Slipped Discs

The Mommyheads - Soundtrack to the World’s End

Grim wits sneak silver-lining shine to doomsday gloom as, “End,” renders tender amends spiked in savvy arena-rock theatrics and haughty power-pop mockery; gripping last-minute sympathies cautioning hopeful atonements with tipping-point disappointments. Actors on a burning stage huddled around select recollections, The Mommyheads cast one-act ballads encompassing compassionate nostalgia, flabbergasted outrage and unsettling regrets into gorgeous bittersweet journeys down dead-end streets.

David Nance Group - Peaced and Slightly Pulverized

Fiery quagmires blazed in steel-gauged lacework, “Peaced,” seethes, bleeds and seizes in splintered full-moon rock unlocking stark urban cool and ghoulish cosmic blues.  Ignited in slow-roasted guitar-amp anarchy, unvarnished beauty bubbles and bends in David Nance Group’s competent hands conjuring prowling maelstroms strewn in blistering double-fisted resistance; coarse boisterous voices shaped by hip, slippery riffs lashed to adamant six-string savagery.

Ian Sweet - Crush Crusher

Uncoiled turmoil crawls and hauls “Crusher,” from slithering alt-rock synergy into wilted narcotic-pop surrenders, forming choreographed torture through caressing delicate regrets into crashing concessions. A swift and fluid navigator, Sweet treats spent intents to beautiful squalor, biographical after-thoughts whose wavering shapes incite stalker beats from foggy colleagues, crafting soul-baring jump-abouts enacted as badge-of-honor battles in midnight raids on stolen emotions.

Kristin Hersh - Possible Dust Clouds

By enlisting singed incantations with misfit rhythms and sixth-sense experiments, the raw, innovative “Clouds,” rains taunt, indie-rock over meta-fiction revelations and character-driven mysticism; restoring and exploring mind-melting narratives backed by crafted catastrophe and cast-iron imaginations. A wonderfully unconventional guitarist and lyricist, Hersh thrusts, bucks and tugs, building exorcised lies into industrial shuffles and constructing untamed therapeutic grooves from ghostly psychosis.

GospelbeacH - Another Winter Alive

Carefree companions ready to rumble, GospelbeacH feeds jangly ranch-hand fandangos into smug honky-tonk rockers for infectious gems assembling wandering hearts onto toe-tapping attitudes.  Divided into lo-fi live-cuts and previously unreleased songs polished to perfection, “Winter,” layers cheerful hometown feels over subtly intricate precision where restless tempests rustle smooth California shuffles rooted in colluding harmonies, rollicking riffs and open road anecdotes

Tim Presley's White Fence - I Have to Feed Larry’s Hawk

Gritty, jittery surf-twang dirges crash irrational art-punk passions into casual goth-pop pathos as Presley’s baroque-folk mojo floats unhinged flings past refracted realities with eerie calm and devilish delirium. Rocked in cock-eyed ironies, analogue anarchy and supernatural theatrics, “Larry’s,” packs fractured twilight torch-songs around tender demented wig-outs; slow-drip trips shaking off memory-lane mind-games with trans-dimensional calliopes, flubber-toughened bass and ricochet-rattled guitars.

Sharon Van Etten - Remind Me Tomorrow

Languid entanglements make moody mazes for the indomitable, “Tomorrow,” whose manipulated sounds, melodramatic melodies and methodical percussion exhume funeral gloom into cutting rebuttals; newborn scorn knitting distant intimacy into proud alt-rock shrouds.  Combative reactions, glorious abandon and self-assured purges flavor Van Etten’s psychological toffee, churning obscure cures into elusive proofs to assist hard-bitten victims sweeping romantic debris from bittersweet secrets.

Dani Bell & the Tarantist - Wide Eyed

Alley-cat sass slinks past B-movie flashbacks letting pulp-fiction vixens spin, “Wide Eyes,” around empowered prowlers sparring with open-hearted targets. Sensual empathy emptied into beatnik quips at after-hours night-clubs, Bell’s dream-boat vocals twist coy joys into tempting remedies, whip-smart whispers nestled in grind-house rock as contagious danger lures uncertain mercies into smoky, fire-escape soirees sound-tracked by hip-swiveling doo-wop from doomsday sock-hops.

Strand of Oaks - Eraserland

Cavernous rapture riding twilight-bitten blues through fog-bound ballads, Strand of Oak’s embroiled scuffles muscle shuttered moods mounted in hounded folk-emo majesty; serrated raves paved in brave self-doubt. Birthed in melodramatic surges and contemplative fates, “Eraserland,” draws gritty vision-boards from pendulum-swinging cliff-hangers, amending tender reflections into glorious reforms then sending fond remembrances sullied ultimatums. SoO plays Madison’s High Noon May 2nd.

Wand - Laughing Matter

Exploratory story-tellers, L.A.‘s Wand rock jam-band bangers and space-folk head-trips, spreading electric medicine by mashing heavenly frenzy from math-rock flash into epic splash-down psychedelia spanning grand, mechanical fantasies and anxious, impatient improvisations. Lost inside friendly schizophrenia, “Matters,” rattles, straddles and roars with stammering mantras building into sizzling six-string siroccos only to fade quietly among cryptic wizard’s riddles riding long-distance bliss.

Charly Bliss - Young Enough

Scamp glam-rock subplots sport telegraphic New Wave power-pop spinning Cheshire cat grins in merry-go-round calliopes for wide-awake lullabies; Charly Bliss’ hi-voltage ballads glow in bittersweet speech baked in cotton-candy glaze. The cunning, “Young,” lounges on wicked thin ledges perched to pounce on curated grace baiting booming beats as laser-saber solos weld bell-like melodies to cast-iron wills looking for dance-partner thrills.

Big Thief - U.F.O.F.

A ringing, raspy dreamworld, both unearthly and rustic, “U.F.O.F.” overflows in breezy medieval creepers winding chordal vines among curious murmurs and wistful riffs. Knapsack saints lurking in passive fascination and feral innocence, Big Thief harnesses grainy flames flickering in fancy transience; organic enchantments dancing around nesting indie incantations, circled in scrappy faux-folk passions mastering sand-castle pastels crumbling into tidal-pool rainbows.

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