Long Beach's surf-guitar trio Tijuana Panthers are a band replete with a garage punk heart and a refreshing revivalism. Semi-Sweet could not have been a more appropriate album name – sometimes scuzzy but other times sweet, their new album instils a feeling of nostalgia for a time most listeners have only ever seen through film or heard about over weekends with the grandparents. Each track assembles itself around bursts of huge hooks and tends to cut itself unexpectedly short, with most songs barely making it to the three minute mark. But that's not to say they don't make an impact whilst they're around – in fact, by being both catchy and brief, the Panthers encourage you to hit your replay button half an hour later.

Hurriedly opening is 'Above Your Means'; muffled vocals and squawking refrains build towards an abrupt disintegration of instrumental arrangement that, overall, is bizarrely un-representative of the rest of the record. But follow-up track and first single 'Tony's Song' is a rickety assortment of crashing cymbals and droning guitars, drawing attention to the guitar hooks that are a signature characteristic of the album.

'Wall Walker' brims with a vintage excitability – rhyming lyrics, a recurring chorus that inspired the title, repetitive vocal echoes and jangling guitar riffs suck you into an old era that you probably didn't even live through. 'Boardwalk' tells the tale of an anxious meeting of lovers on a beach, replete with "doo-bee-ahh"-s and an aloof humming of, you guessed it – "boooooardwalk". On 'Father Figure', the trio search for meaning and guidance in a father they deem 'the best that I can get'.

If you haven't started dusting off the cheesy dance moves yet, their cover of The Nerves' 'One Way Ticket' is bound to get you moving. After a drum roll, a softened, bubbly guitar plucks out a riff that extends the vocal melody in a cyclical, jive-worthy rhythm. 'Forbidden Fruit' excitedly plucks out a rattling hook between poetic metaphors of apples and urban wanderings as an extensive lament over a confusing love.

'Juvy Jeans' recalls the obligatory fashions of a bygone Californian adolescence, whilst 'Baby I'm Bored' details the disparity between growing up in a world of technology whilst reminiscing the things that have dwindled in importance over the years. Tying things up in paper packaging is 'Boardwalk [Reprise]', a half-remake, half-extension of the earlier 'Boardwalk', creating the illusion that perhaps everything that stood between them was a development of a singular moment of reflection.

To use an appropriate beach-like metaphor, Tijuana Panthers are like insistent, small waves that keep coming back to lap gently against the shore. Filled with tentative tales of bridled love, laments of angst and wistful nostalgia, it's a record that you will find either clichéd or charming, sickly or sweet. But it is, above all else, a fun, authentic throwback to a curious time of simplistic innocence and the antiquated sense of purposeful, progressive rebellion that leaves an impression of longing.