Welcome back to the CD Odyssey, and the second album in a row that is self-titled, or as folks say when they’re feeling high- falutin, “eponymous”.
Disc 1722 is…Self-Titled
Artist: Camp Cope
Year of Release: 2016
What’s up with the Cover? A toddler who appears to be wrapped in some medical bandages. Whatever the accident was, her smile suggests the suffering at present is thankfully contained.
While I'm glad the kid appears to be on the mend, I found I was mostly fixated on the food she is offhandedly holding in her right hand. The gaping mouth suggests she will joyfully chew that food with her mouth open. That’s if we’re lucky. With a child this age getting food into the mouth where it belongs is far from certain. More often than not, it will instead fall out of her hand, get covered in cat hair, retrieved and then eaten. Or it may just be offhandedly stamped into the shag carpet by her foot as she heads off in search of other mischief. All three possibilities are gross.
As you may have surmised, I do not have children.
How I Came To Know It: I heard about Camp Cope through their 2018 release, “How to Socialise and Make Friends” and this was me digging into their back catalogue.
How It Stacks Up: I have three Camp Cope albums. Their self-titled debut lands at #3, but is still great.
Rating: 3 stars
If you like your debut albums raw and bleeding, then Camp Cope’s first effort will be very welcome. Right out of the gate the Australian trio hold nothing back, delivering tight alternative rock songs that blend anger, anxiety, and stark, vulnerable lyrics.
The band is every bit a cohesive whole, and while it would be easy to focus on Georgia Maq’s powerful vocals, the sum of all the instruments together is what creates the magic. Maq eventually went on to do a solo record but it doesn’t hold the magic that Camp Cope possessed from the beginning.
Nevertheless, we’ll start with the frontwoman (lead singers like this). Georgia Maq’s voice is big, brassy and sprawls its way across these songs, always on the edge of breakdown, and riding that edge like a massive wave. She belts and she bawls, and she feels the feels in every line.
Often the topics are hard ones. The disconnection in the chorus of “Flesh & Electricity”:
“I've been
desensitized to the human body
That I could look at you naked and all I'd see would be anatomy
You're just bones and insecurity
Flesh and electricity to me”
And the social commentary on “Jet Fuel Can’t Melt Steel Beams”:
“Hearing catcalls
from a construction yard
They'll say "Take it as a compliment, they're only being nice"
There's a far too common lie
And you carry keys between your knuckles when you walk alone at night”
These are hard topics and Georgia Maq sings them in a way to maximize just how hard they are, confronting you with hard topics. She explores internal uncertainty and external anger with equal unfiltered emotion. Also, I should note that the jet fuel reference in the song is a reference to a conspiracy theory she’s challenging, not something she thinks.
Maq is also the band’s guitar player, and she matches the unbridled energy of her vocals with her instrument, banging out chords with the wild abandon of a busker trying to play over the sounds of traffic. This doesn’t compete with her voice, it amplifies it, a la early Billy Bragg. It creates an orchestra much bigger than you’d expect from almost any three-piece you can think of not called Rush.
The mix is very even, and this is a good thing because it lets you also appreciate the brilliant bass-playing of Kelly-Dawn Hellmrich. Her style feels reminiscent of the Cure’s Simon Gallup, adding an eighties throwback quality to the otherwise grungy feel of Camp Cope.
The songs can be painful, with anxiety a common thread through many of them, but there is catharsis in listening. Like you could shout out the bad if only you could yell long enough. Does it feel excessively grumpy sometimes? Yes, but it is an earned grumpiness, making you perfectly happy to join in for an uncommonly boisterous sulk.
Best tracks: Flesh & Electricity, Jet Fuel Can’t Melt Steel Beams, Stove Lighter, Song For Charlie
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