Slipped Discs

Okkervil River - I Am Very Far

Modern grifter’s myths capture fierce evangelical gifts slinging forthright frustration beneath elegant exasperation; Okkervil’s full-throttled baubles rattle unchecked connections swinging between open-hearted pleas seeking immediate relief and gallant fact-gathering allies calling from nearby cells. Alt-rock buccaneers penning lyrical disbelief, “Far,” portrays pro-active characters; shadowy cafe castaways conjuring novels and slinky thinking vigilantes wrestling lingering vignettes, morose corrosions and undeniable appeals.

Robin Bacior - Rest Our Wings

Darting flocks of fleeting thoughts trot, wobble and swoon, “Wings,” brings refreshing delicacy to nomadic sadness. Reliable but pliable styles plucked from jazz, country and pop lift Bacior’s lilting bicoastal moments through rollicking waltzes, shy ballads and prancing chamber-folk flights. Swaying tempos surge and swell like woozy ocean waves rolling over crinoline-brushed piano, frisky gypsy strings and preening acoustic guitar.

Strange Boys - Live Music

Wrangling gangly country-blues through barbed-wire honky-tonk, “Live,” whips bleary world-weary feelings into half-mumbled puzzles spun from boppy music-hall jaunts and growling carousing. Ragged haphazard screechers and grizzled hillbilly stompers howl, lurch and stumble around self-tortured portraits buoyed by cock-eyed twang. Glib, dilapidated investigators, SB’s riverboat-soaked roots prove surly seasoning to punchy moonshine crunches, plaintive hip-shaking impatience and tumbleweed cough-syrup doo-wop

Eleanor Friedberger - Last Summer

From hepcat to hipster chick, Fiery Furnace’s Friedberger’s verbal mirth and squiggling riffs slide by bright funky hooks dodging retro-textured synths and post-bop bass for moon-dancing party-pop whose streaming subplots prop off-beat and foolishly groovy treats. Dabbling in schoolyard calypso, chic beatnik dreams and shuffling serenades, “Summer,” becomes a prize-filled grab-bag of flirtatious cadence, coy cathartic remembrances within laidback chitchat.

Cass McCombs - Humor Risk

Articulating repressed obsessions and quiet rivalry through cool rebukes and questioning hesitations, “Humor,” exudes sensitive everyman rock wrapping under-dressed quests and bare-knuckled troubles in swinging sixties mixes and loner-poet parcels. A slightly lighter companion to last April’s gloom-infused, “Wit’s End,” McCombs’ prolific mischief crushes heartfelt grit into folk-rock ruminations. Melancholy’s soft-spoken apostle, Cass plays Madison’s High Noon Saloon January 30th

Sharon van Etten - Tramp

Willowed silhouettes shade half-submerged sentiments and misty-colored evidence, the breath-taking, memory-making “Tramp,” decamps rudderless mutterings, aching mazes buoyed by fitful dream-folk revelations. Parlor piano, rustling drums and clanging hangman guitar float and lumber while SvE sways in wavering maybes, sleepy banshee volleys rolled in rootless truth; breaching gulfs in a tide of twilight bordello blues, post-bop ennui and zombie rock.

Howlin Rain - The Russian WIlds

Shuffling thoughtful whiskey-soaked hopes through caterwauling crashes and leathery crescendos, HR’s haunted blues-rock gospel slithers in limber electric boogie and clustered power-chord hustle,. Steeped in urban cowboy solos, hurtling Wurlizters and jazzy-agile interludes, “Wilds,” piles spirited delirium onto galloping gallantry; driving rawhide harmonies around cantina tangents while lovelorn introspection storm buckboard ballads for raunchy revivalist fevers and sinisterly sated salvation.

Jonquil - Point of Go

Brandishing brittle African guitars bouncing between creamy seaside synths and dawn-breaking brass, “Go,” rings in upwardly mobile dance-pop, tumbling contrapuntal bubblings flowing in sun-splashed overtones. Breezy British boppers accurately executing hobnobbing romance novels where angelic skeptics rock suave philosopher’s sons, Jonquil’s lush and lively solid-state beats swoon in slick Gatsby charm; sparkling in warm vibrations, idyllic riches and stroboscopic delight.

Barry Adamson - I Will Set You Free

A mindful and musical Mephistopheles, Adamson’s underhanded cinematic palette hones each song into a polished collage of seamless espionage, anger-fueled grooves turned baritone cool and post-modern pop both embraceable and dangerous. Houndstooth counsel nattily targeting black market charlatans, “Free,” squeezes square-jawed sojourns into swift and sanctified rampages, moody soul-rock voodoo drawn from swinging zoot-suit jive and rumbling urban curtain calls.

Jennifer O'Connor - I Want What You Want

Solemn problems cast in modestly frolicking waltzes, direct declarations trimmed in simmering sentiments and cordial worries; lyrical sharp-shooter O’Connor monitors life’s knotted plots in plain-spoken hopes, discerning turns and slippery commitments. Distant but determined, guarded but genuine, “Want,” prompts buoyant voyages past unsettled passengers clutching unsorted baggage, focused bouquets of self-guided providence providing cautious folk-pop solace and pensive indie-rock tenderness.

Margot and the Nuclear So and So's - Rot Gut Domestic

Vagabond sonnets cooked in flagrant disdain, bruised blues and reflective messages rock out over weak-kneed pleads as Margot’s outraged sages and micro-managed philandering pine, resign and chomp at the bit. Dungeon hungers rise and plunder while passionate crashes turn personal crisis into frontline reporting. “Rot,” stalks, hawks and unlocks a seething cauldron fostering spiky rock chops among staggered social lacerations,

Hollows - Vulture

Subverting flirty girl-group goop into razor-sharp punk-pop spunk and organ-driven rock and roll, Hollows’ tough chick grit, wound-licking love songs and cheeky bee-hive hand-jive concoct bite-sized blasts of surf-rock rumble, lipstick lambasts and pajama party harmonies. Leathery electric boardwalks flashing retro-active packages, “Vulture,” circles Tin Pan Alley pasts while carving tart B-52 grooves from Suzi Quatro quatrains and Shangri-Las facades

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