Takka What? Takka Who?

"The exhausted soldiers sleep --

Less for five or six days at a

Time, always hungry for decent

Chow, suffering from the tropical

Fungus infections kept fighting!"

So reads the caption of "Takka Takka," Roy Lichtenstein's 1962 warmongering comic canvas and namesake of the Park Slope/Astoria indie pop quartet. "I don't know what that means," says singer-guitarist-keyboardist Gabe Levine. "It means nothing but it's ambiguous enough to mean a lot of things. I've been writing songs about war, and it's a painting about war, with machine guns going, 'TAKKA TAKKA.' I don't know. No one gets it."

While downing drinks at Park Slope's Union Hall, the members of Takka Takka may dismissively attribute their name to a flood of Taschen art books around the house -- Levine's wife worked for the art book publisher. But Lichtenstein's mantra of intrepid battlers, starving and sleepy, yet persisting on does resonate with this upstart group about to embark on their first national tour. (Nevertheless, let's hope the part about tropical fungus infections doesn't apply.)

Whether Taschen or Simon & Schuster, without the publishing world, there'd be no Takka Takka. How's that for literary pedigree? "I was obsessed with Pavement and Matador Records," recalls Levine, who once worked at Simon & Schuster. "And I heard there was someone at work who played in a Matador band, so I sought him out." That someone was JP Jones, drummer of the now defunct "hip-hop-no-wave" troupe, the Lynnfield Pioneers. Levine did eventually find Jones, chatted him up, shared some recordings, and then started the band in 1999. Seven or so members plus seven years later, Jones and Levine finally found the sonic kindreds, in Conrad Doucette (drums) and Damion Jurrens (guitar), with whom they could produce their first full-length, We Feel Safer at Night, which hit stands August 17.

And starting September 26, in Boston, the modest foursome join what might be the most adorable line up in indie rock history, hitting the road with Architecture in Helsinki and their BBFF (best band friends forever), Clap Your Hands Say Yeah. In fact, Clap's Lee Sargent used to be in Takka Takka, but may or may not have been fired along the way. Nevertheless, Lee's brother Tyler Sargent still helped record tracks on We Feel Safer at Night.

Takka Takka may resist comparisons to their Brooklyn brethren despite the evident rapport. But there is, indeed, something Clappy about their dulcet ditties. Certainly, singer Levine lacks the David Byrnesque nasality of Alex Ounsworth's yelp. (Instead Levine exudes a precious Jason Lytle-meets-Lou Reed-minus-heroin-hangovers croon.) But like their fellow Detailers of War, Takka Takka spin sweetly simple symphonies of delicate guitars, whirling synths from "two keyboards from 1984," some whistles, and, of course, hand claps. Perhaps, in this post-"Pink Moon," post-industrial world, there couldn't currently be a better soundtrack to evening excursions in VWs than the fun, funeral dirges of Takka Takka (and, for that matter, CYHSY).

So could it be? Does a new New York sound stand before us? One less concerned with NYC cops, pornographic subways, and dancing to the underground, and more interested in dancing in the moonlight, midnight musings, sunshine, clouds and pop art. Perhaps, we can call it the Outer-Borough sound: dreamy, dark, yet pacific, with a touch of some urban refinement peeking just across the proverbial river.

Then again, report this theory to Takka Takka, and they'd disagree. "We've known The Clap for a long time, before anyone cared," says bassist Jones, "so for people to connect us to them is a weird scenario. Musically, we don't really have much to do with them, other than being friends. But if we can have a quarter of the success they've had, we'd be happy."

"I loved the late '60s, early '70s New York sound," adds Levine. "When you listen to New York bands now, that's not what New York sounds like. I don't know what New York sounds like now."

"I don't feel like we're part of a scene of music that's happening now," says Jurrens. "I feel we're continuing a conversation of New York bands from a bygone era."

The guys could (and do) continue for hours about such sonorous concerns. "We're four music nerds. We can go on and on," remarks alpha-nerd Jones, who owns 4,000+ records. (How does one organize so many records? "Alphabetized by recording engineer," chimes resident joker Doucette.)

"We get together a lot and listen to records," says Jurrens. No doubt, while so many bands tear apart over power plays and ego trips, it's quite easy to imagine these guys hanging for hours over laughs, libations, and John Lennon. Then again, it's hard to pass judgment, no matter how positive, this early in a band's career. Dysfunctional relations may lay in their future after all. (Knock, knock.) But for now, amidst such joviality, it seems that the presence of this reporter documenting every theory, tease, and tall tale becomes irrelevant, an afterthought, to just four friends having a drink together.

"I couldn't imagine being in a better band," exclaims Jones. "The best thing is that we were best friends before the band" (also known as BFBB). So how will these BFBB's bide their time on the road? "A lot of stewing and sulking," jokes Jurrens, the tour's designated driver. The other three collectively laugh, and then swig some more beer. "Being in a band is like being in a relationship," shrugs the newlywed Levine, "it's hard." Everyone nods in agreement. Then the laughter continues.