Slipped Discs

Oceanator - Nothing’s Ever Fine

Thrills spilling into introspective quests, “Fine,” hits the ground running with matter-of-fact traction waxing nostalgic in white-knuckle muscle and savvy electric ballads whose methodical plotlines squeezed heavy reverie from grounded sounds, husky percussion and pounding progressions. Strong and honest, yet open and hopeful, Oceanator succinctly pivots from joyrides to layovers in revved crash-course discourse powering economic songs with guitar-centric prowess.

Pink Mountaintops - Peacock Pools

Distorted sorcerers, courting, cavorting and teleporting, Pink Mountaintops’ monster stomp-box gypsy-rock climbs sublime heights casting nomadic paranoia down dark wells buzzing in six-string floods and dunked in glorious glam-punk thunder. Hurtling cataclysmic theatrics into scorned hornet downpours and swamp-boogie chainsaws, “Peacock,” scours around demonic romps propped up by flashy cabaret pushing savage myths stirred by gravelly wit and raggedly mosh-pits.

Mary Lattimore & Paul Sukeena - West Kensington

Dappled in airbrushed plucks and prickly permutations ushering nebulous weddings where ghostly corrosions bleed into passive atmospheres with abstract majesty, “Kensington,” tends heavenly glens and sparkling gardens, tranquil banquets merging delicate brevity to blended serenity. Dispossessed processionals hatching placid tones sown from processed electronics, Lattimore’s harp and Sukeena’s guitar cleanse in choral auroras, visceral visions writhing mightily and wilting willfully.

Brothers Griiin - Joy City

Helmed by Flaming Lips’ Nicholas Ley and Matthew Duckworth Kirksey, awesome robotic ravers Brothers Griin’s lit debut spins double-dipped bangers between languid daydreams and ambitious mantras. Bungee-jumping funk stoked in baroque mojo, wrung from doctored beats and infected with sick riffs, “Joy,” bursts with sonic novelty, zonked geometry and fluid ingenuity happily cruising through madcap booty-rock with hip microchipped conniptions.   

Monophonics - Sage Motel

City-street soul floated on solar winds, “Motel,” swells with psychedelic spells grounded in vigilant precision, silk-lined teardrops from fallen-angel falsettos into gritty head-trips slamming, jamming and getting down. Humble pulpit revivalists, the cosmic Monophonics stand tall with heads bowed, rainbow warriors armed with Latin percussion, fuzz-laden leads and voodoo grooves sweetening punchy brass-plated pleads rocket-launching rallying melodramatics into locomotive rapture.

lullahush - A City Made of Water and Small Love

Restless architect and ephemeral experimentalist lullahush assembles tentative memories from circuit-bent confessions and integrated impressions; humane, cyber-soaked mementos trapped in shiny bubble-wrap flutter in colorful piety underlying shy transistorized lullabies, lyrical queries mirroring curious theories. Studio-curated concoctions postulating poetry in motion through effusive minutiae, “City,” builds biomechanical ambiance existing among inquisitive mysteries, nimble riddles piecing the feasible from the inconceivable.

Stars - From Capelton Hill

Romantic anthems canvas posh pop in diminished chords, rolling bass and springy rhythms as “Hill,” swims laps around whimsical reminisces with swooning showtunes tackling silver-screen pageantry through soft, glitter-ball whispers, lavish synthesized pastels and gossipy philosophy. Exquisite misbegotten metropolitans, the modest and melodic Stars persuade, promenade, and serenade, misbehaved apologists bravely paving remedy’s redemption with harmonized hindsight and kissable wisdom.

David Newbould - Power Up!

Sun-baked rattlesnake boogie surrounding fence-riding power-ballads, “Power,” growls with desperado howls, kicking gritty blues-roots grooves with rock-solid resilience; leathery premises etched in noble lonesomeness and stormy disappointments raging in cantankerous faith. Revved in restless repentance rattling uphill battles, Newbould sells good times with few regrets alongside wounded love garnished in edgy respect, a bittersweet street-preacher’s credo facing and vanquishing anguish.

Lindsay Clark - Carpe Noctem

Airy, acoustic fairy-tale star-sailor, Clark sparkles with windchime-lined guitars cavorting around chamber-folk vocals and wood-nymph string quartets; luminous musings sailing through sun-dappled calico jazz and lace-embroidered gingham pop. A bright, idyllic musical loom “Noctem,” shuttles fondly between breaking dawns and smiling twilight, a wakeful daydream escape woven with descriptive whimsy, strung from wonder-filled welcomes and paired with spare, piano-led prayers.

Shearwater - The Great Awakening

Deep, rich mediations steeped in dreamy beliefs and cosmic solace, the forsaken, “Awakening,” glows in soft monastic majesty, glimmering visions shadowing hallowed synthesizers, trudging percussion tumbling down sullen tunnels, soft-spoken commotion floating in gorgeous orchestras. Mesmerizing co-pilots in rainy night-drives, Shearwater’s compassionate flashes light vast galaxies, tidal messiahs washed onto primordial shores seeking new homes while roaming through battered catacombs.

Kristeen Young - The Beauty Shop

Furious grandeur manufactured in glamourous prog-pop calamity, seething blitzkrieg grievances and operatic alt-rock passions, Young’s eerie fearlessness plunges from sweat-soaked robo-aerobics to petulant hysterics erupting in run-away cravings, gauntlet-launching symphonics and dervish-curated curveballs. Crunchy cyber-funk chasing cabaret appetizers, “Beauty,” fuses militant malevolence with thunderbolt emotions for gadget-packed pageants cashing in multi-tasking athletics and aria-strewn galas splashed in stomping Broadway fever-dreams.

Kamikaze Nurse - Stimuloso

Fertile whirlwinds simmering in hypnotic oddities, “Stimuloso,” sows swinging indie-bop hypotheticals tainted in zany bangers and blazed jangle; frothy, punk-pop chaos flossed, crossed and tossed into fun-fueled hallucinogenics dosed in cozy mind-blowing comas. Devious creatures flexing aggressive eclectics etched in progressive textures, Kamikaze Nurse divebombs shoegaze melancholy with spirited bluster, reeling in bendable schizophrenia, holding opposable notions in dynamic panoramas.

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