Slipped Discs

Marika Hackman - I’m Not Your Man

Wary, unsparing post-modern fairy-tales gilded in silky will and sugar-coated thrills, “Man,” fans cozy smoldering love-potions into rampant vampire fires; sensuous gender-politics slipped into breezy indie-pop hospitality explores coy detours enticing ulterior queries from brazen phrases. A fertile mind bursting with intrepid methods, Hackman tactfully reels from servant to serpent, engaging both sides to pit and outwit her divided desires.

Kacey Johansing - The Hiding

Bright, feathery jazz pirouettes spun in curious flurries from gossamer longing and carefree teases, Johansing’s creamy coos and rippling guitar bask in masterful afternoon-cafe dream-pop as airy arrangements sweep caressing suggestions into thoughtful possibilities. Immersed in warm massaged chords , “Hiding,”  guides and confides; ethereal sun-bleached weariness gliding and aligning gentle sentimental melodies, transparent romantic semantics and blushing, air-brushed pageantry.

Alison Moyet - Other

Heart-felt swells among spectacular swoons, “Other,” discovers heaven-sent eloquence inside synthesized magic-carpet rides. Swinging from stern urban grit to selective introspective affection, Moyet’s regal details, smoldering diction and choir-quiet interludes offer fearless, clear-eyed soul inside morning-after ballads and midnight minimalist’s techno-symphonies; adventurous experiments in story-telling soundscapes where funky skulking runs among poised rejoicing and ominous taunts tangle with sinful intimacy.

This Is The Kit - Moonshine Freeze

Imaginative patterns invoking indigenous wisdom with delicate fellowship, This Is The Kit’s beguiling style allies curlicue grooves with mythical lyrics for rhythmic rivulets delivering indie-pop ingenuity inside butterfly jigs, healing reels and sober odes. Bouncing between jazzy smack-downs amid Celtic incantations and bewitching whimsy encased in brassy art-rock cool, “Freeze,” weaves wishing-well spells around joy-infused tunes and soulful post-folk adventures.

Broken Social Scene - Hug of Thunder

Radiant blockbuster bluster flanked in horns and woodwinds, “Hug,” holds democratic pageants equally beautiful and beastly, with vivacious double-dipped harmonies calmly cursed in searching verse peddling posh silk-sheet philosophies underneath metropolitan squalor. Loyal voyeurs reporting lovelorn glories, Broken Social Scene hones lusty percussion into fidgety bliss and sage language into scrappy happiness turning grand romantic pantomimes into glamorous indie-pop ambushes.

Twinsmith - Stay Cool

Summery funk plunges from swiveling disco synth-pop to breezy seaside soft-rock while, “Cool,” heats, tweaks and teases fool-proof rendezvous with one-night stand abandon; drums, bass and guitars dart among bold, bright stroboscopic bop caressing flexible suggestions in gentle persuasions. Downstream dancers in uptown parades, Twinsmith’s day-glo palette flashes neon sequences splashed in weekend nostalgia for nightclub courtships channeling clandestine fantasies.

Weatherboy - Weatherboy

Kindred-spirit sincerity surrounds Weatherboy’s head-spinning polyrhythm and mouth-watering melodies, sweeping blue-skies inside humble-pie for carefree South Seas serenades nestled in modern-rock meditations. Famished dynamics crash casual beachfront tea-parties in balmy sambas, tourist choruses and traveling ballads as the California duo’s self-titled debut produces cozy chamber-folk anecdotes bobbing beneath peaceful easels; paradise dotted in pop optimism, mellow showmanship and tender lessons.

Dent May - Across the Multiverse

Meta-intellect connected to swooning satin-smooth moods, May’s candy-coated soul preaches cheeky sweetness whose sanitized romances hide ironic sonnets beneath immaculate pop concoctions. Fizzy and clever, shiny and coy, “Multiverse,” combines early uptown disco into pastel power-ballads for luscious post-modern music-hall, lathering shy choirboy daydreams in sunshine harmonies, bell-bottom bass-lines and winsome sing-along choruses wrung from passive calculations parodying exacting craft.

Nadine Shah - Holiday Destination

A spine-tingling temptress controlling irrepressible tempests, Shah’s Afro-funky percussion, riff-driven bridges and phat punch-drunk brass command wary mercenaries brokering smoking-gun covenants. Rug-cutting struts shouldered by dark, smoldering vocals, “Destination,” stalks in flagrant secret-agent patience and curdling worldly self-assurance; building selective declarations into no-nonsense concerts by decorating eclectic perspectives with razor-edge shreds then exposing hard, cold logic to dangerously contagious persuasions.

Unkle - The Road Part 1

Enthralling and exotic, softly methodical and curiously subversive, “Road,” journeys through soulful doldrums past heart-pounding grooves draped in svelte, acoustic interludes. Diligent wisdom marches guarded desires down cavalier travelogues unraveling diva soliloquies teased in majestic poltergeist sketches of gripping visions; elaborate collapse greets seamless segues throughout Unkle’s dawn-breaking studio symphonies simmering with synthetic tentacles threatening cap-sized rapture and reckless spectacle.

Emily Haines - Choir of the Mind

Poignant disappointments holding idle recitals splendidly blend feisty crises cushioned in lush chamber-rock options and unblinking piano-driven minuets; speckled in stirring worries and ecclesiastical harmonies, Haines’  languid refrains spotlight timely reminders, reexamined regrets and metaphysical riddles. Open to mystery, the slyly blithe, “Choir,” fires vexing questions into races already run, excavating past masks to uncover memory gems inside unexplored stories.

Tender - Modern Addiction

Aloof clues brewed in muted conclusions bewitch the duplicitous, “Addiction,” nursing just deserts behind velvet curtains as hunted hungers dressed in synth-soul gold console willing victims soliciting amorous nightclub vampires. Sultry sultans sainted in cool restraint, the suave, shadow-dancing Tender dissects contemporary dilemmas in programmed romance; future-pop sounds finessing caressing confessions around suspicious supposition for secret peeks into intriguing backstreets.

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