David Mead is a young artist in the classic pop style. He loves the flashes and sensations that come from heroic melodies scored to upstart pianos, brass, violins, violas, lap steels and, of course, aggressive guitars and drums. You can marvel over the imaginative turns and complexities of his textures or you can just sing along. "My family listened to a lot of different music, everything from Billy Joel to Dixie Gospel when I was a kid," Mead says. "It wasn't considered good music unless you could sing along with it."

The Luxury of Time, on RCA Records, is a singular debut. From the punched-out Memphis pop of "Robert Bradley's Postcard," which opens the album, through the winding flirtations of "Everyone Knows It But You," to the bleary-eyed resignation of the climactic "Painless," The Luxury of Time consistently distinguishes itself. The music shows up, collars you in an arresting way, then claims and re-claims places in your mind.

This is a collection of thirteen songs about the beauty and the agony of falling in love, failing, then smiling and moving on again. "World of a King," the album's first single, is an autobiographical send-up howling with gospel-tinged affirmation: "The truth shall engage him," Mead sings in his flexible tenor - an extraordinary instrument, full of light and passion - "In an unguarded moment." These aren't simple love songs; but because Mead bases them on the unswerving randomness of life itself, a mad parade of "heartbreak and coldcuts," as Mead once terms it, how could they be?

Mead recorded The Luxury of Time with producers Peter Collins (Nik Kershaw, Brian Setzer, Jewel) and Jason Lehning, a collaboration of veteran and emerging talents who helped Mead realize his ambitious designs. "I was basically left to do the album the way I wanted," Mead explains. "We could have done a more stripped down record, but I have a soft spot for large sound. In the end, we went for the effect of a really produced recording done with more homemade sounds."

The result is a fresh traditionalism with an effortlessly neo-classic vibe, a thrilling mix of control and spontaneity. "Sweet Sunshine" is a multi-layered cake of summer fantasy, boardwalk groovy and jet-ski lean. "Touch of Mascara" rolls down a melancholy sunset highway on a bed of textured acoustic guitars, thumb pianos and railroad rhythms. Culled from its original demo, "Landlocked" is a chillingly raw performance augmented by a wistful string section. And the warm, falsetto refrain of "Breathe You In" is nothing short of a soft embrace.

It's obvious that Mead didn't spend all his time sitting with his producers puzzling over computer print-outs. "I actually brought all of my living room furniture into the studio," he laughs, "and we recorded around it. All the musicians were more like guests. We would do however many takes, then just sit down right there and have coffee." That explains why heavyweights like drummers Kenny Aronoff (John Mellencamp) and Paul Deakin (The Mavericks), saxophonist Jim Horn (Elvis Presley, The Beach Boys, Steely Dan), 75 year old lap steel player Kayton Roberts (Hank Snow), and guitarist Rusty Anderson (Lisa Loeb, New Radicals) turned in such stellar performances.

After signing with RCA in June 1998, Mead traveled to France to participate in Miles Copeland's songwriting retreat, Les Vendages de Troubadors. He then traveled to England to work with Lehning and the legendary producer Gus Dudgeon. The sessions yielded a significant direction for the vision of The Luxury of Time.

"My album, in the end, has a definite sense of time passing," Mead smiles. "It's about graduating from one part of your life to another, from being the life of the party to realizing that you don't necessarily have to go to it anymore."

And, in the end, the luxury of time is what you have left.