Slipped Discs

Asobi Seksu - Fluorescence

Stirring fuzzy buzzing watery flotsam alongside mesmerizing mermaid melodies, “Fluorescence,” swims in shimmering whimsy whose celestially electric swarms swoop through wicked cherubic doo-wop wrapped in bewitching beat-filled fission propelling jet-setting soundscapes. The variously talented duo’s effervescent shoe-gazing mazes uncage cartoon-groomed dream-pop for haunted spectral head-trips smeared in smooth, convoluted quasi-kitschy cacophony; gilded, puppy-dog melancholy crackling under shiny nursery rhyme kindness.

The Dodos - No Color

Happily thrashing contrapuntal puzzles, “No,” explodes in joyfully melodic thunder. Stitched up and knitted from ribald, tribal indie-rock waltzes and shell-shocked, cock-eyed thrill-ride spirals, the Dodo’s pleasing, fleeting seesaw swatch of durable dynamics sandwich palatable pleasures from clever, dueling romantics whose burgeoning urgency and aggressively zesty methods conjure dreamboat sea-shanties among lively pop options diverting flirty percolations around revisionist’s collisions.

Ringo Deathstarr - Colour Trip

Bulldozer composure’s muffled muscle, “Trip,” whips blistering skate-punk bluster into decidedly indecipherable custard. Tasty bandaged tangents languishes over laudable gauze merging kaleidoscopic monsters inside warped torpor as crackling fractals blasting acid-washed passions mask bedroom whisperings under buzz-saw hooks. The Austin trio’s debut usher lusciously crunchy lullabies past demure assurance into backwards catastrophes braving hazy waves, pounding sounds and curlicue grooves.

Grand Pianoramax - Smooth Danger

Machine-gun runs of skittish drums maneuver through arched arpeggios erupting from prattling Moogs and palpitating pianos. “Smooth,” beautifully moves lively prog-rock robotics, shifting tangled tangents into methodical madness. Interwoven explosions cushioning savvy raps, GP’s sophisticated cat and mouse bouts pit dynamite keyboard flights against ground-pounding percussion, scattering frazzled scales behind diligent rhythms and railroading classical backgrounds into hyperactive jazz acrobatics.

Afrobeta - Under the Streets

Miami-based pulse hustlers, studio groovers and flashy scratch-masters, Afrobeta’s cougar moves, cooked hooks and DJ hearsay splices New Wave party-girl pumps, rapping disco rumbles and glossy trollop-rock poured over lubricated bass, stuttering synth-riffs, pinball beat-box and dishy, diva grievances. Edgy innovative dance-pop sizzles in polyrhythmic pleasures as, “Streets,” racks up sassy acid mash-ups, smart, tripped-out play-time and deliciously decadent get-downs.

Canyons - Keep Your Dreams

Suave parties spark rubbery jungle constructions, strobe-lit vertigo splattering after-hours pow-wows, Canyon’s jet-set experiments indoctrinates simmering techno rampages via spooky rock-arena cool, lighting glossy proto-soul raves from cyber-forged heartbeats, posh pop-rock and braying sax. Raving mad house music labs streaming dark, creamy sequences, moody mosh-pit encryptions secreting elastic pre-programmed spasms, “Dreams,” redeems laser-beam nostalgia with ever-ready grooves and mind-altering tunes

Lindstrom - Six Cups of Rebel

Cyber-slick misfits click in clock-boxing fits of spiraling slingshots, bottomless vertigo and chattering static, Lindstrom’s measured textures settle restlessly, zapping synapses while evaporating pneumatic Acid House, toasted Detroit cronk and pole-dancing funk. Mechanized mayhem outfitted in cosmic electronics, “Rebel,” mounts dry-ice avalanches smothered in jigsaw awesomeness and rollercoaster sensuality, tubular grooves built from viscous ricochets, space-age mirror-balls refracting jet-propelled raves.

White Rabbits - Milk Famous

Glazed in beefy beats, ELO sunshine and Southern Comfort swagger, the air-drum, headphone-friendly, “Milk,” slathers cybernetic embellishments around its experimental center for non-stop jet-propelled alt-rock. The Rabbit’s flitting transistors, twitchy pedal-infected psychedelia and urgent bionic bop hurtles headlong between driving, intertwining grinds, shiny, high-beam beacons of sinful syncopation and glossy altered washes. WR plays Madison’s High Noon Saloon April 6th

Elephant & Castle - Transitions

Cellophane arrangements leap from dream-fragmented memories to deeply sleepy doldrums as E&C’s recombinant collage of opaque retakes, ethereal appeals and random phantoms feed pre-natal fables with shape-shifting glyphs and cosmopolitan cool. Sonic shards carved from ragtag blips, cosmic blobs and gravity-defying grace, “Transitions,” roams combing kamikaze origami into amorphous contortions, a slithering vision siphoning groove-filled ambience and liquid, back-tracked quadratics.

Matisyahu - Spark Seeker

Kabala collages tying dance grooves to ancient roots, “Seeker,” tweaks world-beat Kasbah cavalcades stitching marvelous carnival ambience to high-stepping sermons dipped in Hasidic raps and shined by post-nuclear studio maneuvers. Invigorating debater Matisyahu’s charismatic mantras and glossy hospitality fuse a modern, exotic product coated in electric messages, palatial musical mazes dropping wisdom among spoken-word interludes and hypnotic North African segues.

Black Moth Super Rainbow - Cobra Juicy

Plastered in plastic and slathered in magic, “Cobra,” strikes glowing proto-disco poses, rubberized brain-wave foghorns riding tripped-out caramel carousels immersed in smeared weirdness, funky crunches and melted squelch.  Grinding auto-tuned teases dressed in oily foliage and rainbow grease. BMSR’s nano-bot pop knits chrome bones to marshmallow flesh doused in glitter, heaving beats lacquered in saccharine diving deep into lava-lamp lakes.

Midnight Magic - Walking the Midnight Streets

Twitching tempos pant, vamp and rave in vixenish conniptions; locomotive voltage from aerobic robots time-jump between funky mirror-ball boogie and modern cosmopolitan voodoo. Throbbing neon pop, “Streets,” creates earthy squirming in sultry cyber-soul, tantalizing fever dreams realigning animal grace into lusty grooves piecing indulgent pulses from decadent connections. Sinfully kindling simmering opinions, Magic’s galactic disco gyrates in steamy catwalk sauntering.

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