Slipped Discs

Minus the Bear - Infinity Overhead

Sculpting flash from bombast dodging fleet-footed push-backs, Minus’ fiery rock applies light-weight precision to hover-crafted harmonies. Scouting muscular struggles, impassioned crashes stitching rich riffs into twisted two-fisted sizzle, “Infinity,” remodels melodic assaults through laser-based prog-pop options where cathartic starts of relentless kinetics spin brazen brain-candy from sparkling guitar, smart synths and swift, pummeling percussion. MtB plays Milwaukee’s Rave September 14th

Poor Moon - Poor Moon

Slowly coaxing sleepy vocals from strolling ghosts and bearded spirits, “Moon,” grooms skimming hymns, quaint fables and marimba-trimmed whimsy into lofty dream-boat anecdotes, quietly piloting dock-side soul into alt-folk harbors and circus-purchased caravans into syncopated havens. Charmingly tuneful lunatics, PM’s swinging minstrels wrestle generous penance from quasi-tropical fodder and nautical odysseys from restless tempests; radiant melancholy guided by starry-eyed castaways.

Cat Power - Sun

A beacon of steamy bohemian shuffles and brisk, shimmering opinions splashed over bayou-hungry grooves, “Sun,” plunders ragged scats, cooked hooks and vixen fiction for folk-soul rainbows covered with corrosive notions and stamped in enchanted incantations. Citing frightening modern maladies, CP’s casual valor crackles in warmly familiar misfortunes, whirlwind wisdom and sensitive benevolence braving outraged saviors, prudent suitors and kindred sinners. Cat Power plays Milwaukee’s Pabst Theater on October 29th.

PAWS - Cokefloat!

Coaxing grown-up slogans from teen taunts exuberant Brits knit razor-sharp riffs to honest insolence and pop-rock props to deafening wit. Raw, authentic and anthemic, “Cokefloat!” promotes cheeky, squeaky wheels and precocious notions consumed in smarmy karma and outspoken devotions to broken hearts, hard truths and youthful folly. Guitar-powered panthers prowling alt-rock vaudeville, PAWS chops adolescent angst into voracious, contagious mini-operas

Clinic - Free Reign

Unglued blues prowl and peruse while muddled clubhouse curmudgeons creep, creak and brood, steely-eyed and serpentine, Clinic’s wiggling post-punk addictions and woozy basement-rock convictions cast murky magic over dank, clanging dangers; chain-rattling wranglers driving sleepless dreams between jazzy fog-bound travesties and mild-mannered psycho-ticklish ministries. Straining in mournful horns, jumpy percussion and spooked-out guitars, “Reign,” reclaims abrasive dockside savior’s endgame shenanigans.

Goldenboy - The New Familiar

Savory, paisley chamber-pop dressed in shimmering licks, plush harmonies and coiled chords, “Familiar,” morphs well-oiled formulas into passive narratives held in tightly-knitted nets; radio-friendly assemblies pour sensitive medicine from poignant appointments extracting melodic charms from intricate incidents. Worldly-wise and quietly obliging, Goldenboy’s soaring voyages explore subtle detours, landing listeners on sunny shores, a patient oasis painted in brilliant chromatic ploys.

Paul Kelly - Spring and Fall

Modern minstrel and Australian icon, Kelly’s folksy farewells and sturdy, well-earned concerns unfold and console through glistening jigs, vaudeville waltzes and waxing honky-tonk ballads; scrappy raspy acoustics wrapped around home-brewed truths, nomadic moods and troubadour roots. Delving into deliverance, “Spring,” wrings wistful tales chronicling confirmations, troubling impulses and nagging introspection battered by desire, lifted in love and cradled in experience.

Wild Yaks - Milion Years

Lung-busting thunder roars and cavorts unleashing stampeding sieges of six-string squalor beneath vigorous twists, shaggy tragedies and rambling good cheer, “Years,” starts strong and never lets up, piling propulsive roller-coaster blasts on top of ragged, galloping bombast. Loosely convoluted and divinely conspiring, multi-faceted passions rule Wild Yaks’ rousing indie-rock assaults, unflinchingly floundering in unhinged binges, gripping trips and existential interventions.

Ex Cops - True Hallucinations

Blanketing fuzzed-out power-pop beneath plush harmonies, multi-layered jangle and two-ply pile-drivers, “Hallucinations,” craves scathing escape cradling patient conveyance inside stormy formulas. Reverb-laden sages blazing between infectious directness and blinding hindsight, Cops cushions breathy addresses in frothy melodic waves of corrosive cocktails. Fog-bound boppers rockin’ narcoleptic pep, these deep-shag masterminds unleash roofied Cupids pitching headstrong monologues buried in soft, glimmering stimulants. 

Parquet Courts - Light Up Gold

Kinked-up and callous, PC’s barbecued ballast blasts upfront punk bristling in casual swagger. Side-swiped, hot-wired and sand-blasted; the band’s scrawny garage-rock blues produces greasy treats from shearing lyrics and lightning-bolt solos weaving tight-fisted riffs from unvarnished carnage. Abrupt cuts rustle up whiplashed balderdash within grinning six-string fingering, rolling, “Gold,” over knotty white-water subplots into brawny honesty wrapped around devilish merriment.

Yo La Tengo - Fade

Willful tranquility distills delicate treasures marked by exquisite twists, “Fade,” paves turbulent curls into placid passages, working sublime jive, old-school cool and orchestrated mayhem into remarkable art whose coiled pastorals solicit distinguished consistency within poised, buoyant synergies. Restrained masons dispensing effusive grooves, YLT’s subtle post-rock muscle flexes unquestioning messages from talented masters. The intriguing trio plays Madison’s Barrymore February 5th

Hayden - Us Alone

Sweet downbeat feats of casual brilliance, “Alone,” unfolds subdued grooves inside jaunty melancholy; soft-spoken folk soaked in ragged truths and wheezing bar-room organ, second-hand synths, plaintive piano and understated garage-rock guitar. A laconic chronicler whose solid, waltzing promises drop despondent prophets into modest odysseys, Hayden patiently paints drowsy prowlers and unguarded martyrs; shaggy captains steering weary wagons to uncertain flirtations

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