Here’s a review I wrote for one publication, who bumped it in favour of a more positive one on account of having a feature on the band in the same issue.
For the fourth time in their brief existence, San Diegans Crocodiles are releasing an album in the northern hemisphere warmest months. This is telling, because Crimes of Passion is, once again, one of those effortlessly breezy indie pop records that would probably grate on a wet wintery morning, yet seems to have been crafted by highly talented marketers looking to sell you barbeques and swimwear. As ever, the record sounds like summer, and is admittedly the perfect accompaniment to a glass of white wine in a sun-drenched garden; its breezy happiness belying emotive song titles such as “She Splits Me Up” and “Teardrop Guitar”, or lyrics such as “I wish that you would die” on “Gimme Some Annihilation”.
Herein lies the problem though. Airy albums lit up by uncluttered synths and reverb-drenched guitars are a dime a dozen these days; chillwave, dream pop and lo-fi synth rock are like a tidal froth on the alternative music scenery. Whenever Crocodiles look to do something a bit different, such as on throw in some Achtung Baby-lite guitar sounds on the aforementioned “Teardrop Guitar” or increase the BPM on “Virgin” they immediately follow their instinct to soak it in so much reverb, sunshine and lollipops that it becomes indistinguishable from the latest track by… whoever.
Crimes of Passion essentially like Kate Hudson: pretty, likeable, blonde and fun, but also totally characterless and instantly forgettable. Crocodiles make it easy for the pun-happy critic by lacking teeth.