Slipped Discs

The Shivas - You Know What To Do

Radical slackers mashing fab platters from the early sixties, The Shivas shake, rattle and roll with rousing garage-rock raves and shaggy surf-punk parades stomping on irreverent teen-age angst through reverb-soaked hillbilly blues, juvie beatnik strolls and party-hardy basement doo-wop. Carrying a torch for scorching R&B rip-offs, “You Know,” revs up barb-wired twang for some back-lot boogaloo steeped in rapturous nostalgia.

Lace Curtains - A Signed Piece of Paper

Flying off the page, the wry, slightly sinister mug-shot pop-rock inside, “Paper,” delivers underhanded candor, footloose truths and gritty hubris with a journalist’s eye for detail and a crooner’s ear for tunes. Hep-cat chit-chat to rile up the riff-raff, Austin-based Lace Curtain’s clever squirrel-cage case studies uncover underground scoundrels among groovy sleuths; employing hard-luck pluck to construct solid, rollicking ruckus.

Run Boy Run - Something to Someone

A jaw-dropping combination of Gaelic bluegrass and mountaintop chamber-folk the Arizona quintet’s fiddles, mandolins, cello, bass and guitars borrow from history-rich traditions to foster a scholarly hodgepodge underwritten in moonshine and molasses. Led by strong female harmonies and nimble pickin’, “Something,” skips past rootsy troubadours to branch into torch-song confidants sauntering in enchanting shanties, worldly-wise Americana and twinkling Texas swing.

Torn Hawk - Let’s Cry and Do Pushups At The Same Time

Embryonic buzz-saws mount chattering catalysts as, “Pushups,” ricochets between cyber-writhing synths, fiendish drum-machines and thrashing axes mastering chain reactions; laser-guided geysers pump short-circuited quirks over spring-loaded explosions raining pulsating mayhem beneath well-crafted commotion. Micro-managing cinematic sound-factories, flight-controlling maestro Luke Wyatt aka Torn Hawk swoops down on a polyglot of runaway nanobot fantasies whose playfully layered mazes surround collapsing musical maps.

Buzzcocks - The Way

Backed by a new drummer and bassist; songwriters and founding members Shelley and Diggle storm the palace gates with curt pertinent couplets and snarling barroom guitars. Blunt pop-laden punk spiced with decisive social dissection, “The Way,” blazes through breathless rock testaments written by hungry class-ravaged curmudgeons ripe for a fight and armor-plated statesmen armed with forthright bite and open-hearted bark.

Megafortress - Believer

Slathered in ominous studio crackle and lacquered in stripped-down astral-jazz waxing, “Believer,” undertakes an electro-pillaged pilgrimage gathering sparse low-key soliloquies sparking ambient soul-baring humanity. Stark sequestered treasures reveling in dark, unvarnished reflections, Megafortress builds seething electric requiems whose meditative hesitations reverberate in perceptive confessions; baptized transmissions cleansed in crisp penetrating sentiment, steadied by level-headed revelations and colored in wondrous struggles.

Trash Kit - Confidence

Deliriously fearless, gate-crashing Brits, Trash Kit’s combustible punk crunches lob punchy girl-powered telepathy into shuddering bungee lunges spiked in gangly harangues aboard runaway trains. Dodging and dislodging toppling monopolies with twisted anarchist’s bliss, “Confidence,” scrambles estranged scatterbrained funk around elastic ska-rattled catastrophes strung from caterwauling pinball logic and sweetly teetering ricochet rallies for impassioned caffeinated gymnastics and quivering, contrasting mathematics.

Marc Marzenit - To Love Until We Say Goodbye

Smooth tubular moods melt icy cyber-prog into vacuum-sealed Ferris wheels as, “Until,” splashes classical sass alongside boggling ping-pong marathons rich in modulated waterfalls and oceanic tantrums. Filling half-life labyrinths with computer-generated vertigo, dazzling urban ambiance and finely-knitted glitch, Marzenit’s inquisitive rhythms slither in slinky lava-lamp stampedes, half-Lamborghini, half-lamprey, picture-perfect sport for dance-floor courts and tube-way stations dipped in sci-fi head-trips.

The Singer and the Songwriter - What a Difference a Melody Makes

In a swish of delicious retro-pop gossamer, TSATS’ modern take on romantic banter adds tangy flames to cozy taffeta jazz basking in attractive bop, savvy appetites and enamored glamour. Primed in sophisticated mischief, “Difference,” polishes posh thoughts into bewitching whimsy for a suave hurrah to witty simplicity, effectively selecting choice chords steeped in breezy, matriarchal sparkle and cavalier, chandelier swing.

Alexis Hightower - Girl Next Door

Jump-rope jive, smoldering ballads, relevant reflections and soothing Afro-Cuban moves lift feet, seduce ears and raise spirits while, “Girl,” gurgles and surges in languid refrains, painting satin captions beneath fiery desires and unnamed pains. A strong, luxurious voice supported by smart solos and solid playing, Hightower soars in classy soul-sister poses, sultry, poised and ripe in casually fashionable emotional fortitude.

Thompson - Family

Captained by brother, son and uncle, Teddy, several talented Thompson tribesmen wrote two songs each cobbling accompaniments from spouses and siblings for a collaborative tag-team breeding top-notch folk-blues swaddled inside headstrong harmonies atop wickedly fidgety guitar-licks. Spinning cynical sing-alongs against co-dependent sentiment, the clan bands together giving, “Family,” a fierce independence, hoppin’ and sobbin’ over rocky relations and tender-hearted sanctions.

Malcolm Middleton and David Shrigley - Music and Words

Twisted vignettes whose surreal appeals and subtle rebuttals serve bittersweet treats within dark comical commentary; “Music,” favors sly diary recitals drawn from loony-bin lullabies and glib tales of modern horror for ominous operettas authoring grim karmic-carousel parables. Hazardous savages lie beside civilized psychopaths as Middleton and Shrigley’s minimalistic madrigals blossom into electro-pop melt-downs, lop-sided chamber-goth fantasies and zany rib-tickling fiction.

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