Summer Camp's first full-length, Welcome To Condale, remains one of the finest indie-pop debuts to be released. A cracking record stuffed with teenage angst, endless charm, 90s cult TV references, golden syrup hooks and candy-coated melodies, Elizabeth Sankey and Jeremy Warmsley proved themselves an essential duo in British music.

We swooned to 'Ghost Train', found malevolent glee in 'I Want You', and gyrated to the barbed fuzz of 'Brian Krakow'. Finding inspiration in 60s girl groups, 90s alt. rock and pastel-shaded 80s new wave, Summer Camp combined a love of music with the inner workings of sitcom drama and romantic mishaps. It's both saccharine and biting; coy and ruthless.

Two years on, we received a neat little lead single in the form of 'Fresh'. Lofty production budgets abound, the cut leapt into our ears a mishmash of Looney Tunes theatrics and jittery 'Get Lucky' funk axes. Somehow a brew of wilted 40s string samples, 70s guitars/bass and a chorus lamenting lost love (and nodding to Pulp: "Do you remember the first time?") all slotted together like puzzle pieces. Who'd've thunk?

The single set a mighty precedent for Summer Camp's forthcoming second album, which is self-titled. Sankey, asking on her blog for title ideas, set out her record moniker parameters: "It's very hard to have a statement that you can say without hearing it twisted into a negative review... I know I shouldn't be thinking about this, or what journalists should say. But guys, I used to write those reviews. I can't see an album title without trying to twist it into something evil." And true to their intentions, it's bloody hard to manipulate Summer Camp into anything else naturally - not that it warrants that anyway. In fact, it's quite a fantastic record.

'The End' opens the record. A glistening synthpop opening backs Sankey's indie-dance vocals - there's lurching Guetta-esque bass wobs, daybreak arpeggios and off-kilter beats looming underneath duelling male/female vox. Sankey's tone is almost cautious - though addictive - as she croons, and Warmsley's earthier harmonies lurk laden with danger; the two weave and bob, occasionally hacking the other up, occasionally blending with poise. Though the effort beings in a shadowy place, it ends a tropical masterpiece - the theme hasn't really changed, but it seems anxiety has morphed into apathy. 'Crazy' is classic Summer Camp. Thumping bass, light synthesiser noises and distant guitars mingle like old friends at a party; it doesn't colour outside the lines often, but it does remind us why we fell in love with them in the first place.

Other tracks, like 'Two Chords', are bigger advancements. It's welcomed by a robotic motorik and 50s rock'n'roll keys; it's closer to a doo-wop ode than a modern indie belter. It's gloriously sunny, and every now and again, shining through the Grease-y guitars, is a flash of calypso pans. 'Phone Call' has early 90s gangsta rap percussion, Stevie Wonder bass guitars and fizzing piano. Sankey's semi-rap is delightful - eschewing standard rap fare or contemporary R&B lewdness, her spiel is uplifting: "I'd give anything to spend a day with you."

'Night Drive' is midwest rock circa 1999 melding with spacey neo-folk; the guitars are almost Counting Crows-y, or that like one song from Matilda where she's making pancakes. The vocal interactions are sublime, and again harmonic gems steal the show - the pair have worked on the melodies considerably, and Warmsley has a vastly expanded role, which is a wonderful palette change.

Summer Camp's finalé comes in the form of 'Pink Summer'. Borrowing rhythms from 'Eye Of The Tiger', the closing number is doused in woozy gospel backing voices and a swirling torrent of half-asleep electronics. The bass, as always, is deliciously loud - so few bands utilise the full potential of a meaty, throbbing bass guitar. Add crunchy drum machines, a few rose-tinted earworms and Summer Camp's trademark gallows humour ("Maybe this will kill us... but what a way to die!"), and they've got themselves a winner.

The timing of release isn't spot-on - Summer Camp is riddled with sunshine anthems targeting balmy afternoons and mojito-suppin' excursions - but that won't devalue the music in any way, it's just frustrating to have to wait a year for optimal listening weather.

As we knew it would be, this is an incredible second run at crafting an LP - they've doled out enough of the same that it doesn't sound like a completely different artist, but there's plenty of experimentation (who foresaw Sankey rapping?) that you'll be surprised at regular intervals. There's single galore packed into these 43 minutes, with singalong phrases you'll adore for years and hooks that'll require brain amputation to forget.

The couple continue their streak of phenomenal sounds, and as for that title? Forget Summer Camp, it's more like Summer CHAMP (snort, guffaw, chortle, etc.).