Slipped Discs

Orcas - Orcas

Subtle buzz and plane hangar tranquility fill drip-dry horizons under foreign shores, shuttling stoic vocals between mild reassurance and narcoleptic fogs. Aerosol squalls crawl evaporating into honeycomb overtones and worm-hole twilight zones, enveloping webs of crackling tapestries suspended in ambient somnambulance and aqueous ballets. Sparse architects designing artful accidents, Orcas’ ominous chronicles become translucent moods floating motionless under sedated gazes.

Carina Round - Tigermending

A shape-shifting feng shui diva, ably conveying threatening temptress and demure insurgent, Round releases predatory stories elaborating sweet, sinister opinions behind grinding electro-pop and doe-eyed art-rock. Divided hearts and conflicting instincts coyly uncoil dancing hammers inside gossamer possibilities as “Tigermending,” morphs into damned glam, mad theatrics and avenging epiphanies, deliciously assisted by imagineers Brian Eno, Billy Corgan and Dave Stewart

Sean Bones - Buzzards Boy

A supernatural marriage of big hooks soaked in friendly chemistry, “Buzzards,” brims with polished tropical obstacles trapping crafty afterthoughts. Upbeat outbreaks and laid-back ransacks beam beat-sweet hippie trips grooving to savvy showmanship. Rafter-crashing bedroom pop, slippery indie-rock and revved-up modern reggae contribute to the blue sky vibe hatching fissionable visions Bones knits together with daring flair and festooned savoir faire.

Cory Branan - Mutt

Six years since his last full-length - Memphis-bred songwriter Branan’s greasy ease with table-turning wit, scrappy toe-tappers and husky-voiced hosannas polishes tarnished carnage from broken Romeos and saddle-sore Cinderellas. Grizzled whispers undercut raging impatience peppering renegade serenades and Tex-Mex sketches, “Mutt,” skulks behind sobering dobros, E Street orchestrations and wistful strings for endearing dog-eared diplomacy, despondent correspondence and whip-smart country-rock.

The Cribs - In The Belly of the Brazen Bull

Cage-rattling factories spewing wicked ballistic ballads, “Belly,” staggers, captures and beautifully bashes majestic mosh-pit rock, toppling unstoppable sincerity, crackling melodies and fist-thrusting courage for sizzling missiles lobbed straight into delirious miracles. Back to the original three brother line-up, The Cribs’ rip-roaring chords, needling riffs, anxious bass and thunderous drums stir caterwauling cauldrons into directly vexing tension mounting restlessly perplexing connections.

The Mynabirds - Generals

Armed in barbaric bass and tribal beats, bombshell mambos get dressed in contrapuntal thunder pasting neo-New Wave ruckus to girl-group goose-steps. Lo-fi pop cinched in synth-rinsed rock, “Generals,” generates thrill-ride exuberance. Guided by explosive blues-fueled momentum, The Mynabird’s brain-child Laura Burhenn crafts muscular melodic odysseys; charming armaments commanding tantrums in tantric chants micro-managing savage ballad aftermaths while channeling rallying challenges.

Marissa Nadler - The Sister

Trolling ghosts strummed from courtyard guitars lifted in slightly surreal tranquility, Nadler’s ephemeral gems shepard rainy-day phrases roasted over fond remembrance and hung under widow silhouettes; wind-tossed blossoms simmering in minstrel eloquence, seasoned in spell-binding ambience. The plucked, struck and quietly corrupted performances cavort in post-modern folk as stately sorceresses cast, “Sister,” in whispering steel-guitar sympathies and supportive keyboard choirs.

Neneh Cherry and the Thing - The Cherry Thing

A groovy Medusa, Cherry reworks the Stooges, Suicide, Ornette Coleman and her father’s fringe binges in avant-garde decisions. Conjuring cathartic visions via roller-coaster devotions, “Thing,” yearns for complex pleasures, exhuming the brutal and the beautiful, expressing turbulent worries through free jazz fevers, braying sax, bullish bass and Tommy-gun drums; bold, controlling emotions wrapped tight aching to embrace the world.

Echo Lake - Wild Peace

Poltergeist rock steeped in sleepy reverb, “Peace,” radiates cagey patience; icy, isometric psychedelics traced in fiery spirals.  The London duo’s nebulous efforts yield restlessly propulsive results as singer-songstress Linda Jarvis sparkles inside Thom Hill’s spelunker’s wonderland. Purring, whirling space-age stoner sonar stirs shiny calliopes into tissue-paper tempests, stitching galactic mattresses stuffed with serrated jangle, subatomic harlots and corrosive rainbow solos.

Kelly Hogan - I Like to Keep Myself in Pain

Embodying doe-eye survivors and embittered vixens, Hogan tackles Texas kickers glazed in café academics and honky-tonk philosophy rousing gospel-blues wearing cowboy boots, sneakers and high heels, “Pain,”: hosts smoky tones inside jukebox bop, Bubbly condolences hug observant mercies, funky country confessions stocked in battered kindnesses and wronged romance supply supple scenarios fueling dusky Delta voodoo, post-fiesta heartache and organ-driven R&B. 

Nouela - Chants

Marrying matter-of-fact melodramatics to arresting piano-based pop “Chants,” plants scorching torch-song scorn alongside prowling nightclub lust. Unveiling lively insights inside sophisticated sizzle, former People Eating People front-woman composes imploring stories rich in major mojo. Playing the majority of instruments as well as co-producing, Nouela’s beguiling trials bring swinging invigorating taunts born of world-wounded wisdom and drenched in flirtatious jungle stealth

The Eastern Sea - Plague

Bleeding hearts over lean, vigorous rhythms, college-authored indie-rockers TES’s post-baroque opuses breezily weave beckoning beacons; arpeggiated chords sandwiched between reverential splendor circling soaring poise drenched in soft-spoken choruses. From demure to dynamic, the Austin quartet’s urgent coercions bridge modest, methodical confidence redirecting surf-pounding countenance forged from informal retorts. Chaste, impatient, plaintive clockwork cadence, “Plague,” spreads tender blends beneath steadfast syncopation.

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