Slipped Discs

John Hiatt - Terms of My Surrender

Not going down without a fight, “Surrender,” delivers swinging pulp-fiction prescriptions inside stinging country-blues and Cajun-flavored folk blending broken souls howling in backwater train-yards with scrappy jackals laughing at obsessive confessors. The tender-hearted Haitt assisted by his savvy touring band, slow-cooks his character-driven narratives in vinegar and molasses; each tune brimming with simmering wisdom and affectionate connections to foolish pursuits.

Nonono - We Are Only What We Feel

Frosted in cheeky mystique, NONONO’s arched marches and pouty pomp knit braided parades coiled in daredevil levels of mood-swing flings. Explosive pop-star parties collide beside fitful disco-queen dreams as fancy anthems pour scorching hopscotch bop over steel-edged gusto; the blissful, wistful, “Feel,” dances in Olympian victory laps coloring forthright flights from beat-featured ballads in post-romantic reds and cool neon blues.

Landlady - Upright Behavior

Bemused truths produce demented descents as precocious notions step lightly within the clever, mega-inventive, “Upright,” poised between grand land-mine melodies and sophisticated parlor-pop mayhem. A wild, beguiling ride micro-managing the manic alongside the meticulous, Brooklyn-based Landlady’s uncanny shenanigans demand articulate conniptions from unquenchable quests; framing the band’s elegant experiments around snazzy free-jazz calamities dipped in conflicted sympathy and delectable intellect.

Turn to Crime - Can’t Love

Jack-hammered spooks grooving on chill-punk gotham-rock, the Detroit trio Turn to Crime’s charred barrage slithers in dank midnight sizzle; amniotic zombie soundtracks scrounging for seedy psychosis chasing impatient basement jollies. Flirting in diverting mercies, spastic gymnastics and minimalist kismet; “Can’t,” plants tattered mavericks in subterranean craniums as cage-rattling blasts poach kettle-quivering rhythms moving a mesmerizing hysteria headlong into post-modern purgatory.

Vulkano - Live Wild Die Free

Fed in shredded unvetted energy, drenched in effervescent discontent and buoyed by devilish bubblegum crunch, “Wild,” piles tribal-pop trials onto feverish Swedish punk from swishy witches dishing delicious dirt. Gleeful banshees ransacking mad-hatter attics, Vulkano’s tangled pagan bounce pounces and denounces, piloting untamed raves, frantic chants and game-changing bangers for synth-pinched party-time in sugar-shack shin-digs hosted by giddy little anarchists.

White Fence - To the Recently Found Innocent

A preening bohemian swaddled in caterwauling twang, uncurbed reverb and delicate psychedelics, White Fences’ Tim Presley blazes deeply between heady reverie and rabbit-hole reality. Dripping in mythical ripples rinsed in renaissance ruffles, “Innocent,” cements White Fences’ heightened hippie-rock senses; jamming in jagged cosmic jangle while groping dislocated ghosts and deconstructing cock-eyed looking-glass blues through sparkled chakras dressed in electric petticoats.

Bishop Allen - Lights Out

Fun-loving summer plunges plunder fairground funk grafted to groove-proven pop; “Lights,” delights in firefly flair, bouncing from sassy tropical follies shrink-wrapped in space-bop to sweet collegiate chamber-folk roasted over liberating wit. Dancing with chameleonic grace, the sly and versatile Bishop Allen produce studious fusions to launch glorious weekend get-aways, incessant tensions firing bouncy counterpoint into smart art-songs paired alongside calypso-discos.

Merchandise - After The End

Literate dilettantes skimming deep wells stocked in jealous rebels, vampire-rockers Merchandise power around cool moody subterfuge; smoldering consolers rebounding from romantic panic through calm elegant honesty, a brave sincerity born from seamless melancholy adrift in glittering indifference. Distinct but distant, muscular yet paralyzed, “After, ” unmasks underhanded candor, conjuring dark theatrics composed over steely blue-eyed soul and post-punk dance anthems.

The Wind and The Wave - From The Wreckage

Gripping cynicism washed in high-minded harmony and waxing nostalgia, “Wreckage,” wrestles desert divas from defensive confessions. Edgy treasures cloaked in smokin’ hot subplots, Texans Dwight Baker and Patricia Lynn rage and coo in a swaying buffet of alt-country canters and folk-pop trots where tough marries fluff with strong-worded flirts skirting sizzling pistol-whipped shuffles, heartbroken cowboy ballads and stern, spurned barn-burners.

Elephant Stone - Three Poisons

Hard-wired McGuyvers tripping in interstellar systems, Elephant Stone’s sneaky dream-rock stalks snarled schematics engineering half-magic acrobatics as wavy sci-fi soul barrels through dharma bum blues. Crafted micro-encapsulated psychedelics harness mod-melodic pyrotechnics while groovy utopian glow flickers in glam-trampled guitars and incense-dispensed sitars; “Poisons,” seep between sleepy memories and swimming visions, bending minds in polished cosmic doppelgangers and throbbing phosphorescent testaments.

Christopher Denny - If The Roses Don’t Kill Us

Major chord euphoria baptized in warm purring Wurlitzers, bantering pianos and gurgling guitars; “Roses,” flows in spunky country-gospel, embracing Church-bell bright liturgies and family-friendly redemption. Sprinkled in Dixieland boogie, dusted with evangelical twang and shielded by hand-quilted happiness, Denny’s folksy notions are pitched with revival-meeting zeal and colored in frontier lovers’ gumption, turning lively homespun wonder into gentle denim revelations.

David Kilgour and the Heavy Eights - End Times Undone

Glistening six-string christenings switching luscious crushes for electric caresses, New Zealand’s Kilgour masters a placid muse whose seashore chords splash beneath brackish clatter, carpeting soft, focused vocals in heavenly cushions drawn from swampy tsunamis. Blessed by restless alchemists, the rambling strands holding, “Undone,” together converge in tender suspension manifesting languid jangle inside knotted indie-rock; serpentine designs assigned behind blustery bliss.

View More

Viewing Page 41 - of 91

‹ First  < 39 40 41 42 43 >  Last ›

Contact Maximum Ink music magazine

• Contact: Webmaster(at)maximumink.com
• (608) 245-0781
• No Longer Accepting Unsolicited Packages
  Please email Webmaster or call for more info