How does one consume an increasingly hip "buzz" band that's being touted for its allegedly steadfast un-hip stance? With caution, since a game of reverse psychology appears to be in-play.

How does one consume an increasingly hip "buzz" band that's being touted for its allegedly steadfast un-hip stance? With caution, since a game of reverse psychology appears to be in-play. Stripped of the media noise surrounding it, this Oklahoma-rooted act serves up playful, pop-inflected rock revelry that combines the retro feel of '60s rock and '80s Anglo-pop. Jangly guitars and concise, candy-sweet hooks abound, as do cute, if disposable lyrics about boys meeting, losing, hating, loving, and reuniting with girls. It's all good fun, even if frontman Tyson Ritter's relentlessly pained caterwaul à la the Cure's Robert Smith becomes headache-inducing by the set's mid-point. A little less affectation and a little more straight-on singing would have made these songs come to life to a more vivid—though probably less "cool"—degree. And we need to keep those hipsters happy, right?—LF