Slipped Discs

A Place To Bury Strangers - See Through You

Flooded in ideas manifesting ominous promises APTBS balances leveraged heft and abrasive grace to fling abstract cataclysms into an overdriven abyss, grabbing frenzied slabs from distorted quarries for crushing alt-rock infrastructure on the brink of self-destruction. Lustful catapults crashing into trigger-happy bombast, “See” seethes in deep dark feelings buried by craven cave-ins, phantom landslides submerging furious blurs into willful thrills.

Los Bitchos - Let The Festivities Begin

Nimble conniptions swimming in Peruvian chica, Turkish psychedelia and Argentine cumbias, pan-continental instrumentalists Los Bitchos’ whirlwind surf-punk wedding-band vibes ride celebratory euphoria for communal grooves brewing exotic holidays. Vacation invitations swinging in contagious playfulness, “Festivities,” hits the hips with infectious head-trips, shedding pretentions, flouting conventions and shredding in mesmerizing tremolo rolling over subtle convulsions with giddy-up percussion and crazed bass.

Bodega - Broken Equipment

Hungry punk commandos seeking appeasement through reason and logic for solace, Bodega attacks with collective pressure and heady bedlam, ringmasters at moon-barking carnivals painted in insidious grit, clanging jangle and streetwise choirs. Decadent declarations confronting contemporary life’s abundant conundrums and mind-numbing redundancy, “Broken,” courts corrosive duplicity, targeted marketing and dissociated behavior in endearing sneers catapulting tabloid shrapnel into existential minefields.

Kristeen Young - The Beauty Shop

Furious grandeur manufactured in glamourous prog-pop calamity, seething blitzkrieg grievances and operatic alt-rock passions, Young’s eerie fearlessness plunges from sweat-soaked robo-aerobics to petulant hysterics erupting in run-away cravings, gauntlet-launching symphonics and dervish-curated curveballs. Crunchy cyber-funk chasing cabaret appetizers, “Beauty,” fuses militant malevolence with thunderbolt emotions for gadget-packed pageants cashing in multi-tasking athletics and aria-strewn galas splashed in stomping Broadway fever-dreams.

Florist - Florist

Suspended in low-gravity ambience, the self-titled, “Florist,” explores musical feng sui, twinkling trinkets sequenced between golden electro-folk, precious bubbles of breathless beauty insinuating patient cadence casting willowy silhouettes capturing elaborate artisan facets in poised minimalism. Adept at modular process and acoustic maneuvers, Florist consorts with alien organics, unflinching glitches in contemplative savoring as isolation and communion mingle in tentative gentleness.

Stella Donnelly - Flood

Peppered in welcome plain-talk and well-considered images, the sweet, subtle, “Flood,” treads lightly on deep waters, balancing talented gallantry atop unfolding disclosures, pedestrian friendliness and modern indie-folk poetry. Donnelly’s spunky calm carries infectious charm coupled with serious sincerity; real, sensible apprehension coated in sublime rhymes where candid ear-candy whispers sizzle in coffee-shop gossip and choreographed courtesies conjure cordial chamber-pop sorority. 

Air Waves - The Dance

Bashful casualties palpitate in bouncy counsel as aliens and demons populate Air Waves’ sullen cuddly synth-rock lullabies. Rocking grief to sleep while staring down despair, “Dance,” plants enchanting ear-worm observations; a songbook where beautiful emotional confusion produces simple, haunting thoughts and sun-streaked meekness famished for love moves reluctantly towards inevitable acceptance, a family companion for hand-holding consoling and deep-feeling healing.

The Beths - Expert In A Dying Field

Smart, barbershop power-pop, “Expert,” searches for solutions with swooping doo-wop harmonies tangled in snarling guitars, bullseye bass and chiming rhymes. Alt-rock hooks hung from luscious vocal production dangle upbeat heartaches alongside live-wire guile and cheeky sweetness. Feasible idealists, The Beths rev edgy ingenues into frothy positivity, changing sage cliches into pithy air-tight insights bobbing and weaving over punchy, lunging percussion.

Sophie Jamieson - Choosing

Destiny taunts phantom answers dancing in Jamieson’s flaming torch-songs, navigating sad ballads between simple admissions simmering in minimal beginnings and elaborate ladders bridging stirring murmurs emerging from forlorn corners into dogfight flights under open skies. Folk-rock roots weaving indie-twisted pitfalls among singer-songwriter pinnacles, “Choosing,” casts therapeutic prudence and confidential entries into vicarious prayers layered in crossroads atonements and keyhole focus.

White Lung - Premonition

Double-fisted triplets ambushing buzzsaw symphonics in laser-guided crossfire spirals and razor-sharp stomp-boxed harmonics, “Premonition,” tears past vast havoc into sublime sonic cauldrons calling for all to feast, electric fretwork stretched over ravenous bungee-jumping caverns crashing five-alarm banquets in victorious glory. Secret weaknesses vanquished with famished banshee surgery, White Lung’s farewell album gleams in steamy teamwork, proficient synchronicity and tireless pyrotechnics.

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