Campground Effect

Nirvana’s enduring influence on the contemporary rock scene is kind of like oxygen or television in that it has become so pervasive no one even notices it anymore. Then a band like Campground Effect comes along with a routine so completely and fully informed by the Seattle deity that you would swear the group had fashioned spades of their guitars and made off with Cobain’s remains under cover of darkness. The throaty rasp overtop basic and familiar chord patterns, the quiet verses punctuated by loud, manic choruses, the songbook of distinct vocal inflections — they’re all on display here as if under glass in some sort of Nirvana museum. If there’s one thing to be said in this band’s favour, it may be that whereas lousy bands like Silverchair and truly terrible bands like Nickelback and Creed have forged lucrative careers by isolating and running with the more radio-ready elements of Nirvana, Campground Effect collects the other scraps, the ones more inspired by the Pixies than, say, Boston. Regardless, the band has lost sight of the first rule of being appreciated by others: Just be yourself.