Describing his band's self-titled sophomore release, Jeremy Warmsley—who with wife Elizabeth Sankey make up the aggressively pleasant London indie pop outfit Summer Camp—said the pair were "glad to have songs that more closely represent us, our friends, and being alive in this decade." These are things most young bands strive for, but in the case of Summer Camp, that last part is especially important. Latching onto the filter-friendly lo-fi trends that defined much of 2010 for their breakthrough EP Young, Warmsley and Sankey polished up their sound the following year with their varied but ultimately flat debut Welcome to Condale, a quasi-concept album that concerned itself with young love in a fictional California town. Though not without its charms, Condale suggested the two were already pushing the limits of their twee sensibilities. It seemed smart then that between LPs they went full-on Dance Camp with the Always EP, a disco-dazed detour that suggested something of a revitalization. And while Summer Camp is no doubt an extenuation of Always, it's also proof that risk and reinvention are still of little interest to the couple.
Despite Warmsley's initial characterization of his new record, Summer Camp haven't necessarily abandoned their former selves. For a band that's recorded songs with titles like "1988" and "Veronica Sawyer", it's obvious old habits are bound to die hard. Though they certainly aren't quite as hung up on retro pop culture as they used to be, their reliance on generic pop looks tends to win out over all else. And yet, at the outset of Summer Camp, the band's inborn nostalgia-mining is still on display, looking well-intentioned and potentially fruitful as usual, if not a little shaky. Ignoring the drawn-out, sci-fi b-movie soundtrack opener "The End", the following pair of songs—the Blondie-ish first single "Fresh" and the beat-smart shimmer pop number "Crazy"—suggest that there's something redeeming to be found in their Lisa Frank-patterned cheerfulness. "Fresh" boasts some wonderfully noodly bass licks, while "Crazy" (the best thing here by a mile) shares a welcome common irreverence with something like Phantogram's "Don't Move". Still, the songs' shortcomings (Sankey's unappealingly Broadway-esque vocals on "Fresh", for example) reveal more about Summer Camp than their strengths. Despite a basic low-stakes appeal, the general lack of personality and, more crucially, distinctive hooks is what ultimately makes the album a long, forgettable experience.
It would be generous to say that the rest of the material feels like it was meant to accompany one long Payless ad (see the diabetic "Keep Falling", or "Pink Summer", or pretty much anything else already discussed), but that would be to ignore some of the truly noteworthy clunkers. There's "Two Chords", a shameless ripoff of "All My Friends" that goes on for six minutes but feels at least twice as long ("Waiting, waiting, waiting for the next thing," Sankey sings tellingly). And "Fighters", an achingly corny ballad about a couple who once took on the world together, but now have turned against one another. And least appealing of all, "Everything Has Changed"—and what the hell, "Phone Call", too—both of which even Shazam would have a hard time distinguishing from third-rate Natasha Bedingfield songs. Perhaps the most damaging thing about these tracks is that they cloud the merely shrug-worthy moments, dashing what could have been, even at best, an inoffensive piece of work.
While it's admirable that, despite a prevailing fondness for suburban teen pop that predates the cordless phone, Summer Camp are trying their best to kick their reliance on nostalgia, they've rendered themselves rudderless in the process. Such a slavish focus on the past can be a problematic handicap, but at least there are familiar pleasures that can be derived from recognizable touchstones. With Summer Camp, Warmsley and Sankey feel stuck somewhere between then and now, a safe place where they can lean on a trusted crutch when necessary and, less advisably, try on a few new looks without upsetting the natural balance of things. But in playing it this safe, Summer Camp is just another entry in an increasingly trivial catalog.
