering climaxes

John Wesley Harding - The Sound of his own Voice

Giddy literacy enlivens the already lively folk-pop mockery and jester-peppered cheer, “Voice,” cradles modern-day life-lessons lined with ticklishly articulate irony and sly subtext. A toastmaster backed by an all-star cast culled from R.E.M. and the Decemberists, Harding illustrates, extrapolates and occasionally speculates, dispensing battling narrators, bantering agitators and slanted sociology in neatly-packaged hooks wrapped around witty novellas harboring intellectual revenge.

The Dø - Both Ways Open Jaws

Assembling trembling, tongue-twisting tempos this pair of European collaborators crafts squealing helium realism juggling pixilated perspectives around cartoon calliopes and woozy hallucinogenic melodies. Fusing quaint upbeat joy to foxy rockin’ swagger, jazzy spell-binding finery and hippie-rock kaleidoscopes, Jaws,” never over-indulges, soliciting mysteries with innocent consistency, playfully waylaying conventional expectations in a frothy broth of bewitching keyboard carnivals performing enchanting arabesques.

Band of Bees - Every Step’s A Yes

Deep-shag folk-pop and chameleonic conga lines meander through cosmic jukeboxes extolling unburdened bliss powered by boundless curiosity as, “Yes,” nets leisurely achievements for Britain’s drowsy dabblers. Speculating over cavernous psychedelic jug-bands and subtle Afro-Cuban dueling, The Bees’ poppy-field jamboree gracefully conjure a splendid blend of humble, hummable campfire head-trips subverted into tropical daydreams drizzled in unhesitating harmonies and fretful tenderness.

Canyons - Keep Your Dreams

Suave parties spark rubbery jungle constructions, strobe-lit vertigo splattering after-hours pow-wows, Canyon’s jet-set experiments indoctrinates simmering techno rampages via spooky rock-arena cool, lighting glossy proto-soul raves from cyber-forged heartbeats, posh pop-rock and braying sax. Raving mad house music labs streaming dark, creamy sequences, moody mosh-pit encryptions secreting elastic pre-programmed spasms, “Dreams,” redeems laser-beam nostalgia with ever-ready grooves and mind-altering tunes

Blackout Beach - Fuck Death

Cave-dwelling rebellions breath visceral visions from ghostly oceans, sociopathic passengers decipher slow-boiling coils of queasy frequencies, “Death,” catches digital crickets in yawning melancholy. Post-victory aftermaths reenact tawdry odysseys with desperate absolution, slithering in withering synths and eviscerated electronic evangelism. BB’s shackled tabernacle harvests karmic ghouls, harsh guitars, fading aid and wheezing pulses dissolving in transistorized sighs and grimy sine-wave mysteries.

Goldmund - All Will Prosper

Sparse yet uplifting, soothing yet prickly, the raindrop rhythms Goldmund’s competing leads of pensive piano and poised acoustic guitar dance to music-box canters born from grandfather-clock logic.  Revived Civil War melodies give rise to surprisingly warm ambiance as, “Prosper,” polishes off hobbled foxtrots resonating faith, hope and charity, incremental instrumentals soldiering forward to poignant appointments, sun-kissed rivulets and untroubled comforts.

Los Campesinos! - Hello Sadness

Licking delicious wounds, consuming outmoded empires, “Sadness,” greets everyday ennui with frank angst and heart-wrenching contempt lined in retreaded memories, invective conjecture and randy candor. Gawky jockeys chasing traceless impatience, LC!’s sharp, carping lyrics explode into wiry brain-knots, mating anxious drums and twitchy indie-rock to hopeful odes nursing regressed regrets, slicing open societal secrets through flag-waving saviors and pop-singing trail-blazers.

Devon Sproule - I Love You, Go Easy

Sizzling in idyllic pixie mischief while tumbling in wonder, Devon’s roots, truths and remedies house home-spun charm cast in funky country, toddling jazz and twirling bohemian folk. Rural musical beauties croon twang-spackled happiness inside sweet breezy chords and friendly piano chats, “Easy,” seizes translucent blues brewed in intimate calico sympathies for proud, crowded celebrations, reflective confessions and sophisticated road-warrior boogie.

Sam Phillips - Solid State: Songs from the Long Player

The physical release highlighting her web-based music subscription, “Solid,” melts perceptive pop, melodic taunts and winning minimalism into brilliant cabaret. Illuminating danger in prowling purrs and captivating rasps, Phillip’s skimmed wisdom in foxy fandangos marry the matter of fact among the idiosyncratic, injecting smart, coquettish measures to warmly familiar frameworks for a magical match of willful guile and diplomatic craft.

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