Slipped Discs

Invisible Familiars - Disturbing Wildlife

Sprawling fall-out from left-brained strangers, “Disturbing,” subverts conventions with creepy sleepers caked in sinister chemistry and tangy bangers teasing art-rock stalkers; beat-heavy noir dancing to cuckoo boogaloo and low-down velvet-viper funk. Slinky tinker-toy techno-pop greased in sleazy freedoms, smirking anarchist’s glee and quick-change artist audacity, Invisible Familiar’s con-man genre tumbles and thunders with ominous comments, slippery sighs and sideshow charm.

Gang of Four - What Happens Next

Spackled in crackling percussive patterns, squealing-wheel guitar and flagrant pavement-bass, Gang of Four’s well-executed confrontational abrasions cultivate brash, cyber-briar patches inhabiting rock-bionic labyrinths. Founding-member Andy Gill and company enlists high-powered cameos to hurtle post-punk thunder past punchy funky pile-drivers as the intrepid, “Next,” treks slithering across industrial deserts in scavenger caravans. The formidable Four play Chicago’s Park West March 13th.

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.

Quiet Company - Transgressor

Tender hearts and dry wit mix with rollicking pop-rock fits dipped in double-barreled alt-country sizzle; charming carny barkers Quiet Company serenade cowboy romantics with synth-synched roller-rink wisdom and scorching back-porch payback. Rousing shouts, Velcro hooks and sharp, smart anecdotes wake courageous dreamers, restless toe-tappers and gentle thieves as, “Transgressor,” prowls incessantly; alert to love’s dangers, life’s ironies and music’s power.

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.

Coutney Barnett - Sometimes I Sit and Think and Sometime I Just Sit

A divine brag and slag packing blues-punk funk and chunky dockside rock into brass-tacks swagger down savage cafe catwalks, “Sometimes,” combines wickedly descriptive gifts with bitter, brittle rockabilly licks; blinding bull’s-eye rhymes smothered in powerful scowls and impoverished scoffs. Beatnik-sweetened cockney caroler Barnett teases devil-may-care savoir faire to launch clever double-barreled revelations within caustic mocking, indigent belligerence and delicious indifference.

Lady Lamb the Beekeeper - After

Crashing mash-ups lashing lyrical punk-folk anecdotes to romantic alt-rock rodeos, “After,” harnesses quasi-Americana nirvanas into propulsive proto-pop hosannas in a perfectly unpredictable mixture of aggressive expressiveness and timid sympathy. A fierce, spirited renegade, Lady Lamb fans playfully intimate opinions into outspoken commotion whose melodramatic packages become competent romps exploding in complex connections between glib suspicions, embattled compassion and fiendish genius.

Doldrums - The Air-Conditioned Nightmare

Splashing in spastic, ectoplasmic chasms while cobbling wobbly Afropop-goth to churning nocturnal infernos, “Nightmare,” slither through funky post-punk pratfalls trapping wriggling mysteries in strobe-lit bailiwicks; sexy webs slinging slushy jungle percussion into test-tube grooves. Deranged Canadians spraying neo-industrial bluster over transistorized Terrordomes, Doldrums’ rumbling cunning oozes in spooked latex interludes spawning intergalactic mash-ups attracting squirmy neural blast-offs into diabolical holodecks.

Calexico - Edge of the Sun

From suave mariachi brass contrasting noble emotional collapse to feisty electro-fiestas bleached in red-hot desert-blues, roving musical conquistadors Calexico unearths deep replenished roots from weathered heritage by planting future-roosting branches with soul-seeking sentiment, tenacious patience and subtle self-assurance. Smooth in modern-day execution and rich in half-whispered history, “Edge,” registers tender memories roasted in folk-rock salsas swept among dusty gringo shuffles.

Shana Falana - Set Your Lightning Fire Free

Gotham pomp crumbles under echo-chamber game-changers, striking, “Lightning,” in sulfuric verdicts with bionic blows cloaked in black velvet gloves. Stamping banshee avalanches in scorched chords, subterranean beats imprint fire-glazed shoe-gaze prying sugar-coated sirens, seismic Kaisers Falana and Michael Amari from volcanic dream-pop panic via gale-force torch-songs seething beneath devouring prowess. The dark cathartic duo storm Madison’s Mickey’s Tavern April 16th

Sam Cohen - Cool It

Warm, misty-mountain synths float over heavenly seventies space-rock, levitating, “Cool,” into sumptuous pools of bohemian dreamers swimming with sidewinder guitars doused in reverb-soaked mojo and foggy melancholy. Hazy, palatial parades wading in outlaw analog powers Cohen’s meticulous odes to go-for-broke utopias; rad ballads slathered in decorated speculations fabricating deep-shag tapestries that capture hitch-hiker rhapsodies in orchestrated choruses and slow-boiled solos.

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.

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