Slipped Discs

Nonono - We Are Only What We Feel

Frosted in cheeky mystique, NONONO’s arched marches and pouty pomp knit braided parades coiled in daredevil levels of mood-swing flings. Explosive pop-star parties collide beside fitful disco-queen dreams as fancy anthems pour scorching hopscotch bop over steel-edged gusto; the blissful, wistful, “Feel,” dances in Olympian victory laps coloring forthright flights from beat-featured ballads in post-romantic reds and cool neon blues.

Niagara - Don’t Take It Personally

A denizen of resplendent gremlins scurrying from hallow choirs to ghostly commotion, “Personally,” pushes plush-pop envelopes into spackled abstractions; swirling, curling ambient stampedes washed in sunrise and dried in twilight wade through translucent truces padded in digi-glitchy mystery. Lost in galactic pageants, the seamlessly silky Niagara aptly captures cagey space-age Camelots fraught with slithery jitterbugged nano-bots programmed for luxurious purpose.

Sarah Neufeld - The Ridge

Scratching an itch that spirals into Möbius strips of flickering art-pop mischief, “The Ridge,” hypnotizes with raspy gypsy patterns whose bewitching births spark spirited omens drawn from curious, furious compositions releasing uncontrollable golems chasing scathing cadence with demonic logic. Magnetic, emphatic and enigmatic, violinist Neufeld follows her dark, archaic muse through lively, divergent paths that resonate in splendidly menacing cadenzas.

Marissa Nadler - Strangers

Floating above bewitching mists of quivering riffs, devious ether permeates languid twang snaking through lanky naked cadence; Nadler’s breathy vespers conspire in ominous honesty wielding world-weary queries through exquisite narcoleptic suggestions. The cautious, toxic, “Strangers,” offers thoughtful gossamer to mask lethargic carnage behind softly modern gothic; self-confessing processionals luring turbulent concerns down haunted hallways holding suspicious wishes under phantom banter.

New Street Adventure - Stubborn Sons

Posh caramel-coated soul folded into upfront street-punk funk, “Sons,” run silver-tongued urban-jungle rumbles lathered in heart-throb bravado and midnight-player panache. Tough, but supple anguish enriched in champagne refrains, NSA layers bluesy doo-wop harmonics over sharp sparse rhythms and voluptuous bass, chasing wavering faith with dockside struts erupting in openly romantic tantrums painted with hard, lean facts and hungry, plundered truths.

Anna Nalick - The Blackest Crow

Guided by a well-tuned ear, intuitive chanteuse Nalick gathered an eclectic mix of Country, Folk, American Songbook and Britpop for a songsmith’s set-list that gifts craft alongside sincerity, celebrating timeless feelings captured in classic lyrics possessing posh, melodic competence. Backed by acoustic guitar, cello, upright bass and drums, “Crow,” flows in restrained arrangements beautifully supporting Anna’s supple, casually confident vocals.

Rachika Nayar - Our Hands Against The Dusk

Fractured scratches running through mortared corridors, “Dusk,” thrusts stuttering fluctuations onto shredded meshes, saturated waves bending and blending through modulated vapors, discreet tweaks and knitted glitches. Tranquil guitar loops routed through ambient samples, Nayar’s electronic monuments crumble from static magic to stark mirages, morphing and contorting with phantom randomness beneath the repetitive sedative chemistry replenishing propulsive convulsions with disruptive ruptures.

Nation of Language - A Way Forward

Impassioned calculators dashing ultra-vibrant synthwave patterns against curdling worries and monolithic convictions, the probing retro-futuristic Nation of Language untangles soulful exposure trapped by adamant schematics mapping indefatigable attitude. Weary delirium from slavish raves, “Forward” swirls in cyber-limbo melodrama; anxious bass racing urgent drum-machine timekeeping, haunted speeches promise undying allegiance holding technological hostages in overdriven precision, emotional throes and despondent responses.

No Rome - It’s All Smiles

Massaged in studio-scrubbed dub, curved reverb and tweaked hip-hop beats, “Smiles,” styles post-production seductions dipped in brawny fawning and shipped in glossy modulations; suave harbingers mixed with orchestrated hits, manicured fury and cyber fireworks. Dynamic stamina from rhythmic glitter, No Rome’s dazzling sonic Jenga sends heart-throb pop through switched-on glitch and pitch-shifted harmonies, unleashing fab attention-grabbing maneuvers with smooth retooling.

David Newbould - Power Up!

Sun-baked rattlesnake boogie surrounding fence-riding power-ballads, “Power,” growls with desperado howls, kicking gritty blues-roots grooves with rock-solid resilience; leathery premises etched in noble lonesomeness and stormy disappointments raging in cantankerous faith. Revved in restless repentance rattling uphill battles, Newbould sells good times with few regrets alongside wounded love garnished in edgy respect, a bittersweet street-preacher’s credo facing and vanquishing anguish.

No Age - People Helping People

Dogged moxie follows punk-jazz acolytes and electronic pontiffs No Age, fueling grueling machine-tooled futures from squelched meltdowns; crouching prowlers singing cannibalized Krautrock mantras among strummed unsung hungers gnawing at solid-state patience. Dystopian commotion lacquered in jagged quagmires, “People,” reaps unplanned humanity among grand discarded art, gritty mysteries patched from subversive curiosity twitching in liquid-sky trials and fits of aggravated anarchy.

NNAMDÏ - Please Have A Seat

Hyper-imaginative future-pop grafting carefully caustic math-rock onto auto-tuned patch-bay prog-soul fusion, “Seat,” treats aural alienists to immaculate sensory assaults and candid romance, equally smug and modest, sly and honest. Astonishing melodic rounds circle fractal magnificence as NNAMDÏ hammers home ear-worm sound-quakes, lifting cartoon doom into trippy introspection while super-pumped joystick licks pitch gear-shifting mischief and tender frenzy for charming tsunamis.

View More

Viewing Page 2 - of 2

 < 1 2

Contact Maximum Ink music magazine

• Contact: Webmaster(at)maximumink.com
• (608) 245-0781
• No Longer Accepting Unsolicited Packages
  Please email Webmaster or call for more info