Slipped Discs

Mike Adams At His Honest Weight - There Is No Feeling Better

Gentle intentions washed in romantic nostalgia and spun-dried with beat-driven finishes and hook-happy after-thoughts, “Feeling,” reels in love-sick folk-rock, adrift in half-forgiven bygones, soul-mate daydreams and self-indulgent sympathies.  Wrapped in casual harmonies, subtle bluster and spangled jangle, the exquisite MAAHHW riff on near-misses and forever-kisses to make persuasive vacations for world-weary peers; forward-facing escapes into trusted tropes and free-floating anecdotes.

Dressy Bessy - Fast Faster Disaster

Armed to the teeth with svelte belters, double-shot taunts and slash-and-burn purrs, Dressy Bessy’s arresting endeavors spawn con-artist angels avenging club-house outcasts stripping pompous romps down to skin-tight skirmishes. Rabid doo-wop ballads trapping jagged scat-rap chit-chat, “Disaster,” matches fussy shrugs and feigned disdain to sweet-tart alt-rock cabaret, lusty tussles primed for devilish rebellions schooled in institutional foolishness and risk-free teases.

Imperial Teen - Now We Are Timeless

Concept-pop fraught in frosted power-chords, cautious providence and brokered commotion, “Timeless,” blinds with radiant New Wave cravings wound around sultry, sugar-coated irony; sinister minor-key majesty painted in aloof brooding and kaleidoscopic bop. Princely resistance weathering post-modern regrets, Imperial Teen’s smug rug-cutters reach near-boils to ratchet passions into seething teases cooled by smooth well-oiled grooves then reheated into steamy paperback dramatics.

Moonsign - Okay You First

Idiosyncratic dispatches scattered among huggable house, organic shape-shifting refrains and optimistic bridges, Moonsign’s symphonic flocks dot percussive pre-dawn clusters enveloping soft synth-pop centers. Compassionate sci-fi ballads and epic odes to growth hold ecological and interpersonal implications, giving, “First,” a fistful of hopeful musical utopias cradled in faith, lined with calm ethereal choruses while placid interstellar harmonies announce vigilant wind-tossed prophecies.

Marika Hackman - Any Human Friends

Brawny, chameleonic pop asserting strong-worded verse into sultry declarations, Hackmann back-hands the establishment expressing diabolical gender politics whose smooth moves hide hard truths. Harmonies harboring cultivated barks dance beneath torch-song longing while cosmopolitan pondering flutters in overt flirting, turning, “Friends,” into frank, sweet menace colored in slow-burning funk; mutual-consent temptations bathed in tuneful ingenuity, coaxing emotional resonance from heady hallucinations.

Electric Youth - Memory Emotion

Powder-puff purrs from silicon-chip mistresses and motion-sensitive sequences tweaked by studio-grooved gurus, Electric Youth pursues posh robotic blossoms plunged into plush narcoleptic luxury, curled vertigo inverted into moody, futuristic visions whizzing past opulent propositions. Slick, civilized seductions sprouting stainless angel-wings and soaring over palatial constructions, “Memory,” blends synthesized whimsy into uplifted artifice for voyeuristic insistence, tempting exemptions and sparkling exhibition.

Pretend Collective - Pretend Collective

Cornered formulas morphing crackling day-tripping narratives into thoughtful yacht-rock holidays, “Pretend,” befriends memorable templates decorating electric rodeos and paisley parades in work-week secrets and slow-burning concerns. Rallying ballads dipped in hazy persuasions co-opt pop conventions and sprinkle winks among earnest coercion as the eclectic Pretend Collective sprinkles slightly sinister melancholy into time-warped stories supported by cavorting metaphors and sneaky clichés. 

Jenny Hval - The Practice of Love

Playful and provocative, Norwegian novelist and evocative sonic adventurer Hval juxtaposes persistent rhythmic flow with inquisitive philosophical prose, taming origami angels whose pressing questions bend and fold into majestic revelations; coded poetry posing unfinished riddles. Sensuous fantasy planted in mind-expanding mantras, “Practice,” packages pensive transcendence with earthy images, stacking florid organic mysteries with perplexing reflections, impenetrable connections and perceptive conjecture.

Frankie Cosmos - Close It Quietly

Resplendent in sterling yearning, metered sweetness and cheery lyrics, “Close,” throws mid-tempo hope into discreet plain-spoken diplomacy, unmasking passive-aggressive pursuits against gorgeous porcelain choruses for sly bedroom bop spackled in dazzling rainbow refrains.  Catchy, compact melodramatics wrapped in carefree melodies and heavenly delivery, the starry-eyed and silver-tongued Frankie Cosmos spins eyewitness dishing elevated in kittenish bliss and romantic guitar-pop side-trips.

Anna Meredith - FIBS

Punctual pop whose splashy neo-classical maelstroms fuse Broadway bravado to scorching film-scores for cyber-phantom ear-candy, Meredith’s immaculate factories spew algorithmic symphonies gifted in ripped rock riffs, space-age whimsy and ironic art-pop homilies. The glib, “FIBS,” digs, wiggles and flies, defying, confiding and pacifying, rendering frenzied crescendos and sweetening synthetic beats to baffle in playful clatter and delight in daredevil feats. 

Black Marble - Bigger Than Life

Gated patience locked into timetable cadence, “Bigger,” triggers heavy-lidded dance-floor daydreams, perpetual engines plugged into unquenchable ping-pong palpitations and tugging at subtle pulses while sleepy, hourglass passages practicing well-honed digital diplomacy flows around bittersweet sequined séances. Vacuum-sealed cart-wheel architect, Black Marble harbors suave charms inside sullen futurepop lullabies lost in synth-rinsed labyrinths cast in chattering patterns tailor-made for form-fitting glitter.

Rachael Dadd - Flux

Beautiful nightingale chamber-folk unfurling quicksilver rhythms with nimble art-pop visions and jazz casual accuracy in banjo-driven sophistication, Dadd’s compound rounds, slippery jigs and ballerina boogie delight in bright, diaphanous dialectics. Glowing vocals, klezmer clarinet and winged strings, “Flux,” flutters in butterfly landings, crackling campfires and rippling creeks, noble and focused opuses whose persuasive sway resolves knotted logic with dashing ingenuity.

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