Slipped Discs

Boogarins - Sombrou Dúvida

Cyber-soupy grooves doused in water-born Diaspora saunter seaside inside heady sighs and sleepy guitars while, “Sombrou,” simmers in woozy driftwood nuance oozing casual jet-lagged jazz peppered with galactic prog-rock magic served over slow-broiled psychedelic elegance. Hypnotic astral operators, the sultry Boogarins inhabit diaphanous afternoons basking in Latin sizzle, capturing classic twilight appetites in phantom romance, sunset regrets and fickle rhythms.

Matt Kivel - Last Night in America

Beautiful desolation wafts through Matt Kivel’s vapor-haunted alt-folk minimalism, steel strings plucked among lulling sound-covens shift with distant intimacy, tone poems wandering among severed memories cast from hallowed shadows and impassable fragments. Catspaw calls into neon fogs humming in electric incandescence, spectral echoes and stark mirages, “America,” combines world-weary queries funneled into wonder with monitored electronics steeped in fleeting mystery.

Hælos - Any Random Kindness

Sensual leopards riding coded messages over aerobic kaleidoscopes, “Random,” panders, flexing expectations and tempting chance connections with purring exertions flaunting rhythmic charisma in steamy bedroom overtures under night-fueled mirror-balls. Near-tribal street-parties fading into cosmic flotsam, Hælos mixes musical mosaics from fluid tug-of-war dialogues, promenading prayers whose receding pleads ebb and flow, stretched over synth-pop chasms and sprinkled in lyrical catch-phrases.

Truth Club - Not An Exit

Brittle art-rock assailants regaled in beatnik spit and ripped with cranky angst, Truth Club rallies beneath burnt-out social maladies, channeling the so-called banal into banzai guitars, bursting in python brawn and venturing down dark urban ennui. Full-moon confusion depleting meaning in philosophical all-nighters, the reckless, “Exit,” exhibits deadpan stamina around spastic collapse for braided mayhem rancid with jittery post-punk trances.

Big Thief - U.F.O.F.

A ringing, raspy dreamworld, both unearthly and rustic, “U.F.O.F.” overflows in breezy medieval creepers winding chordal vines among curious murmurs and wistful riffs. Knapsack saints lurking in passive fascination and feral innocence, Big Thief harnesses grainy flames flickering in fancy transience; organic enchantments dancing around nesting indie incantations, circled in scrappy faux-folk passions mastering sand-castle pastels crumbling into tidal-pool rainbows.

French Vanilla - How Am I Not Myself?

Pogo-brash No Wave sax ricochets throughout, “Myself,” serving pumped punk-ska sabotage around unvarnished dance-friendly ear-benders bristling with testy intellect. Democratic rapscallions, French Vanilla packs people-backed politics into flash-mob mosh-pits, interpersonal dervishes slurping down street-savvy attitude where sweaty expressions, thrashy passion and hollered logic bounce around road-rage crusades fueled by funky grass-roots pursuits. Catch them Aug 10th at Milwaukee’s Back Room.

Mariee Sioux - Grief in Exile

Minstrel reminiscences quivering in glimmering intricacy, Sioux’s bewitching folk pitches pastoral allegories in cantering tempos, bird-call melodies and laced arrangements, tumbling somewhere between grazing fables and intimate myths. Flitting about in drum-less propulsion from supple wrists across finger-picked guitar, “Grief,” befriends darkness radiating calm, illuminating doubts and grounding fears, sprinkling discreet cheek-to-cheek incantations with courtly dormouse flourishes and unconditional kindness.

Mike Adams At His Honest Weight - There Is No Feeling Better

Gentle intentions washed in romantic nostalgia and spun-dried with beat-driven finishes and hook-happy after-thoughts, “Feeling,” reels in love-sick folk-rock, adrift in half-forgiven bygones, soul-mate daydreams and self-indulgent sympathies.  Wrapped in casual harmonies, subtle bluster and spangled jangle, the exquisite MAAHHW riff on near-misses and forever-kisses to make persuasive vacations for world-weary peers; forward-facing escapes into trusted tropes and free-floating anecdotes.

Dressy Bessy - Fast Faster Disaster

Armed to the teeth with svelte belters, double-shot taunts and slash-and-burn purrs, Dressy Bessy’s arresting endeavors spawn con-artist angels avenging club-house outcasts stripping pompous romps down to skin-tight skirmishes. Rabid doo-wop ballads trapping jagged scat-rap chit-chat, “Disaster,” matches fussy shrugs and feigned disdain to sweet-tart alt-rock cabaret, lusty tussles primed for devilish rebellions schooled in institutional foolishness and risk-free teases.

Froth - Duress

Lacerated dashes crash pneumatic jags in effervescent post-rock shoe-gaze as, “Duress,” resets machine-pressed anomalies exploring microtonal drone-pop with tasty abrasive glazes and tart narcotic whispers coiled around stoic hypnosis. Engineered eeriness flows over Froth’s ominous somnambulists, liberating conflicted instincts tinged in methodical madness from mechanical hearts embracing industrial serenity. Froth along with Seattle heavyweights Versing play UW’s Terrace June 28th.

Palehound - Black Friday

United in jaunty indie-pop conjugation and earnest, burgeoning soul-searching, Palehound’s multi-tasking aspirations connect reflective second-guesses to thirsty curiosity where timid self-image tends tender envy with verbal caresses redressing fleshy blessings. Demonstrable confidence celebrating fragile valor through visceral descriptions hip to shared joys, the tangibly candid, “Friday,”  transforms humble, home-demo authenticity into sophisticated engagements balancing patient postmortem refrains alongside full-bodied rebuttals.

Imperial Teen - Now We Are Timeless

Concept-pop fraught in frosted power-chords, cautious providence and brokered commotion, “Timeless,” blinds with radiant New Wave cravings wound around sultry, sugar-coated irony; sinister minor-key majesty painted in aloof brooding and kaleidoscopic bop. Princely resistance weathering post-modern regrets, Imperial Teen’s smug rug-cutters reach near-boils to ratchet passions into seething teases cooled by smooth well-oiled grooves then reheated into steamy paperback dramatics.

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