I last saw Campfire OK perform a summer ago, at the Crocodile, for co-front woman Melodie Knight’s final show with the band. Her departure wasn’t made public before or during the set, but the night still felt like a somber sort of celebration. Pin it on Knight’s beatific farewell energy, or the everyday melancholy of Campfire OK’s best offerings, or the white balloons that fell from the ceiling during the swan song, but something was clearly ending. And when they left the stage they left as a band in transition. 

Formed in 2010 by songwriter Mychal Cohen, Campfire OK diverged from the Seattle hero story of a band kicking around for the better part of a decade, growing their musical prowess and carving out a space for themselves. Instead, they made straight for the scene, propelled by a distinct, accessible sound and cohesive aesthetic, and found themselves amalgamated with Seattle staples such as Pickwick and Allen Stone. While the latter two acts followed their respective successes outside the Northwest, Campfire OK remained, filling up shows around the city, building a fan base with their debut album “Strange Like We Are,” rotating members, tweaking the formula, all the while becoming a Seattle staple in their own right.

Here, I sought them out, again at the Crocodile, for a Friday the 13th show celebrating the release of their sophomore album, “When You Have Arrived,” an apt title for both the record and the night. After two lovely and skilled performances by Rafe Pearlman and former Harvey Danger lead Sean Nelson (Campfire OK bassist Aaron Huffman is also a former member), the headliner took the stage, not with a lights-up unveiling, as would be tempting for such a marquee show, but rather an earnest, almost shy walk-on; a few words and then some music.

Having not seen Campfire OK between this show and last summer’s, I was expecting to find a band reborn, what with the goodbye set feeling like the turning of a page. But in fact, and to some surprise, they were much the same, only the formula was working in a new, more defined way.

Cohen, a born front man, performed the opening songs with his usual nimble charisma: sleeves rolled up, guitar on his chest as if the weight of it was part of his posture, singing with a straw-filled twang that, while probably learned rather than innate, sounded no less authentic.

A band of multi-instrumentalists performing as such can often veer toward eclectic-for-its-own-sake. But the rotating banjo and trumpet remained accents rather than distractions. The brass would rise seamlessly from stage right, or blast triumphant as the song turned a corner, but it never showed off. The banjo and thumping percussion of the crowd favorite, “Wishing You The Best,” created, if at all possible, a sort of mellow anthem: a small hour, beer drunk chorus that churns up all kinds of lost longing and resentment while also rocking you to sleep.

Then there was Zarni De Wet, in place of Knight. While Knight’s stage presence was often so dynamic she could almost be performing separate from the band, De Wet was a pianist first and performer second. Yet her presence was still felt. She bashed keys with deft passion. She matched Cohen’s pluckiness with her own full-throated vocals, a warmer sound to echo the trumpet, the perfect combination for Campfire OK’s many long, aching melodies.

And so they arrived, again. Two albums in, the group resembles much, if not all, of what was created when they first came together to make music. Here, so early in a band’s lifespan, yet already so well defined, progress does not necessarily mean redefinition. It could also mean perfecting what works. Campfire OK’s reason for being was established on the outset by professional musicians. If the record release show lacked the rawness of shows past, it made up for it with precision; an execution of vision.