Slipped Discs

Desperate Journalist - Maximum Sorrow!

Stern, surging Desperate Journalist’s unleashed jailbreak chic seethes in languid anger before detonating glorious New Wave mayhem, acid-splashed purrs, cooing accusations and egregious sneers stirred into swirling turbulence. Pulsating mirror-ball ballistics basking in backstreets, “Maximum,” captures demure uncertainty and frustrated displacement with ravenous appetites and fashionable grandeur, a brooding view into a garish paradise whose guarded facades hide dangerous derangements.

Madi Diaz - History of a Feeling

Lessons gathered, scattered and battled, “Feeling,” peels revelations from regrets correcting weaponized missteps while mastering classic ballad disclosure through discrete self-exposure, willful lyrics and minimal instruments cradling hidden rage among rational reactions. Tender and tempestuous, Diaz weave songs around private concessions, attempted redemptions, venomous amends and honest intentions, confronting hard truths with bruising review and unavoidable choices with lusty rebuttals.

Indigo De Souza - Any Shape You Take

Upfront, wonderfully blunt and deliciously unambiguous, “Shape,” makes affectionate directness a desirable connection; personal lifeline reminders keeping it real with strong bonds popping melodic swagger onto utopian openness and emotional devotion. An unflappable wingman, De Souza’s hard-hitting indie-rock gifts swing in effortless depth as tactile facts backed by mega-electric guitars, bracing bass and clutched percussion beautifully fuse into magnanimous calamities.   

Paul Draper - Cult Leader Tactics

Interstellar rock accosting institutional consumerism, Draper’s livid polemics and vivid pyrotechnics orchestrate cheeky malfeasance in lush strings, guitar armies and digitized rhythms; pairing logical consequence to sardonic politics with élan, romantic semantics dancing from clarity to despair. Packed in palatial sophistication. “Tactics,” elaborates dramatic synth-prog passages, manufacturing tough-love bluster alongside chrome-plated diplomacy, breathless depths messaging dancefloor quests wrestling pragmatic compassion.

Mitch Davis - The Haunt

Swinging and digging in heart-skipping whims and hip-dipping synergy, Davis tastefully lays downtown boogie bubbling under cavalier smooth-jazz; calm and collected messages tickling sunny synths in laidback syncopation, bound by hound-dog bass and humming in tumbling drums. Suave parcels harboring style and smiles, “The Haunt,” saunters in dapper finger-snapping happenings, bygone fondness buttered in toasty jive walking sly hepcat strides.

Stella Donnelly - Flood

Peppered in welcome plain-talk and well-considered images, the sweet, subtle, “Flood,” treads lightly on deep waters, balancing talented gallantry atop unfolding disclosures, pedestrian friendliness and modern indie-folk poetry. Donnelly’s spunky calm carries infectious charm coupled with serious sincerity; real, sensible apprehension coated in sublime rhymes where candid ear-candy whispers sizzle in coffee-shop gossip and choreographed courtesies conjure cordial chamber-pop sorority. 

Divino Niño - Last Spa on Earth

Fluid Afro-Cuban grooves dripping in dreamy Caribbean synergy, “Spa,” basks in jet-ski melodies vibing private beachfront fun in paisley waves and post-rave cravings, dizzy with swinging bilingual sizzle, home-grown reggaeton and multi-cultural hustle. Capturing a vibrant rapping, waxing space-age fantasy, Divino Niño’s funky genie grants wishes and color visions in bright bursts and suave ardor, empathetic temptations teasing breezy Edens.

Disq - Desperately Imagining Someplace Quiet

A five-piece powerhouse whose indie cred shreds dread and vexes tech, DISQ pits misfit quips against slash and burn earnestness for boppy bombast and sizzling gizmo maneuvering swift ditties into fearless delirium. The polished demolished dynamic keeps, “Quiet,” lively, a quivering riddle where cool nerds surge and dodgeball rockers offer direct amends with energetic contentions battling malice with old-fashioned traction.

Donzii - Fishbowl

Whiplashed crackle from stutter-pop anarchists, sinister misfits Donzii launches propulsive slap-bass raves with caustic six-string time-bombs, ominous thoughts embedded in brittle prog-rock metal and showered in clattering New Wave shadows. Divine techno-funk throwbacks ransacked in brusque feline insolence, “Fishbowl,” holds cyber-punks hostage with wonderfully hallucinogenic frenzies, pouty routers hard-wired to schizophrenic detonators with threatening temptations, soft narcotics and finicky synergy.

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