Maybe it isn't entirely fair to handcuff records to weather patterns and seasons. Anyone who's ever synched up a Beach Boys track to a spitting blizzard gets that those kinds of temporal assignments can be awfully limiting, but there's something intensely beach-blanket/windows-down about -- the Tyde's snarkily-titled follow-up to their 2001 debut -- that seems to make pigeonholing inevitable. Boasting all the smooth, amber glow of a Beachwood Sparks record (evidence three overlapping members), but hardly any of Beachwood's salty, shaking twang, evokes only the clearest of deep, California skies, all crickets and moonlight, warm beer and bonfires, sticky fingers and splintering boardwalks. Pack it in a bag with your sandy beach towels and cracked goggles, surf wax and weed; dewy, power-popped, and properly hooked, is culled from glossy picture postcards and cheap hotel rooms. It's forty minutes of straight summer soundtrack.