When you’re starting to feel emo’d-out or overwhelmed with smug irony rock, Ferrari is a welcome distraction: pure, happy, unapologetic pop. The first track sounds familiar, like it’s already a famous single getting way too much radio play. The infectious beat, the Jack Johnson/flavor of the month voice, the chorus in the background going “Whoo!” like a more melodic version of the drunks outside my house at two a.m. – it all adds up to a rocking good time.

I’ve got this album playing over headphones as I write this, and maybe the best way I can describe it is this: outside it is storming, and inside it’s an ordinary morning: too-early coffee, the sun tiredly heaving itself over the buildings. But as I listen to this, I start to feel happy and hopeful. I feel sassy, like a skinny starlet in one of those 90s films whose life is one long miniskirt-wearing montage. Like Empire Records or Clueless. And if I’m dating myself with those references, rest assured that unlike, say, me, this album won’t go out of style: honest guitar pop that will never, ever make you feel anything but good.

Favorite Track: “Don’t Let it Fall”