Slipped Discs

Kristin Hersh - Crooked

Mounting electricity rips through, “Crooked,” as acoustic voodoo squalls carved from Hersh’s inscrutably unique dervish curses snake around careening guitars and stun-gun percussion. Irrepressible epiphanies pair punk parables to mountain-music mania, channeling deliberately elliptical folk psychosis with haunting clarity. Available this summer on-line from CASH music, “Crooked,” returns accompanied by a bonus-laden book.

The Clientele - Minotaur

A mini-album packed to the gills, from the quasi-classical to the nakedly oratorical, Minotaur,” jumps verbal hurdles with posh indie-pop. Richly descriptive visions pitch open-hearted curve-balls, blue-eyed soul courting memory and dream, woozy musings illuminated in toe-tapping mojo. TC’s craftily re-mastered music hall rock tosses off crisp Britpop swagger saluting fine taste and good breeding.

Fences - Fences

Bedroom pop wallpapered in weathered regrets and street-fed wisdom, “Fences,” packages unsorted feelings into restless resolution, nimble pickin’ and waltzing melodies whose casual insight and gifted riffs bolster roller-coaster emotions through stoic brokered perspective. Personable and persuasive, Fences’ jaunty melancholy and placid happiness nestle together befriended by quietly spry lyrics, sly hooks and humble brilliance.

Interpol - Interpol

Stripped down to a sleek threesome, “Interpol,” still thinks big. Gloating in slow reproaches cloaked in dark velvet tensions and cast-iron cadence, brawny sonic monuments get lubricated in withering glances and sinister insect rhythms. Fashionably dramatic twists fortify Interpol’s ultra-cool odes simmering in insurgency – hatching glam-rock plots born from suspicious minds, tortured desires and lurking malevolence.

Underworld - Barking

First-time use of outside producers, Underworld’s sixth disc remains indelibly true to its trance-disco roots. Corridors of escalating beats, sweetened in hip-swiveling jangle and arena-sized synthesizers, helicopter to rapturous pneumatic satisfaction. Tentatively menacing, “Barking,” revel in spotlight stares cast from lingering sizzle; steamy cybernetic sequences teasing secret night-time daydreams between pounding downtown declarations exuding cavalier club-hopping confidence.

The Young Scamels - Tempest

Music composed for the Shakespeare play; “Tempest,” dispenses magical moods, funneling modest solace and worldly wonder into eloquent sentiments. Songs, soliloquies and spell-binding post-rock hover over swarming strings, quizzical cymbals and twittering marimbas as wordless pursuits cavort and consort around ectoplasmic incantations. Lending a gentle tenderness, TYS’s spirited instrumentals devise, confide and mesmerize.

The Posies - Blood/Candy

Renowned perpetrators of American pop irony, the Posies’ craftily immaculate power-pop pageantry returns, leveling its majestic assessments over clever metaphors, creating crackling candy-coated kiss-offs while deflating egos in slick wit. From cordial to incorrigible, from guilty-pleasured hooks to shark-jumping arrangements, “B/C” harbors hindsight harmonies between gleefully deviant toe-tappers. Double-billed with Brendan Benson, the Posies play Milwaukee’s Turner Hall November 5th

Dryft - Ventricle

Cosmic concerts imprisoning hissing precision, Dryft’s murmuring currents and logical dawns sculpt cyber-swaddled sun-bursts from intergalactic grinds, Laboring into wakefulness under glittering alien skies, “Ventricle,” unfolds slowly, vacuum-packed and industrial. Eclipsed, frisked and whisked past paranormal storms of zero gravity ambience, Dryft’s subtle shifts and soft landings nestle against cloaked cacophony and trippy mysteries, thawed and refrozen; space-age rage rewired.

Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson - Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson

Joyfully boisterous political burlesque, “BBAJ,” spin power-mongering parables into fame-driven morals and energetic allegories. Charismatically arrogant characters burst into effervescent bravado as gorgeous hoi polloi choruses orchestrated by rockin’ rabble rousers provide spot lit soliloquies inside rock-star bluster and feisty, foul-mouthed fanfares squeezed between bittersweet pop-rock pleads. Smart, sharp and sarcastic, “BBAJ,” deliver amusing historical buffoonery alongside theatrically hijacked fact.

Meridene - Something like Blood

Wise asides and quick quips happily carry percolating electric piano, bipolar guitar, and rock-solid bass and drums; like shock absorbers on a bumpy road, “Something,” comforts contemplative cravings in cryptic hipster’s whisperings told in simmering conviction. Convincingly syncing thoughtful despondency in a stew of swinging rhythms, Eau Claire’s Meridene attain rare pop honesty, accurately capturing passing moods through descriptive prescriptions.

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.

Blood Red Shoes - Fire Like This

Taking no prisoners, “Fire,” ignites a hailstorm of monster tremolo, big-screen screams and explosive grooves. Circling like muscled vultures, Shoes’ shiny goose-step rock assaults with two-fisted rivers of hard-nosed prose and sizzling riff missiles. Blasting past unrepentant petulance, “Fire,” builds tense acrylic retaliations, guarded shards accosting blockbuster structures, flaunting dive-bombing stomps and stoked locomotives. BRS crash Chicago’s Subterranean October 29th.

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