L.A.’s Good Luck Bear are a sweet band, befitting of their namesake—that green, shamrocked cuddler from the Care Bears. Their good-natured lyrics are filled with just the right hint of nostalgic sadness, reminding one of innocent 60s pop bands like the Turtles without actually sounding like those bands. This band is much more in the vein of early 00s indie rock, the kind of falsetto-voiced, clean-guitar stuff the Shins and Built to Spill used to spin out in their sleep. The Nearest Faraway Place keeps the lackadaisical good-times vibes flowing throughout, and it’s nearly impossible to resist songs like “Ocean Park,” as steady a college-rock single as you’ll hear anywhere—melodic and softly rocking, similar to Beach Fossils or Real Estate. They really only slip when they try to imitate Red House Painters in the overly sentimental piano ballad “Not Today.” Elsewhere, “Interchangeable Girls,” which is lovely in a hazy, gray way, pulls the neat trick of lasting much longer than you think it will, almost starting over halfway through and drizzling beatific guitars over itself. It sort of speaks to the nature of the song, about various, faceless girls of interest, and the band itself—you might have heard its elements before, but nonetheless, their beauty keeps drawing you back in.