It makes sense that The Fresh and Onlys hail from San Francisco, California, as their sound is drowned in the kind of unyielding optimism and clemency the state is know for. But even still, their bright, distinctly West Coast sound finds itself evoking music from places as far off as Athens, Georgia or Manchester, England. That is to say, hints of Reckoning-era R.E.M. (Mike Mills in the bass and Peter Buck in the guitars) and The Smiths (with inflections of Morrissey in the vocals) provide source material. Also a major source of inspiration: the Pacific Ocean, audible in the pipeline-dwelling surf-guitar licks and ’60s beach-bum harmonies with which their songs are replete. And then, of course, there are the tsunamis of reverb.

The Fresh and Onlys’ Long Slow Dance keeps true to its title, as their pace is kept to a leisured, bohemian stroll. The drums tap along at a pretty even keel throughout the album, even while the instrumentation does all sorts of barrel rolls and set changes from song to song. The feeling recreated is like being caught in a sort of blissfully foggy-headed trance, while the world rushes, teeming with life, around you like the crashing of waves against man-sized rocks.

Take the verses of songs like ‘Presence of Mind’ or the album’s incredibly uplifting opener ’20 Days and 20 Nights’ (and how the chorus lifts); the instrumental arrangements recall each of the two previously-mentioned bands, with buoyant acoustic strums and lush electric guitar sweeps that lift singer Tim Cohen’s attempts to capture Morrissey in a bottle, via “The Boy with a Thorn in His Side,” to beautiful perfection. But it’s not entirely fair to say this band’s hindsight only extends to the eighties, for it seems the Fresh and Onlys are also channeling the same Phil Spector-produced girl groups and and crackling Cali-pop that Morrissey and Marr held a shared affections for.

The terrain is similar to that often traversed by the Shins, but still unique to the band, with much more nostalgia-and-humidity-imbued production work. Take the song ‘Dream Girls’, washed in acid and reverb, the guitars shimmer in a lukewarm seasalt mist, while the bass kicks back like it was double-tracked on damaged tape. With the addition of faint-sounding vocal harmonies, the product is as feel-good as any drug can simulate.

It’s as if these guys got a hold of a time machine and made two stops, one in the mid-eighties, another in the late fifties/early sixties, as their ability to recreate the sounds of bygone eras is uncanny. And infectiously delightful: you’re going to need jumbo-sized beach towel to wipe that grin off your face.

Listen to Long Slow Dance