Slipped Discs

Donna the Buffalo - Tonight Yesterday and Tomorrow

Bouncing between Cajun-baked hoedowns, bayou squeezebox teasers and calico mountaintop jamborees, DtB’s roots-riddled country-rock hops, skips and boogies, roasted and bolstered by smokin’ blues organ, slippery hillbilly fiddle and funky electric-guitar. Lively, laidback swamp-water blossoms arranged around frisky epiphanies, “Tonight,” plants home-grown peace and love in flower-powered honky-tonk whose rockin’ good-will two-steps between groovy patchouli zydeco and tasty jam-band reggae.

RocketNumberNine - MeWeYouWe

Sputtering drums and space-ghost synths dip and skip between unraveling rattlings knitting explosive, propulsive patterns, Rocket9’s tunneling industrial cunning provides Memphis-tendered bottom to the duo’s roasted robotic-toppings for a shuffling gumbo packed in squeaky tweaks and embroidered beats. Tightly-fitted digital twiddling, “MeWeYouWe,” parades in waves of splashy crashes and astro-dipped rip-tides; fluttering brushes of blushing percussion tailor-made for nuclear-powered dance-floors.

Eleanor Friedberger - Personal Record

Placid ballads, lonely sambas and halting waltzes saunter along as earth-bound lounge in luxurious certainty capture first-class songs in pool-party impertinence; “Personal,” whirls in journal-churning thrills as quotable anecdotes and candid mandates stream and careen inside bohemian dreams knee-deep in coy Freudian rejoicing. Breezily leisurely, Friedberger’s flirtatious tastes snake through pithy sixties shin-digs, sprinkling torch-song soul around jazzy, chatty rigmarole.

The Deadly Gentlemen - Roll Me, Tumble Me

Vibrant and resourceful, TDG’s traditional blue-grass line-up revel in elaborate narratives, scene-stealing playfulness and folk-rock leanings, the wistfully twisted Boston quintet’s runaway-train changes pit brisk riffs against unstoppable chops as each member’s voice gathers steam unleashing serene harmonies.  Peppered in tasty jam-band grand-slamming, “Roll,” coasts in casual one-upmanship; quietly providing a spidery drive to dive-bombing romps double-dipped in top-tapping happiness.

Chris Berry - King of Me

Washed in frisky polyrhythmic bliss, “King,” crowns Afro-funky punches and nimble, bi-lingual chants extolling solid social conscience carried by humane refrains. California-born and Zimbabwe-educated, Berry, a multi-talented rhythmist, singer and international activist swims and swings in vigorous tropical pop drenched in contrapuntal wonders, spreading communal grooves between sun-roasted truths juggling tumbling drums, voracious vocalists, liquid bass and thundering thumb piano.

Wise Blood - Id

Brandishing outlandish samples whose firing-squad choirs blast fractured bombast, WB’s massaged collages harbor woozy blues and street-wise boogie; slow, persistent grooves laboring under urban jungle theater, super-cool kick-backs and PMA segues. Found-sound scenarios frame, “Id,” twisting jazz, blues and gospel into old school-loops boosting groovy share-cropper bop, writhing raps zapped with art-pop sass, hip world collisions double-tracked, dubbed-up and cross-faded.

Daughn Gibson - Me Moan

Merciless purrs from wrangler’s twang, “Moan,” hones spring-loaded rodeos into ghost-town trip-hop livid with slithering soliloquies scavenged from barbed-wire heartache. A post-modern honky-tonk bronco, Gibson’s outlaw growl and rattlesnake charms languish around leathery melodies layered in brawny steam-punk electronics augmented by insidious laptop steel and back-alley harmonicas. DG plays Madison’s High Noon Saloon July 21st alongside ace guitar-slinger Steve Gunn.

Dent May - Warm Blanket

Sunny conundrums washed in lovesick riffs and dreamy caramel harmonies, “Warm,” fuses crooning doo-wop, posh brass and tropical twang into shy, pining reminders swimming in swinging bedroom-pop binges. Cozy trophies from youthful truths, May’s bittersweet treats are starry-eyed arias packed with precocious notions, cherished embellishment and choir-boy benevolence. A cherubic troubadour possessing multiple talents, Dent plays UW’s Terrace September 19th.

Still Life Still - Mourning Trance

Vivid guitar-driven apparitions spark and sputter in brilliant cantilevered fevers assembled through vigorous fidgeting and microcosmic sonics; Toronto’s SLS pitch, flit, twitch and enrich delivering eager believers ephemeral memories lodged in lively, astro-rock concoctions. Heart-felt mechanics morph relentless penance into cryptic bliss, surging in methodical furies as, “Mourning,” forms determined squirming inside sublime turbines assigning spinning rhythms to shiny indecision.

Julianna Barwick - Nepenthe

Rosined cauldrons subtly bubbling in oceanic trances, “Nepenthe,” brews haunting, airborne sojourns; gossamer flights over widowed silhouettes draped in frail veils and hallowed shadows. Choral auroras casting liquid whispers over ethereal cathedrals, Barwick’s ambient oracles conjure defenseless transcendence, wordless gurgles glowing in ghostly vocals as translucent movements drift in disembodied fogs from shipwrecked effervescence capsized and baptized in glistening dins.

Dinosaur Bones - Shaky Dream

Existential contentions hammered from divine grinds, volcanic dynamics and moody grooves, DB’s searing, lyrical punk-rock waltzes hatch heart-wrenching chemistry through creeping sleeplessness; smoldering corrosions erupting in splendid squalor and menacing second-guessing. Taunt, tight-rope walks stalking fragile casualties and defiant survivors, “Shaky,” bravely engages waylaid crusaders, folding broad-shouldered doldrums into shady mazes staggered in ragged swagger, spurned yearnings and anthemic epidemics.

John Nagle - Distractions

A sentimental gentleness centers the electro-acoustic musings teetering between funky blue-eyed soul and sad chamber-jazz ballads; “Distraction,” attracts a casually magical low-key cabaret filled with jaunty electronics bridging brisk, sophisticated arrangements spanning crackling bluegrass and oddball pop-rock. Dodging easy labeling, Nagle’s tranquil banquets serve fluid coos in self-assured purrs, soliciting soft, sensitive tendencies from breathy regrets stretched over left-field appeal,

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