Slipped Discs

Sam Phillips - Solid State: Songs from the Long Player

The physical release highlighting her web-based music subscription, “Solid,” melts perceptive pop, melodic taunts and winning minimalism into brilliant cabaret. Illuminating danger in prowling purrs and captivating rasps, Phillip’s skimmed wisdom in foxy fandangos marry the matter of fact among the idiosyncratic, injecting smart, coquettish measures to warmly familiar frameworks for a magical match of willful guile and diplomatic craft.

Okkervil River - I Am Very Far

Modern grifter’s myths capture fierce evangelical gifts slinging forthright frustration beneath elegant exasperation; Okkervil’s full-throttled baubles rattle unchecked connections swinging between open-hearted pleas seeking immediate relief and gallant fact-gathering allies calling from nearby cells. Alt-rock buccaneers penning lyrical disbelief, “Far,” portrays pro-active characters; shadowy cafe castaways conjuring novels and slinky thinking vigilantes wrestling lingering vignettes, morose corrosions and undeniable appeals.

Robin Bacior - Rest Our Wings

Darting flocks of fleeting thoughts trot, wobble and swoon, “Wings,” brings refreshing delicacy to nomadic sadness. Reliable but pliable styles plucked from jazz, country and pop lift Bacior’s lilting bicoastal moments through rollicking waltzes, shy ballads and prancing chamber-folk flights. Swaying tempos surge and swell like woozy ocean waves rolling over crinoline-brushed piano, frisky gypsy strings and preening acoustic guitar.

Strange Boys - Live Music

Wrangling gangly country-blues through barbed-wire honky-tonk, “Live,” whips bleary world-weary feelings into half-mumbled puzzles spun from boppy music-hall jaunts and growling carousing. Ragged haphazard screechers and grizzled hillbilly stompers howl, lurch and stumble around self-tortured portraits buoyed by cock-eyed twang. Glib, dilapidated investigators, SB’s riverboat-soaked roots prove surly seasoning to punchy moonshine crunches, plaintive hip-shaking impatience and tumbleweed cough-syrup doo-wop

Eleanor Friedberger - Last Summer

From hepcat to hipster chick, Fiery Furnace’s Friedberger’s verbal mirth and squiggling riffs slide by bright funky hooks dodging retro-textured synths and post-bop bass for moon-dancing party-pop whose streaming subplots prop off-beat and foolishly groovy treats. Dabbling in schoolyard calypso, chic beatnik dreams and shuffling serenades, “Summer,” becomes a prize-filled grab-bag of flirtatious cadence, coy cathartic remembrances within laidback chitchat.

Cass McCombs - Humor Risk

Articulating repressed obsessions and quiet rivalry through cool rebukes and questioning hesitations, “Humor,” exudes sensitive everyman rock wrapping under-dressed quests and bare-knuckled troubles in swinging sixties mixes and loner-poet parcels. A slightly lighter companion to last April’s gloom-infused, “Wit’s End,” McCombs’ prolific mischief crushes heartfelt grit into folk-rock ruminations. Melancholy’s soft-spoken apostle, Cass plays Madison’s High Noon Saloon January 30th

Lindstrom - Six Cups of Rebel

Cyber-slick misfits click in clock-boxing fits of spiraling slingshots, bottomless vertigo and chattering static, Lindstrom’s measured textures settle restlessly, zapping synapses while evaporating pneumatic Acid House, toasted Detroit cronk and pole-dancing funk. Mechanized mayhem outfitted in cosmic electronics, “Rebel,” mounts dry-ice avalanches smothered in jigsaw awesomeness and rollercoaster sensuality, tubular grooves built from viscous ricochets, space-age mirror-balls refracting jet-propelled raves.

Sharon van Etten - Tramp

Willowed silhouettes shade half-submerged sentiments and misty-colored evidence, the breath-taking, memory-making “Tramp,” decamps rudderless mutterings, aching mazes buoyed by fitful dream-folk revelations. Parlor piano, rustling drums and clanging hangman guitar float and lumber while SvE sways in wavering maybes, sleepy banshee volleys rolled in rootless truth; breaching gulfs in a tide of twilight bordello blues, post-bop ennui and zombie rock.

Howlin Rain - The Russian WIlds

Shuffling thoughtful whiskey-soaked hopes through caterwauling crashes and leathery crescendos, HR’s haunted blues-rock gospel slithers in limber electric boogie and clustered power-chord hustle,. Steeped in urban cowboy solos, hurtling Wurlizters and jazzy-agile interludes, “Wilds,” piles spirited delirium onto galloping gallantry; driving rawhide harmonies around cantina tangents while lovelorn introspection storm buckboard ballads for raunchy revivalist fevers and sinisterly sated salvation.

Jonquil - Point of Go

Brandishing brittle African guitars bouncing between creamy seaside synths and dawn-breaking brass, “Go,” rings in upwardly mobile dance-pop, tumbling contrapuntal bubblings flowing in sun-splashed overtones. Breezy British boppers accurately executing hobnobbing romance novels where angelic skeptics rock suave philosopher’s sons, Jonquil’s lush and lively solid-state beats swoon in slick Gatsby charm; sparkling in warm vibrations, idyllic riches and stroboscopic delight.

Barry Adamson - I Will Set You Free

A mindful and musical Mephistopheles, Adamson’s underhanded cinematic palette hones each song into a polished collage of seamless espionage, anger-fueled grooves turned baritone cool and post-modern pop both embraceable and dangerous. Houndstooth counsel nattily targeting black market charlatans, “Free,” squeezes square-jawed sojourns into swift and sanctified rampages, moody soul-rock voodoo drawn from swinging zoot-suit jive and rumbling urban curtain calls.

Anna Vogelzang - Canary in a Coalmine

Banjo, guitar and zither swim in languid string quartets, spritely thumb pianos and fretful squeezeboxes, transporting, “Canary,” through cajoling art-folk mojo, heel-kicking kinderpop and fan dance chicanery. Lit by lithe reason and cushioned in optimistic speech, classically trained and personally inspired renegade East Coaster and Madison foundling Vogelzang seduces in footloose truces, baking moon-pie manifestos outlining fun, wonder and comfort.

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