Slipped Discs

White Denim - Performance

Elastic glam-rock boogie percolates in prog-pop pyrotechnics dancing alongside White Denim’s fly jive zapped in sunshine street soul; funked-up dawn patrols cultivating evasive tastes for radio-friendly minder-benders, flammable jams and rush-hour hustles. Six-string hairpin flings propel, “Performance,” from greasy psychedelic teases soliciting slick lizard-king kicks to wicked interstate check-mates whose traveling strategy covers coast-to-coast mojo, top-down getaways and fuel-injected cool. 

Darwin's Finches - Good Morning Creatures II

Brain-pan landslides collide inside, “Good Morning Creatures II,” erupting from powerful sour-mash howls, stormy psycho-blues breakdowns and lurching cow-punk subversion. Grizzled gonzo gauchos, Darwin’s Finches greets specious reality with electric menace and suspicious visions flying off the handle directly into the fire, collaborating with fellow Texan Jandek in a detour-riddled tour de force scorched in psychedelic barbecue from college-town cantinas.

The Bevis Frond - We’re Your Friends, Man

A double-album loaded in tart remarks, urbane refrains and haughty bon mots, “Friends,” blends British folk-rock loftiness alongside psychedelic-garage barrages for a stunning display of manners and mayhem. Wise country squires swallowed in cosmic squalor, The Bevis Frond’s world swirls in sadness and stoicism, madness and mysticism; caterwauling six-strings soaring over calm heads singing searing suites dressed in elegant despair.

Tim Presley's White Fence - I Have to Feed Larry’s Hawk

Gritty, jittery surf-twang dirges crash irrational art-punk passions into casual goth-pop pathos as Presley’s baroque-folk mojo floats unhinged flings past refracted realities with eerie calm and devilish delirium. Rocked in cock-eyed ironies, analogue anarchy and supernatural theatrics, “Larry’s,” packs fractured twilight torch-songs around tender demented wig-outs; slow-drip trips shaking off memory-lane mind-games with trans-dimensional calliopes, flubber-toughened bass and ricochet-rattled guitars.

Hand Habits - placeholder

Spotlessly evocative waif-pop folk-rock, “placeholder,” sprinkles whole-grain psycho-twang glitter over well-fed bohemian beds blessed in wall-to-wall melancholy and polished in life-learned mercy.  Aching in patience and woozy with rumination, Hand Habits’ appetite for mellow magic produces tasty licks, condensed sentiments and caressing chords; wind-tossed willow wisdom refracting passive windowsill considerations into water-nymph symphonies where sparkling downstream daydreams become sun-ripened masterpieces.

Wand - Laughing Matter

Exploratory story-tellers, L.A.‘s Wand rock jam-band bangers and space-folk head-trips, spreading electric medicine by mashing heavenly frenzy from math-rock flash into epic splash-down psychedelia spanning grand, mechanical fantasies and anxious, impatient improvisations. Lost inside friendly schizophrenia, “Matters,” rattles, straddles and roars with stammering mantras building into sizzling six-string siroccos only to fade quietly among cryptic wizard’s riddles riding long-distance bliss.

Boogarins - Sombrou Dúvida

Cyber-soupy grooves doused in water-born Diaspora saunter seaside inside heady sighs and sleepy guitars while, “Sombrou,” simmers in woozy driftwood nuance oozing casual jet-lagged jazz peppered with galactic prog-rock magic served over slow-broiled psychedelic elegance. Hypnotic astral operators, the sultry Boogarins inhabit diaphanous afternoons basking in Latin sizzle, capturing classic twilight appetites in phantom romance, sunset regrets and fickle rhythms.

Modern Nature - How to Live

Combining the creative forces behind Ultimate Painting and Beak, Modern Nature deploys calm post-rock opuses, embroidered maps hosting python sax and whispers draped over ubiquitous bass swimming in rambling trance; jazz-dappled appetizers bobbing in Krautrock punchbowls. A fluid, nuanced fairy-tale, “Live,” lives in backwater bliss, minimalist Zen head-trips circling feudal fields and pagan forests with unflinching mystery and intuitive moods.

Mermaidens - Look Me In The Eye

Cryptic silhouettes dancing in choreographed collapse, “Eye,” rides calculated landslides, conspiring in spiraling riff-driven narcolepsy with shadow-rock cliff-hangers roaring through murky, mascara-laden psychedelia and furious stiletto-pedaled shoegaze tracing pinpoint precision around drowsy indecision. Bubbling in subtle eruptions and dizzy indulgences, the tide-turning Mermaidens’ dynamic calamities yield surprisingly lucid moods from anxious, contagious beats, swirling minor-key revelry and cosmic pole-vaulted free-falls.

Pedro Kastelijns - Som das Luzis

Zany mania tamed in psycho-samba soufflés, “Luzis,” muses in jarring cartoon lunacy, commanding gizmo-prone jabberwocky waking and shaking narcoleptic benders riding bold, dismembered tropical-pop dropped into rabbit-hole side-shows. Basted in booming bass, tasty bossa nova escapes and bouncy gaucho detours, psychedelic Brazilian Kastelijns’ lavender caverns spew groovy tunes fire-roasted and slightly singed, crispy fringe-art binges rattling cages and sparking imaginations.

Chicano Batman - Invisible People

Sun-baked funk itching and flinching in lazy summer rhythms, “Invisible,” reveals ticklish metaphysical epiphanies and polyester flower-power philosophy squirming under candy-coated soul. Sweet-talkin’ sonic saunas whose pliable grooves sashay in bottom-heavy euphoria, Chicano Batman’s slow pastel jams, beach bodega boogie and glittery street carnival vibe light bright R&B breezes beneath psychedelic seaside flights; a slick, frisky discothèque dispensing sensuous transcendence.

Tengger - Nomad

Dawn wanderers fleeing sleepy beacons, Tengger blends dimpled ripples, grazing radiance and ambient organics into trippy bliss and mesmerizing effervescence; tidal fly-bys weaving wavering vapor-trails into fondled electronics from passive satellites. Secret sequences frequenting spacey places, “Nomad,” tranquilly zig-zags in astral patterns while etherized voices and delayed fades trade glazed gazes from serene submarines lighting mental trenches with psychic sunshine.

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