First sound: an aggressively uncool yet insistent wurlitzer. Pretty, well-sung vocals. Is that a fucking sitar? I believe it is, indeed.

Reaction: this isn't going to win any hipness awards. Which, of course, makes me like it. But maybe that's Goodbye Girl Friday's nefarious, guitar-free, piano-led Ben Folds Five-like plan. So maybe that makes me not like it. But wait -- why am I worried about the hipness quotient, or clever subversion thereof? Look, my foot's tapping. My head's nodding. However shiny the production, however entirely conventional the songwriting, however much certain measures of certain songs betray a passing acquaintance with the Antichrist of piano rock (Billy Joel, but Elton John is an acceptable second guess), this is a really solid album.

And for God's sake, these guys are plying their trade in Brooklyn. Goddamn hipster central. We're talking huge, huge balls to be able to play this stuff in Williamsburg. The arched brows and sneers from guys in Liars t-shirts must be a sight to behold.

That little psychological tug-of-war out of the way, I could settle happily into enjoying the '70s rock-radio, tinged-with-country, accordion-enhanced swing of "To Be Cool"; the song plays out as a cheerful acknowledgement of the band's most shining and appealing aspect. "I came to New York to be cool / An Indiana drifter on a mule / I've made some mistakes that I wear on my face / I'm not afraid / I'm not a fool / But I ain't cool." Singer/songwriter/keyboardist David Sherman leads us through all of the stages of a Midwestern immigrant's journey of acceptance with a smile on his face and a song in his heart. There's no hint of bitterness or anger.

The very next track, however, lets the clever, witty bitterness and anger flow. Every line in this one is eminently quotable, but the opening salvo is truly fantastic: "You found a guy / A new boyfriend / Stellar eyes, a Brooklyn vegan / He writes songs and sings them on his veranda / Lifts them from his diary / Sets the words to melody / And strums acoustically at bookstores / And he eats his vitamins / Are you serious? / The kid is slick inside and he smiles like he's born again / Are you serious? / Baby, I can take him."

This is definitely one of those albums on which the lyrics are a centerpiece. While the band's aforementioned nonchalance about their q-rating is refreshing, they are as dependent on strong song and lyric writing to save them from saccharinity as their most obvious antecedent, the aforementioned Ben Folds Five. In point of fact, GGF are far more likely to err on the side of cheese, so the structure and professionalism are even more important.

Fortunately, then, the band upholds both throughout Silver or Gold. The Steely Dan-ness of tracks like "Cold Summer Rain" works so well, it overcomes even a natural aversion to Steely Dan. The steel guitar is a perfect accompaniment wherever it appears, especially on the heartfelt and melancholy "Married Man", which sets friendly advice on a swelling tide of beautiful melody.

Is this the kind of album your most dedicated hipster friends might berate you for owning if they hear it? Sure. So don't play it for them. Keep this treasure for yourself.