BY ZACHARY HERRMANN

Years from now, if and when Nuggets releases as box set detailing the new psychedelia wave of the Aughts, Tame Impala will probably stick out like a sore thumb. Not necessarily because the Australian quartet (on record, just a trio; they add a bassist for touring) is the best offering of shaggy music for shaggy people, though they are damn good live and in the studio.

What sets the group apart from the Animal Collectives,  Of Montreals and Neon Indians of the world is that at heart, Tame Impala is a group of traditionalists. Their debut LP stems from Pink Floyd's "Interstellar Overdrive" and vocally, Innerspeaker lead singer Kevin Parker is almost an exact mix between John Lennon and George Harrison, though Tame Impala very much has its own thing going on.

If you really had to group them with any one band, Dungen seems like the closest thing to a contemporary kindred spirit. Tame Impala gets a little more inventive in their arrangements. Ironically, it's when they get a little too inventive that the band runs into trouble.

By far the weakest trick in Tame Impala's back pocket is the almost standard indie rock trope, synths ‘n' loops and the like. And at Glasslands in Brooklyn last Friday, the application of such devices was really the group's only false note. Because it just doesn't fit.

Tame Impala is straight up stoner rock at its best, so it seems futile for the band to pretend to be anything else. No one wants to be limited, but guys please, Brooklyn has enough dime store Brian Wilsons to go around already.

The pop hooks are definitely there ("Desire Be, Desire Go" especially), but Tame Impala don't belong in the Pet Sounds camp of indie rock. As if it wasn't evident from their appearance - drummer Jay Watson and bass player Dominic Simper went shirtless, everyone played barefoot - these guys run a looser ship. They look like a bunch of lost extras from Mad Max: Beyond Thunderdome and play like they came from "the before time".

Unlike so many of their contemporaries, Tame Impala likes to jam (gasp!). The guitar interplay between Parker and Nick Allbrook is melodic and never over-bearing - both men are very capable lead guitarists, though more times than not, the songs call for more rhythm, or groove, if you will. Both men know when to back off and when to really lay it on.

A mere few feet from the stage (Glasslands is a sweaty little hipster cubby hole, it's hard to be far from the action), it was all very face-melting.  Especially on the tail end of the hour-long set, "Solitude is Bliss" and the final "Half Full Glass of Wine" had the crowd in full sway, which in a Friday night summer sweat trap, is about as much as you can hope for.

"You guys are fucking famous for living in this humidity", Watson said before the band launched into the instrumental "Jeremy's Storm" (a.k.a. "Island Walking"). Vertigo-induced synth-crackling aside, the fierce jam was one of the set's highlights, although in terms of sound and energy, everything was in place from the outset.

As performers and songwriters, Tame Impala is a band confident beyond its years. The lyrics lean toward hippie-dippie introspection, but Parker and Co. take themselves just seriously enough: "There's a party in my head/ And no one is invited", Parker sang on "Solitude is Bliss", which could very well become a band mantra for years to come.

For the record, the contact high was plenty good below the stage, thanks.

Set list:

Intro/ It Is Not Meant To Be

Desire Be, Desire Go

Why Don't You Make Up Your Mind?

Alter Ego

Lucidity

Island Walking/ Jeremy's Storm

Sundown Sydrome

Solitude is Bliss/ Skeleton Tiger/ Half Full Glass of Wine