We like off-key vocals only sometimes, m’kay?
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[5.62]
Anthony Easton: It’s ironic that a heterosexual couple manages the ennui-free, fun time PSB that the PSB seem incapable of, and I always like songs that erase the line between erotic devotion and emotional codependency – though this one is less erase and more torch.
[9]
Will Adams: There’s a clumsiness to the orchestration that is surprisingly endearing. The disaffected, off-key vocals: not so much.
[5]
Patrick St. Michel: Summer Camp’s music prior to “Always” carried the Instagram-like imprint of borrowed nostalgia, sun-speckled indie-pop complete with found photos serving as album art. They also managed to sound really good doing it, the wistful bounce of “Ghost Train” and pretty much all of “Better Off Without You” making the questionable branding go down easier. They’ve traded in the warm choruses for synth pulled from an 80’s slasher film and metaphors (I hope) about being chained to someone else. This thematic shift puts them in a weird position though – they still try to be poppy, which takes away from the unease they seem to be shooting for…while still trying for the B-movie horror vibe just enough to make the chorus sound like cult chanting, which also happens to sound boring here. This negation turns “Always” into nothing but a boring throwback, Summer Camp making all the mistakes they used to be so good at avoiding.
[4]
Pete Baran: You can’t really call the twin vocal lines here from Summer Camp as harmonies, as his voice is flat and hers is weedy and strident, and yet there is a confident eighties sound underpinning the whole thing, with the whistling bombdrop breakdowns being particular effective. All of which makes it a bit of a pity there is not much more of an actual song.
[6]
Alfred Soto: Jealousy as aphrodisiac — I can’t resist such a trope, and not when sheathed with such fetching music: whistles, feedback, off-pitch vocals. Domestic bliss should sound this loud, obnoxious, and tuneful.
[6]
Brad Shoup: Oh, the dude sings, too? That’s… cool. Backgrounded though they may be, the guitars begin with the slash and bite of glam, then the thoroughly bleached tenor of dream pop. But they neither write nor sing like they subscribe to the co-dependency of the text.
[6]
Jonathan Bogart: Sticky, buzzy, cloying, and just naggingly memorable enough that you’ll need some industrial-grade spray to keep it from eating you alive – just like summer camp, indeed.
[4]
Katherine St Asaph: Hello Giggles: 20 Ways To Save Your Vocals AND Your Relationship, With Only Flangers!
[5]