Slipped Discs

Mathew Sawyer and the Ghosts - How Snakes Eat

Slightly skewed views delivered in gentlemanly eloquence, “Snakes,” charms sweet hayseed hallucinations from classically daft English pandemonium. Civilized seaside psychedelia, Sawyer and friends conjure toddling obsolescence and creaky vaudeville civility beneath surreal jaunts and subtly pastoral poppycock, slyly embellishing miniature moon-struck show tunes, art-house ironies and breezy, parlor mysteries.

Quitzow - Juice Water

A sassy blast cushioned in glossy hopscotch and electro-pop pep rallies, “Juice,” moves and grooves, mixing unflinching studio gizmos, catchy caffeinated effervescence and socio-pathic party-girl pronouncements for a rad platter of fresh, funky fun. Daring, digital dalliances romp through slap-happy vamps as East Coast upstart Quitzow trips happily past punk-diva poseurs into post-millennial sentiments.

Wailing Wall - Low Hanging Fruit

Bonfire ballads lit with chivalrous rhymes, TWW’s well-plucked couplets blossom into raga-flavored frolicking while fiery folk-rock waltzes rise from modest woodland musings. Shy asides and grand finales merrily massaged, “Fruit,” touches bare-bone beliefs through studio hobbit mischief, reflective convictions wholesomely arranged in swollen brass and wheezing concertinas, spritely poems from nature’s pulpit.

Stars - The Five Ghosts

Emotionally-charged spirits waver and disperse, evaporating into heavenly college-rock proclamations as Canada’s musical social archeologists limbo beneath society’s swinging underbelly. “Ghosts,” waltz while angelic chords and hip, sophisticated hooks bounce and rally against unburdened yearnings and tarnished afterlife regrets; tightly-wrapped cabaret squirm in the restrained desires of poignant synthesizers presiding over charmed, chamber-pop novels.

Joemca - Sixteen Devils

Sweaty palm dramas arranged in reflective, Spector wall of sound lounge lizard living room confessions, singer-songwriter Joemca’s soul-baring, center stage persuasions convey earnest tourniquets to bleeding hearts and broken spirits, big issues reaping demons, incubating innuendos and remembering forgotten promises. Wrestling devils through heroic harmonies, Joemca negotiates complex confrontations into restlessly resolute pop-rock extravaganzas.

Miniature Tigers - Fortress

Tropical-flavored irony bounces from lazy, calypso disco to coy, calliope pop; consecrating lackadaisical lunacy and lovelorn catastrophes into flirty circuses. “Fortress,” cleverly calculates adolescent angst and college-laundered quandaries for cosmic, mosh-pit harmony. Unraveling romantic semantics behind cryptic glimpses and elliptical riddles, MT’s zippy, tipsy philistines serve hyperactive imaginations cock-eyed operas ala comic book sonatas.

The Love Language - Libraries

Succulent schmaltz, witty quips and swashbuckling bluster combine swinging, torch-song charisma inside hip-shaking hooks as champagne gallantry purges primal urges. TLL’s fluent truants sweep and swoon, crooning in undulating pop-rock majesty. Melting retro-chic treats into spectacularly groovy bravado; the royally flamboyant, “Libraries,” catalogs classic hand-claps, echo-laden harmonies, velvet violins, fifties-styled back-beats and steel guitars.

Drivan - Disko

Cozy sunshine tempos goad cyber-shaman garden parties to sow funky, kinder-pop assemblages roaming over pixilated, trip-folk jams. Home-grown croaks and groans; Sweden’s electro-collective Drivan stirs together ghostly temptress vocals, playful plinking keyboards and subtle psychedelic software to percolate innocent rhythms. Bemused and accepting, “Disko” can be a place, a product or a state of mind.

Jimmy Gnecco - The Heart

Singing and playing every instrument, Gnecco’s raw courage and emotional depth sculpt melodramatic crashes and torrential torment, toreador handclaps and cliff-hanging crescendos - fermented fevers whose glories rise and fall with frankness and finesse. From solemn to soaring, resilient to resigned, “Heart” is a labor of love offering stormy rebellions and pre-dawn prayers.

Young Galaxy - Invisible Republic

Bold, smoldering alien jangle-rock visionaries soldier and slither around goth-gospel pop spouting disenchanted evangelism. Sporting strutting spooky elegance the ghoulishly cool, “Republic,” saunters, meshing textures and coercing conjectures, dispensing bewitching empathy. Sleek, oblique and slightly out of reach, YG’s temptingly redemptive persuasions reasonably teases, treed feedback among risky and irresistible sacrificial dance-floor rituals.

Kristin Hersh - Crooked

Mounting electricity rips through, “Crooked,” as acoustic voodoo squalls carved from Hersh’s inscrutably unique dervish curses snake around careening guitars and stun-gun percussion. Irrepressible epiphanies pair punk parables to mountain-music mania, channeling deliberately elliptical folk psychosis with haunting clarity. Available this summer on-line from CASH music, “Crooked,” returns accompanied by a bonus-laden book.

The Clientele - Minotaur

A mini-album packed to the gills, from the quasi-classical to the nakedly oratorical, Minotaur,” jumps verbal hurdles with posh indie-pop. Richly descriptive visions pitch open-hearted curve-balls, blue-eyed soul courting memory and dream, woozy musings illuminated in toe-tapping mojo. TC’s craftily re-mastered music hall rock tosses off crisp Britpop swagger saluting fine taste and good breeding.

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