Slipped Discs

Robin Bacior - Rest Our Wings

Darting flocks of fleeting thoughts trot, wobble and swoon, “Wings,” brings refreshing delicacy to nomadic sadness. Reliable but pliable styles plucked from jazz, country and pop lift Bacior’s lilting bicoastal moments through rollicking waltzes, shy ballads and prancing chamber-folk flights. Swaying tempos surge and swell like woozy ocean waves rolling over crinoline-brushed piano, frisky gypsy strings and preening acoustic guitar.

Eleanor Friedberger - Last Summer

From hepcat to hipster chick, Fiery Furnace’s Friedberger’s verbal mirth and squiggling riffs slide by bright funky hooks dodging retro-textured synths and post-bop bass for moon-dancing party-pop whose streaming subplots prop off-beat and foolishly groovy treats. Dabbling in schoolyard calypso, chic beatnik dreams and shuffling serenades, “Summer,” becomes a prize-filled grab-bag of flirtatious cadence, coy cathartic remembrances within laidback chitchat.

Cass McCombs - Humor Risk

Articulating repressed obsessions and quiet rivalry through cool rebukes and questioning hesitations, “Humor,” exudes sensitive everyman rock wrapping under-dressed quests and bare-knuckled troubles in swinging sixties mixes and loner-poet parcels. A slightly lighter companion to last April’s gloom-infused, “Wit’s End,” McCombs’ prolific mischief crushes heartfelt grit into folk-rock ruminations. Melancholy’s soft-spoken apostle, Cass plays Madison’s High Noon Saloon January 30th

Jonquil - Point of Go

Brandishing brittle African guitars bouncing between creamy seaside synths and dawn-breaking brass, “Go,” rings in upwardly mobile dance-pop, tumbling contrapuntal bubblings flowing in sun-splashed overtones. Breezy British boppers accurately executing hobnobbing romance novels where angelic skeptics rock suave philosopher’s sons, Jonquil’s lush and lively solid-state beats swoon in slick Gatsby charm; sparkling in warm vibrations, idyllic riches and stroboscopic delight.

Barry Adamson - I Will Set You Free

A mindful and musical Mephistopheles, Adamson’s underhanded cinematic palette hones each song into a polished collage of seamless espionage, anger-fueled grooves turned baritone cool and post-modern pop both embraceable and dangerous. Houndstooth counsel nattily targeting black market charlatans, “Free,” squeezes square-jawed sojourns into swift and sanctified rampages, moody soul-rock voodoo drawn from swinging zoot-suit jive and rumbling urban curtain calls.

Anna Vogelzang - Canary in a Coalmine

Banjo, guitar and zither swim in languid string quartets, spritely thumb pianos and fretful squeezeboxes, transporting, “Canary,” through cajoling art-folk mojo, heel-kicking kinderpop and fan dance chicanery. Lit by lithe reason and cushioned in optimistic speech, classically trained and personally inspired renegade East Coaster and Madison foundling Vogelzang seduces in footloose truces, baking moon-pie manifestos outlining fun, wonder and comfort.

White Rabbits - Milk Famous

Glazed in beefy beats, ELO sunshine and Southern Comfort swagger, the air-drum, headphone-friendly, “Milk,” slathers cybernetic embellishments around its experimental center for non-stop jet-propelled alt-rock. The Rabbit’s flitting transistors, twitchy pedal-infected psychedelia and urgent bionic bop hurtles headlong between driving, intertwining grinds, shiny, high-beam beacons of sinful syncopation and glossy altered washes. WR plays Madison’s High Noon Saloon April 6th

Jennifer O'Connor - I Want What You Want

Solemn problems cast in modestly frolicking waltzes, direct declarations trimmed in simmering sentiments and cordial worries; lyrical sharp-shooter O’Connor monitors life’s knotted plots in plain-spoken hopes, discerning turns and slippery commitments. Distant but determined, guarded but genuine, “Want,” prompts buoyant voyages past unsettled passengers clutching unsorted baggage, focused bouquets of self-guided providence providing cautious folk-pop solace and pensive indie-rock tenderness.

The Magnetic Fields - Love at the Bottom of the Sea

Understated plays of phonetic calisthenics elicit spooky amusements dipped in dry irony and tattered flattery.  ‘Kinetic suggestions lighting disembodied follies, “Love,” embraces fun-factory retaliations manufacturing impeccable satanic semantics around intrepid mechanical insanity./  Pioneering professors expert at blithe swipes for gala salads tossing melodically-rich tidbits into three minutes or less synth-pop dollops, TMF play Chicago’s Vic Theater March 26th and 27th.

Margot and the Nuclear So and So's - Rot Gut Domestic

Vagabond sonnets cooked in flagrant disdain, bruised blues and reflective messages rock out over weak-kneed pleads as Margot’s outraged sages and micro-managed philandering pine, resign and chomp at the bit. Dungeon hungers rise and plunder while passionate crashes turn personal crisis into frontline reporting. “Rot,” stalks, hawks and unlocks a seething cauldron fostering spiky rock chops among staggered social lacerations,

Miniature Tigers - Mia Pharaoh

Sprinting in cheeky beats and catchy hooks, MT’s luminous bubblegum gumbo stirs kitschy mischief into New Wave pop doo-wop, tie-dyed calypso heaven and foxy dance-floor swan songs. Gloriously euphoric, Mia,” speaks to angel lovers, dreamboat captains and unchallenged talisman, tapping into romance’s candid soft-heartedness and photo-shopping in love-blind conga lines. Tight and bright, the Tigers hit Chicago’s Schubas March 30th

Lightships - Electric Cables

A mellow masterpiece of poignant jangle, Teenage Fanclub’s Gerald Love delivers a transcendent stew of effervescent restlessness and sparkling tenderness, painting embraceable odes over buzzing, cuddly, twang-filled tranquility. An immaculate pageant of meticulous pop-rock lullabies bathed in cooing beauty, “Cables,” cradles velvety synths, squirming drums and fidgety guitars in sinfully winsome innocence, sun-soaked hope skimming daydreaming secrets and soft-spoken smiles.

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