Sylvie aren’t your typical group – like Drugdealer, it’s one guy with a revolving cast of guest musicians, and what it looks like from the outside at least – it’s all about the records that are put out.

With that, Sylvie is Ben Schwab, and again, like Drugdealer, there’s a strong love of American soft rock from the ’70s, and that’s no bad thing. See, in the 2020s, a lot of indie groups sit very easy with sounding like the source material. While tech giants swing their dicks at each other, a lot of these retro sounding groups – and you can mention The Lemon Twigs here too – are completely comfortable by basically pointing at their record collections and saying ‘why would it ever be a bad thing to sound a bit like some of our favourite LPs?’

With that, Sylvie records are comfy like a favourite woolly sweater – very easy listening, but not Easy Listening, if you catch our drift.

The rough edges have been sanded off, the production homely and considered, and tempo never gets above a rolling boil. It’s very pleasant all told, and will appeal to fans of the aforementioned bands, but also people who might wish there we new bands that sound like Bonnie Raitt, Carole King, and Jackson Browne.

The first album from Sylvie had the utterly majestic ‘Falls On Me’ on it, which had a very homespun feel to it, but here, the production sounds a little more expensive. The soft thump of the drums and the languid pace of tracks like ‘Rina’ really set the tone, the record ambling into view and inviting you in, rather than grabbing you by the collar.

Throughout, you’re reminded of the soulful country rock of The Band, rather than the cocaine smoothness of the Eagles – this whole record is an exercise of benevolent vibe checks, with Schwab casting his pals to come sing on some songs, play some pedal steel, join in on the harmonies, and generally create a luxurious, West Coast sound that’s incredibly familiar.

The whole thing melds into one, unhurried glow of a thing, and sure, there’s some troubles and ennui in the lyrics, but this isn’t an exercise in making things difficult for the listener – rather, a rustic salve that wants to be played on a cosy Sunday morning, or hanging out late Friday at home with people you love.

Standout ‘Not Looking Back Anymore’ is indicative of the feeling of community in this album, which is borderline idyllic. That’s no bad thing – not every record you own has to scream from the rooftops or be game-changing – sometimes, a really nice LP only needs to be exactly that – nice.

An enjoyable listen, top to bottom.