David Mead sings like a girl, which is kind of cool in that Smiths/Cure sort of way. The songs on his thrid album aren't much different from those on his previous two: simple, gentle, pretty. The most remarkable thing about
Indiana is Mead's sweet, angelic, Ron Sexsmith-like voice. He writes solid pop melodies and above-par lyrics, but none of the 11 songs that compose Mead's most recent effort screams “unforgettable” or “hit.” Even so,
Indiana is pleasant like a breezy afternoon drive through the middle of nowhere without a destination in mind.