The Tyde, The Lift, Brighton (April 14)

Be careful. There are thousands of these retro whiteboy beat groups around at the moment, plying their homage to Gram Parsons and the Hollies with barely a flicker of irony. Nothing wrong with that, especially if they lace their music with a lush, warming Hammond organ sound and vocals that vaguely recall Bob Dylan when he still had a little languid grace. In this confusing time of media saturation and cheap Cold War posturing, we all need a little traditionalism in our lives, heaven knows.

There's no reason to hate laid-back Los Angeles psychedelic popsters the Tyde. Honestly. Even if "All My Bastard Children," the first song on their reasonable Felt/Luna pastiche of a debut album Once, does tiresomely list hard drugs for no obvious reason, ruining an otherwise fine pop song. Even if their lineup does include three members of alt-rock bores Beachwood Sparks, plus one from the Big Star covers band Further. Even if seeing them live is like experiencing Van Gogh through glass, on several continents distant and in a fourth-generation art catalog reprint.

Here's the lesson the Tyde like to teach: it doesn't ever pay to get too close to the source.

The audience is another matter entirely: 60s collegiate kitsch as first championed by Art Garfunkel and his droopy-hat-wearing peers, mock college scarves flung around nicotine-stained, emaciated throats, hair at a length where only the death penalty can suffice. Perhaps it's that nice Darren Rademaker from Further's fault, with his blond shoulder-length crop and smug guitar, singing nonsense words over heart-breaking tunes. Still.

The stench of sleaze and mercenaries aside, the Tyde are divertingly entertaining. "Strangers Again" is the finest Mercury Rev song I've heard since I last listened to Mercury Rev. "New Confessions" borrows so heavily from louche English punk band Subway Sect I can't help but admire the Tyde's record collection. "Your Tattoos" swirls in fine confusion. With songs like those, I'll forgive the Tyde almost anything, even the pervasive stench of session musicianship.

I'll forgive the Tyde almost anything?except their audience.