Slipped Discs

Bombadil - Hold On

Quixotic, melodic and occasionally toxic, Bombadil’s blithe, but biting tunes bounce between self-effacing chamber-pop apologies and elegant a cappella elegies. Squired choirboys pair level-headed blessings with cloistered joys turning everyday fables into comical cosmopolitan operettas. Framing modern problems inside baroque love-notes, “Hold,” bestows precise polite delights where swooning harmonies take flight and side-lined instruments accentuate and punctuate with mischievous hindsight.

Coutney Barnett - Sometimes I Sit and Think and Sometime I Just Sit

A divine brag and slag packing blues-punk funk and chunky dockside rock into brass-tacks swagger down savage cafe catwalks, “Sometimes,” combines wickedly descriptive gifts with bitter, brittle rockabilly licks; blinding bull’s-eye rhymes smothered in powerful scowls and impoverished scoffs. Beatnik-sweetened cockney caroler Barnett teases devil-may-care savoir faire to launch clever double-barreled revelations within caustic mocking, indigent belligerence and delicious indifference.

Evans the Death - Expect Delays

Rummaging among post-punk fun, indie-rock rage and swinging English soul, young Londoners Evans the Death chain flirty dirges to bratty-savvy ballads; hiding breath-taking craft beneath crashing attacks from withering wit hidden in scuzzy buzz. Casually calculating, sparring guitars rally incorrigible organ and rampaging percussion as, “Delays,” display laid-back jangle brimming in rebellious melodies and dark-tinted binges plastered with maddening dissatisfaction.

Purity Ring - Another Eternity

Glossy synth-pop toffee fracked in elastic beats and porous orchestras, “Eternity,” languishes and vanquishes, worming sublime electro-grinds from mechanical canopies whose vaulted velvet ceilings capture coy voices from steamy dream-weavers. Swimming in flickering spaceship ricochets, Purity Ring’s pinball ballerinas chase cyber-butterfly messiahs with well-placed haste; breezy squeezable divas hover suspended beyond recovery, immersed in multi-colored seductions promising masterful stratospheric pageantry.

Tom Brosseau - Perfect Abandon

Accompanied by his three-piece band and recording with a single microphone, sly, eye-twinkling troubadour Brosseau captures character-inhabiting sagas, tenderly spreading good-natured country-blues in crystal-clear cadence and disarming calm. Sweet, sleepy keepsakes tumbling from folksy podiums with minimal fuss, “Perfect,” births cozy poems detailing love’s errant struggles and life’s hard-won discoveries; hand-picked deliverance trimmed in ragtime rhythms strummed from beguiling smiles.

Lady Lamb the Beekeeper - After

Crashing mash-ups lashing lyrical punk-folk anecdotes to romantic alt-rock rodeos, “After,” harnesses quasi-Americana nirvanas into propulsive proto-pop hosannas in a perfectly unpredictable mixture of aggressive expressiveness and timid sympathy. A fierce, spirited renegade, Lady Lamb fans playfully intimate opinions into outspoken commotion whose melodramatic packages become competent romps exploding in complex connections between glib suspicions, embattled compassion and fiendish genius.

John Moreland - High on Tulsa Heat

Heavy sighs turn to deep breathing as sorrow finds a centered voice in Moreland’s sharp, Dust Bowl folk; gritty lyrical intricacy nurtures plucked heartstring intimacy with solemn six-string soliloquies tinted in rambling panhandler candor. Authentic connections riddle, “Tulsa,” with level-headed introspection riding beside hungry country kickers for an album challenged by life’s fated intervention and lifted in transcendent roadside redemption.

Doldrums - The Air-Conditioned Nightmare

Splashing in spastic, ectoplasmic chasms while cobbling wobbly Afropop-goth to churning nocturnal infernos, “Nightmare,” slither through funky post-punk pratfalls trapping wriggling mysteries in strobe-lit bailiwicks; sexy webs slinging slushy jungle percussion into test-tube grooves. Deranged Canadians spraying neo-industrial bluster over transistorized Terrordomes, Doldrums’ rumbling cunning oozes in spooked latex interludes spawning intergalactic mash-ups attracting squirmy neural blast-offs into diabolical holodecks.

Calexico - Edge of the Sun

From suave mariachi brass contrasting noble emotional collapse to feisty electro-fiestas bleached in red-hot desert-blues, roving musical conquistadors Calexico unearths deep replenished roots from weathered heritage by planting future-roosting branches with soul-seeking sentiment, tenacious patience and subtle self-assurance. Smooth in modern-day execution and rich in half-whispered history, “Edge,” registers tender memories roasted in folk-rock salsas swept among dusty gringo shuffles.

Matt and Kim - New Glow

Twisting big-top pop-rock with gleeful glitches into pinky-swear double-dares inside party-down kisses, Brooklyn’s kite-flying tour-guides Matt and Kim’s summer-fun conundrums parlay an uber-exuberant Rube Goldberg surge of post-apocalyptic mirth laced in rhyming irony and duplicitous mischief. From neon-ripped hip-hop to Technicolor dub dipped in playful Casio kitsch, “Glow,” unrolls auto-tuned Romper-rooms papered in neighborhood nostalgia, flash-mob enthusiasm and chronic honesty.

Shana Falana - Set Your Lightning Fire Free

Gotham pomp crumbles under echo-chamber game-changers, striking, “Lightning,” in sulfuric verdicts with bionic blows cloaked in black velvet gloves. Stamping banshee avalanches in scorched chords, subterranean beats imprint fire-glazed shoe-gaze prying sugar-coated sirens, seismic Kaisers Falana and Michael Amari from volcanic dream-pop panic via gale-force torch-songs seething beneath devouring prowess. The dark cathartic duo storm Madison’s Mickey’s Tavern April 16th

Sam Cohen - Cool It

Warm, misty-mountain synths float over heavenly seventies space-rock, levitating, “Cool,” into sumptuous pools of bohemian dreamers swimming with sidewinder guitars doused in reverb-soaked mojo and foggy melancholy. Hazy, palatial parades wading in outlaw analog powers Cohen’s meticulous odes to go-for-broke utopias; rad ballads slathered in decorated speculations fabricating deep-shag tapestries that capture hitch-hiker rhapsodies in orchestrated choruses and slow-boiled solos.

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