First, let’s just get the Pitchforkian list of adjectives out of the way. Beach House is: languid, whimsical, lacy, dreamy, nostalgic, breathy, and evocative. (Say that three times fast through a mouthful of nachos, Houston!) Does that sound like something you’d be into? Apparently so, as their show this Friday at Walter’s on Washington is sold out.

I have to trick myself into liking most new music, sort of like getting a cat to take a pill. Beach House’s music is the dreamy jelly that hides the musical medicine, and it really does make everything all better. Imagine your mother’s high school 45 collection left out in the rain and elements until the liner notes are melted together, the artists on the cover have become ghostly, faded images, and playing them on your portable record player will produce a faraway, far-out sound sure to make you nostalgic for a past that never really existed. The music makes me feel like a high schooler again -- that same yearning-for-the-intangible, falling-asleep-with-the-radio-pressed-to-your-ear feeling that lasts for four years, then returns only when music like this is playing.

Buy Beach House’s new album here, and sold-out shows be damned. Come stand outside Walter's on Friday night and lean against the wall with a Depression-era milkglass to your ear. Or, make your bid for a ticket on Craigslist. There’s one left as I write this. I’ll be there, with a flask full of Chambord milkshake in my back pocket, ready to get lost in my own languid, whimsical, lacy, dreamy, nostalgic, breathy, and evocative world.