But it’s both condescending and limiting to describe a band as solely the sum of their influences. On their website, Scuba themselves acknowledge their fuzzy and moody pop roots, saying “We’re not a shoe-gazer band. Though we look at a lot of things apparently our shoes are not one of them. Or rather they’re not looked at for long enough to become a quote-unquote ‘gaze’ unquote.”

Okay, so fair enough. “Shoegazer” implies that Scuba are a tribute band, which isn’t correct. So what’s the deal with Scuba? Well, the fuzzy guitars and washes of noise aside, they play sumptuous and hypnotic power pop that delivers on what Neil Young said about Crazy Horse, his backing band: “It’s all one big, growing, smoldering sound, and I’m part of it. It’s like gliding, or some sort of natural surfing.” Although you can namecheck great bands of the past one after the other as the songs pass by (right now I’m listening to the leadoff single “Gary Powers’ Spy Plane” and dreaming of Boston’s late lamented The Sheila Divine), the truth is the songwriting is strong and original and more than the sum of its (My Bloody Valentine, Joy Division, New Order, Sugar, Jesus and Mary Chain, The Cure) influences.

The big trick with playing noisy pop-inflected rock is to have it not all sound the same. I’ve heard literally dozens of boring bands who play boring music that sounds great for three point five minutes until they start their next song and you realize that one song is really all they have. Luckily, Scuba duck the “samey” tag with aplomb by using studio and songwriting tricks to good effect, sometimes washing the sound-field with enormous distortion, other times pulling back to a tunneling bassline and a few chimed guitar notes, sometimes compressing everything into angular chords.

Scuba manage to duck the other great pitfall of modern power-pop as well, which is the “softLOUDsoft” formula that The Pixies invented and Nirvana made famous. Instead, in the great tradition of their shoegazer forebears, Scuba manage the flow of each song beautifully, creating new textures and moods through smart production and layering of sounds, rather than the crass expedient of stomping the distortion pedal and blasting out the windows every time the chorus comes around.

Highlights include the album opener “You Break My Heart in 1000 Different Ways,” the echoey suspended overdrive of “Freight,” the gorgeous Joy-Division wail of “Maybe It’s Different With Johnny” and the gigantic suspended-chord riff of “Into The Water, Down To The Bottom.” In a just world, or a different time, any one of these songs should be, or shoulda been, a monster underground hit, part of the lingua franca of cool youth to be passed down by word of mouth.

Simply put, Scuba have made a well-written and beautifully produced debut record in a decidedly unfashionable genre, one that makes aging hipsters like me feel like rock has a future that isn’t limited to Franz Ferdinand, Pink, and tenth-generation SoCal punk. Granted, for the time being the band are leaning hard on their influences, but they’re a long way past merely paying tribute to them, which is a whole lot more than million-sellers like Queens of the Stone Age, Sum 182, or, heaven forfend, Nickelback can claim with a straight face.