Slipped Discs

Torres - Sprinter

A solace-seeking mediator trapped in harrowing happenstance, tortured sorceress Torres treads quicksand landscapes with mystical intimacy, searing mirror-piercing confessions into viscous artistic expression. Chilly uphill marathons pondering dogged melancholy while conquering haunted ceremonies, “Sprinter,” bursts with personal mercies washed in swamp-grunge lunges, tenuous connections sketching viral modern-rock presumption; a defensive intensity exorcising deep-seated demons through bluesy minimalism and simmering convictions.

Ivan & Alyosha - It’s All Just Pretend

A dazzling indie-pop grab-bag unraveling theatrical narratives in kind-hearted bravado and poignant misfortune, “Pretend,” blends repentant questions into hook-filled hootenannies; unshackled ballads ransacked in brassy gratitude leap from street-wise reprisals to tear-stained amends. Masters of last-chance love-songs packed in foreshadowed passions and streamlined swagger, I&A’s hard-luck romances crush on folk-rock flings as simple opinions address courtship’s hardships with ear-candy sincerity.

Rey Pila - The Future Sugar

Moving to manicured stammers from mid-eighties samples poured over sporty choruses braised in underbelly glamour, Rey Pila’s brisk, fidgety New Wave funk spaces out and gets down with riff-pitched boogie. A refreshing exodus despite years in studio limbo, the slinky, “Sugar,” cannot sit still; muscular party-pop hustles roar while sinister alt-rock come-ons board bullet-train dancehalls, space-station nightclubs and black-market happy-hours.

Frog - Kind of Blah

Country-river folk spinning skinny-dipping syllogisms from hot-tip hipsters and daydreaming beatniks, “Blah,” shadow-babbles in swirling pop-culture skullduggery surfing an eclectic fusion of runaway sentences, nervous diversions and murmured worries. Rambling jam-band acoustics canoodle into sunny indie-rock wonder bundling Frog’s vernacular spectaculars into exquisite hillbilly shape-shifters curating meandering pandemonium from literate misfits for a contorted multi-storied voyage sailing furiously curious purges.

The Orange Peels - Begin the Begone

Sun-soaked West Coast power-pop meets rock-geeked apple-cheeked psychedelia inside TOP’s old-school revolutionaries where breath-taking weightlessness spreads from heady experiments to gutsy productions. Joyful orchestral cleverness converge in sharp, harmonic commerce and sentimental effervescence as, “Begone,” spawns smooth groovy tunes; shiny compositions whose tie-dyed jangle wears synth-pop spangle and six-string symphonies glistening in singer-songwriter petitions ride candy-coated rollercoasters in radio-friendly memories.

My Morning Jacket - The Waterfall

Desire runs wild through, “Waterfall,” whose deep-shag platitudes and heavenly suspensions tout ecstatic abandon in tabernacle parables. Lacquered bombast cast in clock-master’s closets, MMJ’s mind-blowing soul injects delicate tenderness in exalted rock covenants, mustering triumphant shifts within miniature riffs as syncopated stamina clamors in full-moon grandeur, righteous arrangements and ethereal appeal. MMJ plays Milwaukee’s Riverside Theater June 20th and 21st.

Pins - Wild Nights

Surly purrs imbedded in smirking mascara-lined dirges laid over brittle stiletto-rock insurgence from subterranean palladiums, “Wild,” files venomous memories, assembling jilted jigsaw-goth from salamander mantras, four-on-the-floor power-chords and smoldering old-school templates. Hurtling vexing vixen doo-wop from twin-fisted sisters refining sunken dungeon come-ons, PINS’ pouty doubts and stern burns fuse leather-clad ballads with fem-blended anthems bleeding steamy teases beneath steel-belted helter-skelter.

Unknown Mortal Orchestra - Multi-Love

Stitched in groovy Frankenstein Valentines, UMO’s garage-soul Romeos exude lo-fi funk from junkyard jewels; lysergic cross-circuits crunching funhouse bumps into trippy basement raves and disco-commissioned intermissions. Immersed in flanged drum-pad boogie, blue-eyed Motown tributes and rootsy alt-pop chutzpah, “Multi-Love,” build Hydra-like blights spinning odd-ball logic from slinky whimsy and criminal resilience for dance-friendly chemistry bent on electrifying hip romantic calamities.

iji - Whatever Will Happen

Power-carousing fleeced in cheeky twee, rocked in soft, indie-pop and splashed in midnight jazz, “Happen,” zaps loose brass, phat swagger and swinging rhythms in flouncy down-town lounge drunk with promise, full of verve and swimming in talent. Hush Puppy hipsters flutter utterly irony-free in retro-savvy remedies, over-loaded vocabularies unraveling iji’s casual travelogues into irresistible reminisces, choice reminders and sly hints.

Kid Wave - Wonderlust

Cruise-missile blizzards chisel tousled dream-pop insomnia, Kid Wave’s thick, but sensitive intensity craft sleek chassis onto whip-smart go-carts, the London-based, internationally-casted quartet’s sassy rallies balance competence beside confidence for swift deliverance of fragile goods. Sleepy pleads fend off narcotic pillow-talk, lowering, “Wonderlust,” under solidly modern sonics; slinky commitments sprinkled in nightclub glitter applied by poker-faced mavens played with blissful indifference.

Girlpool - Before the World was Big

Emancipated play-dates roller-skate through wide-eyed diary-riding glad-tidings trailing unbridled cartwheel zeal alongside noble hand-holding bromides; “Big,” serves generous road-trip-brokered folk-punk homilies transformed into hopeful jump-rope waltzes. Vetting winsome observations trimmed in fly-by-night insights, sharp eyes pry hop-scotch thoughts from frank complaints while guitar, bass and intertwined vocal harmonies power Girlpool’s drum-less dynamics in cheery jubilation, grinning synergy and open empathy.

Jenny Hval - Apocalypse, girl

Beached speech from holy oceans pitch articulate wit enunciating eerie lists inside art-rock lyrics; Hval’s celestial rhetoric voice secular specters planted in arctic marvels, angelic swells and cyber-spanning panoramas submerging swirling performances in frosted positivity. Aloof truths fan fancy tangents inside incandescent stanzas impaling flailing white-whale fairy-tales rendered in contemporary serenity as, “Apocalypse,” sips nuclear-winter symphonies from willful children’s imaginations.

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