Slipped Discs

Christine Vaindirlis - Dance Mama!

A feisty maestro commanding cool jazz and smokin’ R&B rooted within pan-African grooves, Christine’s honey-covered harmonies and big band stampede feeds your feet sweet, frenetic medicine. Navigating hairpin turns through soulful vocals and whiplash brass, funky zydeco and doo-wop soukous, “Mama,” channels impassioned evangelism; a world-class, booty-shaking bouquet dipped in sass and imagination.

Laura Veirs - July Flame

Ticklish, rippling innocuous concoctions topped with whimsy and wisdom, “July,” flies coy and buoyant as summer bubbles through Veir’s sly metaphors and butterfly melodies. Strings swell and brass saunters as playfully layered arrangements cushion and quench, manipulating Jim James duets, artful finger-pickin’ and subtle lullaby hooks into cozy company and interesting conversation.

Tom Vek - Leisure Seizure

Hard-wired, pneumatic-addled New Wave statements invade unbraided electro-clash abrasions set to tarnished tempos, droll factory-fashioned funk and slinky syncopated synthesizers; Vek’s clattering malice and energetic menace coil around coarse torque constructing post-industrial petulance via sermons on the dance floor. Suspicious and ambitious, “Leisure,” tumbles wonderfully, trigger-happy slap-shots aimed at callously cool feigned disdain, fabulously retro-fitted fits equipped with post-modern imaginations.

VHS or Beta - Diamonds and Death

Peek-a-boo grooves twist and shout unrolling house-rockin’ rhapsodies between steamy disco fevers streaming over non-stop strobe-lit fantasies. Throbbing spot-on hob-knobbing frolic in polished mosh-pit palpitations, robot hooks and dark romance, “Diamonds,” cuts rugs and fashion action-packed panache from dreamy sequencers and funky bass primed for gothic crimes. Four years since their last release, VHS or Beta mine refined, rock-hard tunes.

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.

Anna Vogelzang - Canary in a Coalmine

Banjo, guitar and zither swim in languid string quartets, spritely thumb pianos and fretful squeezeboxes, transporting, “Canary,” through cajoling art-folk mojo, heel-kicking kinderpop and fan dance chicanery. Lit by lithe reason and cushioned in optimistic speech, classically trained and personally inspired renegade East Coaster and Madison foundling Vogelzang seduces in footloose truces, baking moon-pie manifestos outlining fun, wonder and comfort.

Vicky Cryer - The Synthetic Love of Emotional Engineering

Assembled by Louis XIV’s Jason Hill, whose friends from The Killers, Muse, NIN and Jamiroquai add admirable pizzazz, VC’s reptilian rhapsodies tease with nimble glitter, libidinous swivels and lubricated grooves.. Bottom-feeding dreamers seething in vintage seventies chemistry, “Synthetic,” meshes leather-clad infatuation among stellar hard-rock struts; coiled catwalk pop into proto-disco groping and blackboard jungle rumbles from prowling T. Rex rapscallions.

Sharon Van Etten - Are We There

The patiently restrained and bewitchingly intimate sophistication exhibited with, “There,” wears its dawning longings, waking aches and compelling compulsions beneath a seething spirit bound and determined to find fulfillment through indie-folk hopes swaddled around chamber-rock promises. Possessing a deep dusky voice to administer her full-throttled melancholy, Van Etten’s sweeping needs and tireless desires relish delicate emptiness poised beneath bittersweet completion.

Vulkano - Live Wild Die Free

Fed in shredded unvetted energy, drenched in effervescent discontent and buoyed by devilish bubblegum crunch, “Wild,” piles tribal-pop trials onto feverish Swedish punk from swishy witches dishing delicious dirt. Gleeful banshees ransacking mad-hatter attics, Vulkano’s tangled pagan bounce pounces and denounces, piloting untamed raves, frantic chants and game-changing bangers for synth-pinched party-time in sugar-shack shin-digs hosted by giddy little anarchists.

Veruca Salt - Ghost Notes

Fracking slacker-pop toffee into hulking indie-rock convulsions, velvet-hammer glamour and storming discordant torment, nineties icons Veruca Salt return yearning and burning with psycho-savvy burdens. Twenty years since, “American Thighs,” the reliantly defiant, “Notes,” coaxes retooled old-school from fiery rhymes and whiplash axes combating rash sonic sass through cool cougar woo. Rediscover the formidable foursome July 10th at Milwaukee’s Turner Hall

Anna Vogelzang - Hiker

Warm, inviting art-folk supported by spry lively backing, “Hiker,” purrs and pirouettes in sweet lyrical gumdrops; tuneful, mouth-watering novellas brimming in bounce, bop and cheek. Balancing craft and inspiration, Vogelzang’s playful language betrays mysterious maturity with self-reflective similes nestled in timeless mindfulness as pleasantly hesitant preferences navigate woozy afternoon cruises drifting in sun-splashed jazz from studio-savvy tag-teams skimming grinning country-lounge.

Matthew Logan Vasquez - Does What He Wants

Dipped in trippy blues-rock chops, funky honky-tonk stomps and bittersweet synth-folk anecdotes, “Wants,” hitchhikes from heavy to heavenly, courting outlaw-gospel vaudeville supplemented by fiery bar-room choirs and sinful brimstone violins. Practiced in story-teller melancholy and paperback nostalgia, Delta Spirit’s Vasquez revise and surmise street-wise diaries defending cleansing surrender, candid abandon and belated escape. Matthew play Madison’s The Frequency May 6th.

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