Slipped Discs

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.

Kristoffer and the Harbour Heads - EX/EX

Scoffing operas taunting two-act theatrics with elastic extravaganzas, the nefarious, “Ex/Ex.” splashes social catastrophes into sinful bingeing cinematics featuring ravenous lip-smacking tragedies. Plastering gossamer-rock gossip onto randy banter through catchy New Wave soul, Kristopher and company’s saucy scorn unfurl street-parade cabaret littered in prancing fantasies; lizard-king flings with glam-pop bell-hops dissecting delectable medleys painted in broad strokes and trifling vices.

Kevin Krauter - Toss Up

Soft-spoken odes to eternal summer loves spun from jazzy shadow-dancing fantasies, Krauter allows sophistication to seep into his sun-soaked sweetness, pastel-colored questions leaking into seamless allegiances glide beside subdued poolside ruminations and glazed seventies radiance. Unburdened journeys tackle personal concerns with untapped passion catapulting, “Toss,” into radio-ready romance delivered in serene heart-shaped daydreams, dizzy gee-whiz sympathies and waltzing wind-tossed confidence.

Matt Kivel - Last Night in America

Beautiful desolation wafts through Matt Kivel’s vapor-haunted alt-folk minimalism, steel strings plucked among lulling sound-covens shift with distant intimacy, tone poems wandering among severed memories cast from hallowed shadows and impassable fragments. Catspaw calls into neon fogs humming in electric incandescence, spectral echoes and stark mirages, “America,” combines world-weary queries funneled into wonder with monitored electronics steeped in fleeting mystery.

Pedro Kastelijns - Som das Luzis

Zany mania tamed in psycho-samba soufflés, “Luzis,” muses in jarring cartoon lunacy, commanding gizmo-prone jabberwocky waking and shaking narcoleptic benders riding bold, dismembered tropical-pop dropped into rabbit-hole side-shows. Basted in booming bass, tasty bossa nova escapes and bouncy gaucho detours, psychedelic Brazilian Kastelijns’ lavender caverns spew groovy tunes fire-roasted and slightly singed, crispy fringe-art binges rattling cages and sparking imaginations.

Kllo - Maybe We Could

Swift rhythmic rivers bubbling beneath hovering ghost-lovers as whirling glitch-riddled world-beats sweeten smooth translucent grooves, “Maybe,” flavors fashionably passive contrasts with elegant well-spent intensity, alluring superlatives and exotic optics. Partnered in luscious seductions and vacuum-sealed feelings, Kllo’s silky guilty pleasures wrestle passionate tempests, out-of-reach treats surrounded by flickering vixen singing, diva high-dive descents swept into nets rescued by heavenly consent.

KAYE - Conscious Control

Gossamer confidence embraces bold emotions as KAYE’s expressive alt-pop testaments add tempting feminist funk to delicious bewitching mysteries transforming whispering kittenish intimacy into writhing pile-driver tiger swipes craving flaming danger. Personal whirlwinds dwelling among catchy introspective epics and dazzling cinematic pageants, “Conscious,” conjures complex empowerment colored in ghostly devotion and wishful conviction, fusing lucid studio maneuvers to candid biographical transparency.

Kinlaw - The Tipping Scale

Cavernous compassion pitched in ethereal field-trips embedded in micro-chip bliss and wind-swept sentiment, “Tipping,” slips wayward grace from turntable angels into sweeping keyboard voyages, coded mojo unfolding persistently mystical journeys by turning moody studio coos into breathless destinations. Diaphanous and dramatic, Kinlaw tiptoes through gossamer gardens anchored in radiant choreography and lifted in lavish telegraphic splashes from ravenous nanobot backing.

Kedr Livanskiy - Liminal Soul

Russian folk melodies reincarnated into electronic golems, “Liminal,” floats stroboscopic disco beneath hacked satellite chatter, astral Valkyrie choirs and flashy beatbox mashups producing slippery psilocybin head-trips dipped in nimble cosmic rapture. Languid anchorless mix-master Livanskiy dances past elastic passages, swaying runways beamed from inflamed brainstems and attached to foreign tongues, pleasurable mental acupressure woven from crisp samples and synthetic textures.

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.

Kiwi Jr. - Chopper

Holding back this side of breaking down, “Chopper,” bops in cool grooves, a foppish mockery taunting rock’s honesty with civil wit fashioning detached actions cooked in jangle-emo hooks and sparkling snark. Comedic, cultured, class-war survivors and unashamedly brazen art-rock romantics, Kiwi Jr infuse laconic pity into electric New Wave Britpop, floundering in strait-jacketed compassion with stainless-steel feelings and doomsday ennui.

Kal Marks - My Name Is Hell

Calloused shadow-dancing with corrosive bulldozers, marauding toppler Marks’ cunning uphill testaments bludgeon jumpy boxer’s shuffles into jittery ninja fits kissed by kettle-whistle blitz, ham-fisted calamity slamming in muscular punctuality. Soaked in high-voltage polemics on an electric-fence tightrope, “Hell,” swells in relentless tension, each song making steady headway from edgy oppression to effective connectivity emblazed in collective rage and synchronized visions.

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