IT'S NO TRICK

Vampire Weekend, heard of ‘em? They’re everywhere. And for every positive write-up the New York City band has received, there has been a call-to-arms to ignore them (Tom Breihan even wrote a column about the current love-hate state of affairs). I can understand the apprehension – the quartet looks like they’d enjoy a weekend of yachting at Martha’s Vineyard more than, say, a sold-out show at Philadelphia’s sweat-friendly First Unitarian Church (where they will be a week from today, actually). Many VW detractors cite the group’s seemingly obnoxious resume as the problem. The band members met at Columbia (ugh, educated musicians!), wear boat shoes (the horror!) and name-drop Louis Vuitton (I only like when Pharrell does that!). To top it off, Vampire Weekend’s music is influenced by black people. Afropop, to be specific. Who do these guys think they are?

As far as I can tell, they’re four members of a quaint indie rock band who just released one of the best records of the young year thus far. The self-titled Vampire Weekend album is quick, concise and defies ennui. The “Afropop meets Benetton” formula is simple: clean guitars (like starched-collars clean) are matched with crisp drums and keyboards that act as brisk pacesetters. Vocalist Ezra Koenig is rather straight forward in his delivery but is unafraid to use quick, high-pitched vocal inflictions to his advantage. I’ve only had the whole record since Tuesday morning, but it has nearly been on repeat since its unwrapping. And it’s not because of the hype. It’s because of the songs.

As of right now, my favorite song on Vampire Weekend is “Campus.” Blame it on my surroundings, but it’s difficult not to feel a collegiate connection to Koenig’s depiction of higher learning (and the women who come with the territory). Sure, there’s tongue-in-cheek humor like some of VW’s songs (“Spilled kefir on your keffiyah”) but there’s also a sincere sense of yearning when Koenig sings the chorus: “Then I see you / you’re walking cross the campus / Cruel professor, studying romances / How am I supposed to pretend / I never want to see you again?” The song’s protagonist never speaks to his love interest directly, but only from a distance. So as the song ends with the lines, “In the afternoon / you’re out on the stone and grass / and I’m sleeping on the balcony after class,” there’s a happily-ever-after void never filled but that’s OK. The song, like the album and the band that wrote it, is charming in its uncomplicated veracity. I do my best not to get sucked in to the blogcentric hype involving young buzz bands, but for now, Vampire Weekend is an anomaly. They’re actually pretty good.