It’s pronounced “Banquet.” And it is truly a feast. You’ve got some of the best elements of the most interesting indie bands of the Century: Ben “Band of Horses” Bridwell, Eric “Midlake” Pulido, Fran “Travis” Healy, Alex “Franz Ferdinand” Kapronos, and Jason “Grandaddy” Lytle.”

Yes, it’s an indie rock supergroup. Or, as they call it, a poor man’s Traveling Wilburys.

Best of all, “Volume One” is a an album. A proper album. It kicks off with “Restart,” a track that feels like what might have happened if Norman Greenbaum had written “Call Me” in days of crunchy rock. Listen to that opening riff and tell me you don’t hear the Blondie classic, reimagined with muscle instead of dance beats.

Am I crazy?

And if garage psych isn’t quite your thing, stick around for track 3, 100 Million Miles, which has some wonderful guitar work and, overall, recalls the early days of Pink Floyd—when they were transitioning away from Syd Barret’s over-the-top oddness and into the more musical styles of Waters and Gilmour.

And from there, we go immediately into a darker soul track that is a love song to a banana. Seriously.

The album bounces around a retro tour of the early (and best) days of rock and roll, a nonstop party. Until track 9, Tara, which could be a Band of Horses song. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

I can’t understand why the intellectuatzis at Pitchfork and Paste didn’t like this record. I love it.

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