Slipped Discs

Broken Records - Let Me Come Home

Galloping gasps of forthright sincerity ride high on unforced remorse and fitful decisions. Soldiering through storms and craving calamity, the British band’s anthems stampede between brawny leads, fashionably cinematic passions and desperately perplexing pleads. Simmering in boisterous deeds, Broken’s emotional depths stomp and ponder a heart’s worth of tender regrets as the artfully upset, “Home,” delivers galvanized symphonic rock salvations.

Caroline - Verdugo Hills

Sprawling sonic gauze spun from coolly confident imaginations, Caroline’s squiggling minimalism and fleeting beats blink and beep. Mixing acoustic movements into electronic atmospheres, “Hills,” folds luxurious pop operas into sensual cyber-sketches, turning complex moods reassuringly tranquil; yet oddly enigmatic. The former Mice Parade chanteuse produces beautiful hand-carved harmonies plucked from ice fairy daring whose breathy, feathery messages launch interplanetary fantasies.

Fujiya & Miyagi - Ventrilloquizzing

Chilled hip-swivelers practicing trained disdain, F&M’s cool, re-tooled, frequently seething, sequined struts bluff and chuff haughty, naughty vamps. Intriguingly pristine, anxiously apathetic, the restlessly suave students of clinically sinister catwalk Krautrock carefully enunciate puzzling instructions encased inside pharmaceutical funk.  Aloof and predatory, “Ventrilloquizzing,” courts haute couture, laying riffs super model cool over well-greased soul, window-shopping mannequins grazing jaded high society,

Delicate Steve - Wondervisions

Robo-rodeo rondos performing unmoored conquistador choreography, guitar-centric tunes swaddled in mechanized, tropical hop-scotch, “Wondervisions,” unleashes instrumental magic. Twitching and flinching over tweaked encyclopedias of improvised jams and antsy, animatronic enchantments, Steve’s smarmy origami twists and turns into jaunty Japanese-African slack-key flash-mob anthems. Criss-crossing snorting electric chords over frazzled surf-rock analogue, polished sonic notions regale new-fangled jangle beyond novel cyber-pop ditziness.

David Lowery - The Palace Guards

Armed with snaggle-toothed grooves and crowd-pleasing candor, Camper Van Beethoven and Cracker’s literary hippie ambles from wistful and wise to ironic and snide. A blast of rascally ballads alongside a rash of gracious roots-strewn malice, his solo debut, “Palace,” is blissfully idiosyncratic, indulging in sweet buckwheat hootenannies, tempered garage-rock blessings and hard-earned alt-pop homilies culminating in gumption, grit and gratitude

Apex Manor - The Year of Magical Drinking

Smashingly bachelor scruffiness matches buzz-filled chords to curb-hugging choruses assembling lone wolf heartache into clanging prankster’s persuasions; A.M’s jittery mid-tempo jalopies drive upbeat collegiate pleads and sexy henchmen meditations through railroaded rhythms, shimmering riffing and devilishly inventive hooks. “Year,” steers major moxie and modest heroics through glib quips and rousing counsel; pithy indie-rock ringers exhibiting cardiac-packed syncopation with semi-biographical heft.

The Dears - Degeneration Street

An explosive rainbow-colored sorbet blending dark, Brit-pop romance into funky, new wave passion, “Degeneration,” hitches glimmering visions to breathless methods coupling level-headed introspective against sleek, interstellar soul-searching. From smoky to baroque, The Dears’ penetrating menace, epic affection and calming charm simmer in stratospheric psychedelics and brooding hostage rock to make heartfelt reason and subversive allegiance magnetically reactive and hazardously attractive.

Yellowbirds - The Color

Former Apollo Sunshine singer/songwriter Sam Cohen’s cosmic rock crop of rafter-rattling pop ricochets from reverb-heavy heartache to bright, astral enlightenment. Evoking psychotropic-folk fandangos via effects-laden auto-harps, brisk, mournful guitars and thick percussive conniptions, “Color,” cranks out blissfully boisterous warbling; open road odes to safe havens from rollicking rainbow souls brimming with evangelical fire, worldly wayfarer wisdom and unchained changeling jangle.

Asobi Seksu - Fluorescence

Stirring fuzzy buzzing watery flotsam alongside mesmerizing mermaid melodies, “Fluorescence,” swims in shimmering whimsy whose celestially electric swarms swoop through wicked cherubic doo-wop wrapped in bewitching beat-filled fission propelling jet-setting soundscapes. The variously talented duo’s effervescent shoe-gazing mazes uncage cartoon-groomed dream-pop for haunted spectral head-trips smeared in smooth, convoluted quasi-kitschy cacophony; gilded, puppy-dog melancholy crackling under shiny nursery rhyme kindness.

Tina Dico - Welcome Back Color

A versatile voice whose fullness and shading lends edge to her breezy eloquence and sympathy to her perceptive messages, Dico’s jam-packed double-disc introduces America through her European chart-toppers, new tunes and reworked acoustic duets. Hard choices dressed in eye-catching pop-rock frocks and consensual easy-listening christenings, “Welcome,” invites glistening images inside beautifully agile ballads and unfettered confessions within sage, engaged serenades.

The Dodos - No Color

Happily thrashing contrapuntal puzzles, “No,” explodes in joyfully melodic thunder. Stitched up and knitted from ribald, tribal indie-rock waltzes and shell-shocked, cock-eyed thrill-ride spirals, the Dodo’s pleasing, fleeting seesaw swatch of durable dynamics sandwich palatable pleasures from clever, dueling romantics whose burgeoning urgency and aggressively zesty methods conjure dreamboat sea-shanties among lively pop options diverting flirty percolations around revisionist’s collisions.

Ringo Deathstarr - Colour Trip

Bulldozer composure’s muffled muscle, “Trip,” whips blistering skate-punk bluster into decidedly indecipherable custard. Tasty bandaged tangents languishes over laudable gauze merging kaleidoscopic monsters inside warped torpor as crackling fractals blasting acid-washed passions mask bedroom whisperings under buzz-saw hooks. The Austin trio’s debut usher lusciously crunchy lullabies past demure assurance into backwards catastrophes braving hazy waves, pounding sounds and curlicue grooves.

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