Slipped Discs

F ingers - Awkwardly Blissing Out

Ghost-motioned notions floating over fizzled glitches download pre-natal fables from electro-static catalysts rallying proto-metallic crickets in rippling micro-rhythms; the aqueous, “Blissing,” bobs in inquisitive synchronized minimalism backlit in embryonic sonics. Pagan spacemen creeping through fleeting, shoe-gazed mazes, F ingers wrings Krautrock kabuki from abducted fluctuations glazed in intermittent symmetry, splashing harsh sparse departures among serene dreams and burnt-out fuse-box ambience.

Emily Haines - Choir of the Mind

Poignant disappointments holding idle recitals splendidly blend feisty crises cushioned in lush chamber-rock options and unblinking piano-driven minuets; speckled in stirring worries and ecclesiastical harmonies, Haines’  languid refrains spotlight timely reminders, reexamined regrets and metaphysical riddles. Open to mystery, the slyly blithe, “Choir,” fires vexing questions into races already run, excavating past masks to uncover memory gems inside unexplored stories.

Tender - Modern Addiction

Aloof clues brewed in muted conclusions bewitch the duplicitous, “Addiction,” nursing just deserts behind velvet curtains as hunted hungers dressed in synth-soul gold console willing victims soliciting amorous nightclub vampires. Sultry sultans sainted in cool restraint, the suave, shadow-dancing Tender dissects contemporary dilemmas in programmed romance; future-pop sounds finessing caressing confessions around suspicious supposition for secret peeks into intriguing backstreets.

Florist - If Blue Could Be Happiness

Feathery folk-pop fortresses subtly shaded in dawning electronics, Florist nurtures sun-soaked hopes in honeyed buzz, building breezy reasons out of gentle requests and wide-eyed flights; sentimental recollections lending sensitive reflections to smooth, acoustic revelations. Backyard guitars plucked in sweet, diary-inspired innocence weaves between timid synths tinted in wildflower whimsy, as, “Happiness,” hatches tentative connections, waking sleepy daydreams from wondrous slumber.

The Clientele - Music for the Age of Miracles

Courtly discourse awash in posh, wishing-well novellas, “Miracles,” wield well-mannered analysis whose royal harpsichords, sea-side calliopes and Tudor lutes scoop gilded dream-pop sorcery into swinging, psychedelic elegance. Golden moments polished and placed in Carnaby storefronts, The Clientele’s soft-sell intel makes marvelous foggy waltzes; coy, buoyant sophistication tripping down magical rabbit-holes, surrendering pretensions and hosting heavenly energies cast in silver-screen cinematics.

The Huntress and the Holder of Hands - Avalon

Willful pilgrims slashing past locomotive basses, stalking cellos and soaring violas, goth-folk Huntress kindles simmering myths with tarot-card charges. The solemn, promising, “Avalon,” snakes damning incantations over thundering tundra draped in phoenix-fired wakes, spinning earthy dirges into palpitating dares while lusty percussion dance beside nimble strings swimming in savage passion and warrior beats.  THATHOH play Milwaukee’s Shank Hall September 27th.

Stars - There is No Love in Fluorescent Light

Hopeless poets romancing danceable dissertations, Stars harbors savvy cabaret gushing in lusty touches and pushing plush indie-pop promises onto mirror-ball peers hailing late-night cabs to meet languishing dangers for satin-smooth rendezvous. Daintily aching, the iridescent, “Fluorescent,” swoons and flutters among lonely-hearts and misplaced lovers trapped in unconditional finishes; personal journeys turn dazzling pageants as compassionate ballads evolve into spectacular galas.

Mister Heavenly - Boxing the Moonlight

Pliable and pounding, clever and confounding, “Moonlight,” delights in sizzling contradictions; mocking pop bops in blazing syncopation, headstrong ska scoops zany do wop brewing thrashing mash-ups over slithering cobra rodeos. Roaming every which way with sure-hands and clear purpose, clown princes Mister Heavenly embrace diverse mirth from madcap shakedowns built from boardwalk boogie to sinister incriminations baked in paranoid percussion.

Wild Ones - Mirror Touch

Nimble, swinging Cashmere synths primp with sly kittenish sin programmed in wry Cheshire cat grins while Oregon’s Wild Ones pamper hook-heavy fantasies prowling around film noir back-lots, pacing in contagious space-age impatience. Exploring modern courtship’s sorted head-games as victor and victim, “Mirror,” casually balances dynamic examination with haphazard passion crafting peek-a-boo grooves oozing sensual menace lacquered in alluring dream-pop circuses.

Circuit des Yeux - Reaching for Indigo

Torn from deep-forest oracles uttering complex hexes beneath prophetic jazz-folk recollections, “Indigo,” growls in exquisite misery, casting microtonal omens with bellowing joy and evoking eclectic memories shrouded in shimmering enigmas. Boisterous voyager and sonic conqueror, Circuit des Yeux battens down and plows ahead navigating treacherous questions through hurricane refrains; sophisticated tsunamis crooning enchanting demands summoning plummeting plans with resurrected textures.

Colleen - A flame my love, a frequency

Happily matching bubble-wrapped palpitations punctuated by cooing computers, buoyant, electro-ballerina Colleen composes unfolding emotions with pure, gurgling circuitry, merging prancing raindrop phantoms with chattering digital patterns. Coy, vacuum-sealed calliopes rejoice in voiceless poise around impish art-pop fairy-tales regaled in calm, experimental sound-stencils, “Frequency,” knits parallel systems both natural and artificial; tranquil sanctuaries filled with sublime baroque designs refining interactive strategies.

The White Buffalo - Darkest Darks, Lightest Lights

A roots-fueled, blues-infused, rowdy, raspy honky-tonk, “Dark,” kicks up dust revving heaven’s outlaw angels with slow-pitched pulp-fiction, A scrounger’s bounty tailor-made for barb-wired dive bars and midnights at the crossroads, The White Buffalo’s cornered characters expound road-weary theories with stoic heroics while red-hot guitars gallop, hounded drums rumble and sharp lyrics singe their wings on gritty riffs and fiery licks.

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