Slipped Discs

Kate Nash - Made of Bricks

Pulling no punches in her melodic bobbing and street savvy weaving, this cocky British bird is a sweet beat poet camouflaged as a flippant pop princess. The bold and brassy NASH grabs bohemian panache, adding jaunty piano and folky trip-hop to make Made a frank yet bubbly cabaret bursting with thrills and sport.

Me'Shell NdegeOcello - Devil’s Halo

Effortless confessions bathed in swirling, sterling fusion, “Halo,” glows iridescently, prowling seductively, flooding the senses in creamy funk, luscious vibes feeding jazzed imaginations. Ndegeocello’s magical incantations gracefully penetrate the subconscious floating, half-spoken memories wrapped in supple soul, roaming and overflowing, a squirming firmament of sophisticated riffs, dynamic shifts and drifting bewitching twilight visions.

The New Pornographers - Together

Not deviating from their sterling template of sharp, power-pop hooks and posh, la-di-da lyrics, “Together,” proves one can never get too much of a good thing. Uncannily catchy pomp with panache, anthemic sentiments and pithy wit, Canada’s boldly literate misfits visit Milwaukee’s Pabst June 12th, swinging back around Aug 4th to sell-out Madison’s Orpheum.

Nobunny - First Blood

Psycho-jingle slapstick wrapped in lo-fi stoner nostalgia, “First,” works self-mocking mirth, twisting feel-good formulas into tasty craziness. Bubblegum decadence laced with rockabilly’s cheerful sneers, surf’s feckless recklessness and punk’s primitive deliverance, intrepid renegade Nobunny’s whacked attacks skip merrily around contagious outrageousness, flipping the bird via Merseybeat raves, roughed-up New Wave and rabid fifties romps for raucously lop-sided sock-hop party rock.

Notekillers - We’re Here To Help

Caustic hostages sorting through clustered squalor; surfing curling furies and polishing purring pandemonium, Philadelphia’s Notekillers burn through a blur of microtonal moments, pelting the ears like sonic grommets. Fine-tuned noise rock ruckus plus bluesy snaggled-tooth groovin’, “Help,” hosts vice-grip commitments to colossal oscillations washed in kamikaze tsunamis, wordlessly streaming careening frequencies in an onslaught of stuttering staccato and hemorrhaging tremors.

Marissa Nadler - The Sister

Trolling ghosts strummed from courtyard guitars lifted in slightly surreal tranquility, Nadler’s ephemeral gems shepard rainy-day phrases roasted over fond remembrance and hung under widow silhouettes; wind-tossed blossoms simmering in minstrel eloquence, seasoned in spell-binding ambience. The plucked, struck and quietly corrupted performances cavort in post-modern folk as stately sorceresses cast, “Sister,” in whispering steel-guitar sympathies and supportive keyboard choirs.

Nouela - Chants

Marrying matter-of-fact melodramatics to arresting piano-based pop “Chants,” plants scorching torch-song scorn alongside prowling nightclub lust. Unveiling lively insights inside sophisticated sizzle, former People Eating People front-woman composes imploring stories rich in major mojo. Playing the majority of instruments as well as co-producing, Nouela’s beguiling trials bring swinging invigorating taunts born of world-wounded wisdom and drenched in flirtatious jungle stealth

Natural Child - Hard in Heaven

Wrangling Chuck Berry benders behind Stooges blues and Stones bonuses, NC’s combination grease-monkey jungle-rockers and ravaged, red-neck boogie-blasters snarl, gargle and slither from rambling honey-suckled ruckus to narcotic garage-rock proselytizing. A tattered baptism of curbside service, “Heaven,” cleanses through hellfire hand-jive doused in rousing country-punk twang spread across limber R&B rhythms, piston-shifting slow-rides cruising through moonlit jams on endless highways

John Nagle - Distractions

A sentimental gentleness centers the electro-acoustic musings teetering between funky blue-eyed soul and sad chamber-jazz ballads; “Distraction,” attracts a casually magical low-key cabaret filled with jaunty electronics bridging brisk, sophisticated arrangements spanning crackling bluegrass and oddball pop-rock. Dodging easy labeling, Nagle’s tranquil banquets serve fluid coos in self-assured purrs, soliciting soft, sensitive tendencies from breathy regrets stretched over left-field appeal,

New Bums - Voices In A Rented Room

A well-massaged barrage from time-tripping minstrels baptize proto-folk notions drifting in fancy meandering tangents; “Rented,” channels dueling acoustic blues through unfolding doldrums, tangled jangle and subtle Spanish trances. San Francisco’s NB quietly pilots sad, casual mind-benders through intricate kismet as languid macramé precision meets slow to mid-tempo mementos, drizzling weary, wilted heartache among sharp, smart guitars and drowsy still-water harmonies.

Nothing - Guilty of Everything

Bristling in super-saturated sizzle, sputtering cosmic fuzz and congealing electric squeals, Nothing’s uncoiled turmoil lays thick textured sheets of ghostly gloss for polished squalor whose colored lulling unveils stark phosphorescent sparks. An intergalactic factory welding corrosive guitars over tranquil banquets, “Guilty,” forges past shoe-gaze haziness into fluid space-rock awesomeness building explosive potions from brazen buzz, fog-bound preponderance and dream-streaked feed-back. Nothing vists Madison’s Majestic Theater opening for Pelican May 18th.

Meshell Ndegeocello - Comet, Come To Me

Melted stealth poured over trickling riffs; Ndegeocello’s tasteful, playful forays into cozy soul, regal reggae and magical jazz conjure microcosmic blossoms inside pristine improvisations for celestial struts cast in smoky vocals and frisky apparitions carved from cyber-funky jams. Delicate senses tinted in textured menace, “Comet,” slinks, sinks and out-thinks buffed lust and supple mistrust; delicious mischief from exquisite art-pop pixels.

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