Pitchfork

Those early adopters along Madison Avenue are now so on top of things that an indie pop band can get into a Saturn advertisement on the strength of its first EP. This may get the hand-wringers in a bind, but for PAS/CAL and "The Bronze Beached Boys (Come On Let's Go)"-- the standout track from 2003's The Handbag Memoirs EP-- it's a well-deserved, welcome opportunity for their summery, refined sounds to reach a wider audience. That track's lazy, hazy plea to leave your notebooks at home and "be leaves pushed by the breeze" perfectly captures the band's optimistic, open-armed approach to blissed-out pop.

That approach is delightfully continued on the Detroit band's second EP, the five-track Oh Honey, We're Ridiculous. While many indie poppers stroll down the dead ends of traditionalism, aiming to either soothe the bruised souls of bedsit lonelyhearts or put the skip in your step with unabashed summery hooks, PAS/CAL manages to do a bit of both with panache and intelligence to spare. The band's kaleidoscopic arrangements and deft tempo changes waft and swirl, nicely framing Casimer Pascal's soaring, feather-light falsetto but still allowing it plenty of room for acrobatics and elegance. Not many bands can sashay from Morricone to doo-wop in less than a minute without snapping necks, but PAS/Cal manage the trick on "What Do the American Girls Have on Jennifer JoJo?".

They'll likely receive more than enough comparisons to the Beach Boys (as well as contemporaries such as The Shins), but that sort of misses the mark. From pensive opener "What Happened to the Sands"-- which starts with a few melodic tugs before accelerating into a whipsmart frenzy-- to "The Handbag Memoirs" and its acoustic approximation the low-rent style of His 'n' Hers-era Pulp, PAS/CAL sounds more like the humid haze of summer dusk rather than the scorching heat. Fittingly, then, Oh Honey is full of missed opportunities and haunts from the past, moments in which the sun is set and yet one can still feel its heat. From PAS/CAL's lament at the loss of the Sands Hotel and the exploitation of the 115-year old "Poor Maude", to a girlfriend's handbag full of "notes [written] without me in mind" and a litany of musical references, there's a tangible friction between the past and present. Which is just as well, because after two EPs of grandiose, warm pop, PAS/CAL shouldn't be wary of their future.