' seventh album backs away from their "super- " releases like and the underrated and looks back to their earlier, rootsier sound. The band has whittled itself down again following the departures of keyboardist and longtime guitarist , leaving behind core songwriter and vocalist , founding member on bass, and longtime drummer assisted by newcomer on guitar. Produced by (and overseen by ), goes back even further than the band's first albums, channeling the ghosts of , , and , and interpreting their '60s jangle and lazy, sunny harmonies through ' own sweetly awkward formula. in particular, gives the listener a sense of , sounding like a long lost demo, and the chiming Rickenbacker 12-string guitar of the leadoff track, could've been lifted right from the master tapes of The first six tracks are all vintage gems -- trembling and honest, with warm melodies and hooks for days. Unfortunately, the album stumbles in the second half with the inclusion of two compositions (which try too hard to evoke 's world-weary mumble and 's nasal whine), and an unsuccessful stab at heartland on Although the summertime love song and the waltzing provide bright spots near the end, the album never fully recovers. This is a real shame, since the whole affair starts so strong, and it seems as though if side B could've been trimmed by about four songs (and 15 minutes), would stand alongside their strongest albums. Still, fans who complained that their last two albums were "too poppy" or "not rootsy enough" should be pleased with this direction, and it's certainly an album that gets better with each listen, so it may yet prove to be worth its weight in acoustic gold. ~ Zac Johnson