Slipped Discs

Torn Hawk - Let’s Cry and Do Pushups At The Same Time

Embryonic buzz-saws mount chattering catalysts as, “Pushups,” ricochets between cyber-writhing synths, fiendish drum-machines and thrashing axes mastering chain reactions; laser-guided geysers pump short-circuited quirks over spring-loaded explosions raining pulsating mayhem beneath well-crafted commotion. Micro-managing cinematic sound-factories, flight-controlling maestro Luke Wyatt aka Torn Hawk swoops down on a polyglot of runaway nanobot fantasies whose playfully layered mazes surround collapsing musical maps.

Trash Kit - Confidence

Deliriously fearless, gate-crashing Brits, Trash Kit’s combustible punk crunches lob punchy girl-powered telepathy into shuddering bungee lunges spiked in gangly harangues aboard runaway trains. Dodging and dislodging toppling monopolies with twisted anarchist’s bliss, “Confidence,” scrambles estranged scatterbrained funk around elastic ska-rattled catastrophes strung from caterwauling pinball logic and sweetly teetering ricochet rallies for impassioned caffeinated gymnastics and quivering, contrasting mathematics.

Thompson - Family

Captained by brother, son and uncle, Teddy, several talented Thompson tribesmen wrote two songs each cobbling accompaniments from spouses and siblings for a collaborative tag-team breeding top-notch folk-blues swaddled inside headstrong harmonies atop wickedly fidgety guitar-licks. Spinning cynical sing-alongs against co-dependent sentiment, the clan bands together giving, “Family,” a fierce independence, hoppin’ and sobbin’ over rocky relations and tender-hearted sanctions.

Twin River - Should The Light Go Out

Tough-chick blitzes decked out in barb-wired noise-pop, “Light” ignites thick, lipstick tiffs strangling mega-twang angles for reverb-drenched sentiments: secret-crush brush-offs from twisted pulp-fiction vixens. Initially a folk duo, the expanded Twin River retain their vocal-centric tendencies but add gnarly guitar-slinging armies to launch an avalanche of garage-rock power-ballads skilled in swooning Watusi maneuvers, booming tambourine-stacked hand-claps and hazy, shoe-gaze squalor.

The Black Ryder - The Door Behind the Door

Vivid psycho-tribal simmering washed in haunting folk-goth simplicity, The Black Ryder’s starlit spider-web tapestries glow, draped in swamp-gas visions born from tumble-weed fevers. Finger-picked gifts rippling in slow-boiled riffs and disembodied choirs, “Door,” unlocks celestial textures, unleashing bare-boned moans from drowsy, drowning rapture; delicate treasures whose screeching, skyscraper-blues smolder, console and seduce through diaphanous passions, woefully floating below shark-infested loneliness.

Torres - Sprinter

A solace-seeking mediator trapped in harrowing happenstance, tortured sorceress Torres treads quicksand landscapes with mystical intimacy, searing mirror-piercing confessions into viscous artistic expression. Chilly uphill marathons pondering dogged melancholy while conquering haunted ceremonies, “Sprinter,” bursts with personal mercies washed in swamp-grunge lunges, tenuous connections sketching viral modern-rock presumption; a defensive intensity exorcising deep-seated demons through bluesy minimalism and simmering convictions.

Teen Daze - Morning World

Polished frolics caught inside sugar-coated soul, the lush, transcendent Teen Daze push pristine power-pop into warm fades, tender blends and sleepy dissolves; nature-based havens launch rippled space-age heartbreak guided by love-struck harmonies while pool-side choirboys perch beneath shiny torch-song flourishes. The sterling, “World,” glides in quietly positive confidence experimenting with blissful string quartets, understated tape manipulations and light-headed bedroom confession.

Tamaryn - Cranekiss

Soaked and stoked by cybernetic ghosts, the Lilith-dipped, “Cranekiss,” whips industrial colors from tampered dance-rock fantasies for thick tantric trances planted within weightless basements; submerged urges swimming in swampy pomp. Carving lavish cavernous sounds, Tamaryn’s massive schematics attract multi-tasking catastrophes for monstrous concerts featuring shimmering quicksand romps where air-brushed songs ping-pong among parallel carousels squashing cosmic operas under mammoth canopies.

Telekinesis - Ad Infinitum

Lofty cottony alt-pop compositions executed in beautiful synth-driven arabesques drizzled over brittle nimble bounce, “Infinitum,” tucks supple couplets inside free-spirited travelogues, turbo-charged sing-alongs,and sad-eyed monologues. Soul-baring, pre-sequenced secrets line Telekinesis’ cyber-syncopated daze relaying pulsating cravings to carpet heart-throb sobbing in grand, amorous fantasies while poignant romantic misfortunes float over circular percolations plying earnest truths in buoyant New Wave grooves.

Tobacco - Sweatbox Dynasty

Deranged, disturbed and delightful, “Sweatbox,” rocks funky monster-grinds erupting in hissing nanobot troglodytes; flipped micro-chips plunging in industrial dungeons crunch transistorized data-dumps scampering under cyborg firestorms. A sleazy heaving band of experimental bandits bandaging clogged sprockets with greasy secrets, Tobacco’s syrupy Wurlitzer courtesies wrap around bossy, glossy oscillations as slow-burn turns churn in flustered thrusts, wobbly throbs and plastic attractions.

Trails and Ways - Own It

Elastic bop-pop run-arounds powered by exquisite riffs ricocheting off slippery innuendo, “Own,” roams beneath heavy-petting confections, catchphrase catechisms teased in dark pulsating undertones; diplomatic passions dispensing blue-eyed heartache inside quasi-disco boogie reviving sly, fly hooks with ninja intuition. Courting penthouse debutantes in cabana-boy flourishes, Trails and Ways engage lusty soft-rock hustles flushed in irresistible bedroom harmonies wrung from play-date reprobates.

Maria Taylor - In the Next Life

Home-grown odes doting over spiritual growth, bewitching submissions enlisting lazy persuasions for flirtatious equations, “Next,” connects relished recollections to fetching speculations circled by maternal murmurs and cool, coddling coos. Set against simple, sturdy pop ideas highlighting playful warmth and tender friendship, Taylor’s rich, welcoming voice nurtures beloved coupling with sultry, colorful lullabies; savory daisy-chain play-dates dipped in swampy honky-tonk stardust.

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