Slipped Discs

Jason Collett - Here’s to Being Here

Friendly ambling narratives and slippery rhymes highlight a lyrically lubricated troubadour of sophisticated fictions. Here jumps a blues train that moans and sputters winding behind fickle hobo hearts while Collett’s rockin’ roots beats propel hip bohemia against the shuffling lilt of ghostly folk and the novel application of cock-eyed pop.

Rufus Cappadocia - Songs for Cello

From a single instrument, Songs serves up jazzy slap-bass, swelling raga drones, pointed Arabic whirlwinds and plummeting subterranean melodies. A lustrous sound of unearthly bellowing lifting exotic flicks of whispering kicks flying in oily waters, Cappadocia’s cello squirms with genie-like turns uncurling from an ancient bottle unleashing a gorgeous choir of wordless voices.

Clinic - Do It!

Snaggle-tooth serenades whine around an eerie, swirling psycho-circus, pounding and pirouetting as acid-tinged punks mumble bittersweet mantras over woozy, shard-spitting solos. Hell-bound lounge music dissected, reassembled, roughed-up and fuzzed-out, “Do It,” does it without alienating or disappointing. Intriguingly seedy and giddily ramshackle, Clinic takes you down dark paths - letting loose, but never letting go.

Charlatans - You Cross My Path

Loaded with juiced dance grooves, hyperbolic bass and crashing grandeur, “Cross,” elevates earthly relationships to Valkyrie dimensions forging legendary status in classic rock fashion. Courtly rock that takes no prisoners, the Charlatan’s unsubmissive mission snarls with glam, gung-ho struts and game, come-hither glories, triumphantly butting heads against soul-drenched working-class and kick-ass new wave.

Chopteeth - Chopteeth Afrofunk Big Band

Biting brass rides rumbling rumbas while hip-hop highlife wiggle and worm its way past jazzy James Brown soul. Nimble, relentless and electrifying, the twelve-piece D.C.-based band sings, shouts and seduces in seven languages as Chopteeth’s politically-charged beats respectfully skim rhythms from Senegal to Jamaica, dancing from Ghana to Nigeria straight into Funkytown USA.

Cracker - Sunrise in the Land of Milk and Honey

Audacious anarchists, geeky stoner romantics and sci-fi rockers party and parlay, distilling alcoholic logic into swaggering guitar licks dipped in dirt farmer harmonies. Cracker’s roughshod rodeo diplomacy is administered in blunt, abrupt, wild-eyed, country-fried punk as, “Sunrise,” bashes, bops and berates accepted social ills and civilization’s backwards loopholes.

Marshall Crenshaw - Jaggedland

Haunted by the golden age of early rock since he debuted decades ago, Marshall crafts crooning prom-night ballads and boppy paeans to love, waxing nostalgically in rockabilly twang, pistol-packed snares and turbulent, indie-pop jangle. “Jaggedland,” tracks the wistful singer pouring his wise, world-weary heart into incandescent comforts. Crenshaw visits Milwaukee’s Shank Hall Sept. 23rd.

The Clientele - Minotaur

A mini-album packed to the gills, from the quasi-classical to the nakedly oratorical, Minotaur,” jumps verbal hurdles with posh indie-pop. Richly descriptive visions pitch open-hearted curve-balls, blue-eyed soul courting memory and dream, woozy musings illuminated in toe-tapping mojo. TC’s craftily re-mastered music hall rock tosses off crisp Britpop swagger saluting fine taste and good breeding.

The City Champs - The Set-Up

Getting up and under the brash, downbeat sound of a cresting, cooking Hammond organ with side-swiping, chicken-pickin’ electric guitar and kickass trap kit drumming, Memphis’ TCC shoulders ferocious restraint, buttery souls and sizzling swing. Augmented with occasional bass, horns and Latin percussion, “Set-up” remains powered by three equal talents trading interplay tucked inside velvet waves, cool nuance and rooted grooves.

Caroline - Verdugo Hills

Sprawling sonic gauze spun from coolly confident imaginations, Caroline’s squiggling minimalism and fleeting beats blink and beep. Mixing acoustic movements into electronic atmospheres, “Hills,” folds luxurious pop operas into sensual cyber-sketches, turning complex moods reassuringly tranquil; yet oddly enigmatic. The former Mice Parade chanteuse produces beautiful hand-carved harmonies plucked from ice fairy daring whose breathy, feathery messages launch interplanetary fantasies.

Cuttooth - Elements

Skating, wading and dissipating translucent infusions of disembodied beats drift in unfathomable distance, “Element,” vents crackling static tracking unanchored flavors stalking self-absorbed moorings. Mercurial voices elude sizzling snippets wafting in weightless space, Cuttooth’s ethereal material hides whispered mysteries beside suspenseful silences, confounding boundaries alongside bent connections, veiled trails and traipsing vapors tuned to rippling sympathies, random abandon and alien samples.

Jonathan Coulton - Artificial Heart

Smug, scrubbed and lovingly nurturing slick, swift charisma plus warm, unconstrained humanity, Coulton’s cajoling polemics pitch snickering curveballs, off-beat promises inside anti-hero overtures. Produced by TMBG’s John Flansburgh with vocal contributions from Suzanne Vega, John Roderick and Sara Quinn, “Artificial,” pumps out effortless guitar-looped waltzes, punchy New Wave wing-dings and buffed studio-savvy ballads, successfully launching a dazzling, sugar-coated geek-pop cabaret.

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