I don’t know how to recommend this album to people. Is it a pop record? Is it a rock record? Is it dancey and fun? Is it a serious record? Who are Tokyo Police Club, exactly? I so eagerly anticipated this album’s release, I tweeted that it would be one of the most-hyped albums this year. I believed it would be their breakout– the album that launched them into pop-rock iconography. Then, I was removed from the world upon it’s release. In an internet-less haze, I’ve not heard word one about how the album has done or what people think of it. Even friends who love the band have moved on to rant and/or rave about new, exciting albums. And I’m stuck in the (month-long) past, still plugging along with one of the better records to come out this year.

Champ starts with an atypical sad song. “Favourite Food” is fashioned around a set of hospital images and child-like descriptions as the song ricochets from slow and moody to a fever pitch. The lyrics are a series of injuries and innocence, downgrading what seems more serious to the listener. That’s sort-of how Tokyo Police Club rolls– the stories are usually more magnanimous than the lyrics portray. There’s a lot going on, though maybe not at the surface level. “Favourite Color” follows with a big riff/catchy keyboard combo overlaying a lighthearted “getting to know you” atmosphere. This dynamic pair of songs (despite the banality of the line “You’re Tina but I’m not Ike” in “Favourite Color”) sets a rapid-fire tone for the album. TPC tell wonderful short stories in three-minute time-frames.

Perhaps that’s why it’s difficult to pigeonhole them. They create delicate songs, but play simple catchy riffs. There’s nothing innately complex about their music. There’s nothing too challenging about their lyrics, really. Sometimes vague, sometimes cold, sometimes inviting, sometimes just a simple list, but everything is well-placed and well-timed. Tokyo Police Club own their sound and hone their craft. It’s that simple.

The record tears along, spitting gem after gem: “Breakneck Speed” is a midtempo jam worthy of being the opener or closer of the album– a rare song that carries momentum forward without overshadowing. “End of a Spark” hardly feels like a middle-of-an-album play. It’s a big-city story with an easygoing beat that Max Weinberg would nod politely to. Then, “Hands Reversed” changes everything. While not compromising the record, the style or the lyrical playfulness, Tokyo Police Club wrote an overwhelmingly emotional song with words just vague enough to give context without giving away the story. More correctly, the lyrics lead without forcing the listener to follow. Sometimes, these are the best songs. Obviously meaningful, “Hands Reversed” is an exercise on how to be objectively emotional while not revealing a natural cause. It’s the best-written song on the album, and a terrific lead-in to the end of Champ.

They can’t all be gems, though. “Gone” is a poppy head-nodder, but ultimately falls flat as a vacation song; a hokey rocker. It’s not terrible, nor is it good. It’s just there and does not translate well on an album this good. So, when “Big Difference” starts in with it’s choppy-then-vibrant riffs, it’s a huge relief that the end of the album doesn’t sag its sails. The song’s a great uptempo play and with “Not Sick” following, “Gone” is forgiven and forgotten. “Not sensible/ I wanna marry a dancer/ A vegetarian/ Who can’t stand to be wrong.” It’s glimpses into characters like this that make the album a worthwhile listen. Closer “Frankenstein” is a fantastic model of TPC’s songwriting: simple, graspable, midtempo, well-written and one of the best songs they’ve constructed. It’s a hodgepodge of what makes TPC a good band– a Frankenstein of creative flow.

It’s not that Champ is the best album of the year (as I incorrectly predicted), it’s that Champ is a solid record with few flaws that will remain good. Tokyo Police Club could put out records like this and Elephant Shell over and over again– not really straying from the overall aesthetic while taking chances only visible after multiple run-throughs– and I’d be happy. And I’d still struggle to tell people how they sound. I’d still be strange when playing their records publicly. Initial reactions can be brutal to a poppy record like this, but I’ll happily keep plodding along and listening. It’s what I do, and Champ makes reviewing that much easier.