On 77, Nude Beach occupy a unique rock ‘n’ roll plane of existence that finds harmony between radio-friendly giants like Tom Petty and reclusive underground kooks like Bill Fox. As a trio of musicians, they are loose without lapsing into sloppiness, earnest sans cheese, knowledgeable minus pretension. Over the course of a set as the band whips from one song to the next, they will echo the tones and moods of Springsteen, The Only Ones, The Flamin’ Groovies, The Replacements, and Badfinger, as well as anyone who released a record on Sire between ’77 and ’81. But when three people have been playing together in a band for as long as Nude Beach has, they begin to substitute influence for telepathy. Betz’s wailing Telecaster never collides with Naideau’s thrilling drum fills or Shelton’s nimble bass lines; call their brand of rock ‘n’ roll whatever you like, but it’s never short of eloquent, ingeniously performed and classically constructed.