New York pop-punk band State Champs’ self-titled album is one fans of the genre have heard before — a band musing about awkward interactions at parties, overthinking their romantic relationships and scorning the mundane. Across 12 tracks, the album is charming, but unchallenging.
Typically, when an artist chooses to name an album after themselves, they’re communicating something — that this is their most definitive work, the release they most identify with. In the case of State Champs, the album released 14 years into their career stays true to the angsty identity they established in their early music, while expressing a reluctance to branch into something more.
In a collective statement, the band described the record as embodying all of State Champs’ discography, and it’s true. The new album’s tracks could belong to their debut EP in 2010 or their last album, 2022’s “Kings of the New Age.” There’s something to be said for consistency, but overwhelmingly, their matured pop-punk coupled with risk aversion leans more into the safety of pop territory than punk.
A good example of this is the first song, “The Constant,” all peppy drums, sultry guitars and punctuating tambourines; it launches into an energy that is carried throughout the record. The instrumentals are edgy, but the lyrics are surface level. “Do you think I deserve this/Keeping me in the dark/While you got what you wanted,” frontman Derek DiScanio sings.
He declares a similar thesis five songs in at “Too Late to Say,” over drum-heavy production: “When there’s a good thing coming/I turn around instead/I’m getting good at ignoring it.”
Influences from iconic bands in the genre like All Time Low and Blink-182 are heard throughout. Lyrics are generic and universal, avoiding any real controversy. Even profanities are meticulously placed to be affectual and nonthreatening — even more reserved than what you’d find on an Olivia Rodrigo record.
Across the album, State Champs wrestle with self-doubt. It takes on a few forms. On “Just a Dream” and the closer “Golden Years,” the band is stuck on the past, unsure of the future. “’Cause now it takes everything in me/Putting the past up on a shelf/And falling in love with something else,” DiScanio sings on the latter track.
But there are standouts, like the palm-muted power chords of “Clueless,” driving bass of “Light Blue” and the explosive, lovesick brooding and gang vocals of “Save Face Story.” They’re not reinventing the wheel here, but in those moments, their customariness works.
Overall, State Champ’s eponymous album colors comfortably within pop-punk’s lines, choosing familiarity over experimentation. It makes for a predictable but enjoyable album, evoking the image of a suburban house party or while practicing tricks at the skatepark.
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