Review Summary: Paul Simon called. He wants his everything back.
13 of 24 thought this review was well writtenI sincerely miss the days when whiny voiced Jews made great music. Ezra Koenig is simply unworthy of occupying the same niche as Geddy Lee, Paul Stanley, Marc Bolan, or even fellow vagina rocker Adam Levine. Song after song, he tries so hard to be Paul Simon but comes up painfully short, which is sad considering the man is only 5' 3". They say imitation is the best form of flattery, but if I was Paul Simon, I'd be quite offended by this jackass stealing my act and repackaging it for a newer generation of tasteless yuppies and limousine liberals.
Even removing the blatant plagiarism from the picture, this album is an abomination- the apex of the insipid, sterile pap infecting this nation's youth like a mutant strain of ebola. Words cannot express how
gay sounding this album is. Not a Sir Ian MacKellan kind of a gay. Not an Elton John, or even Liberace kind of gay, but a Chris Crocker being fisted by a Thai transvestite in a Key West bathroom while Celine Dion plays in the background kind of gay. After listening to this album, my penis literally inverted into my body; I had to suck it back out with a vacuum cleaner. Which begs the question, what would happen if a woman listened to this? Would she be immune to it, or would her vagina deepen into some type of bottomless chasm through which not even light could escape? I guess I'll never know because there are no women on the internet.
There are only two moderately redeeming things about this album: 1) It shares its name with one of the greatest video game franchises of all time and 2) Their fruity keyboard player has the word "Batman" in his last name. Other than that, there's nothing good to be found here, folks. Absolutely nothing. I almost feel like the cover art is supposed to be your face while listening to the album, staring into the eclipse that is the modern music industry. Apparently the woman on the cover is suing Vampire Weekend for using her image without permission. She just doesn't want to be associated with such a shltty band, that's all. You'd never see the Nirvana baby, Surfer Rosa model, or family on "Presence" threatening any kind of legal action, even though their images were used without their permission.
But enough beating around the bush. I know what you want. You want my hilarious and witty descriptions of each track, so here they are:
Horchata: You know an album is going to suck when it begins with the lyrics
"In December drinking horchata, I'd look psychotic in a balaclava," crooned in some type of affected, pseudo-Jamaican accent. This lyric is later modified to
"In December drinking horchata. Look down your glasses at that Aranciata" and
"You'd remember drinkin horchata. You'd still enjoy it with your foot on masada." What the hell? Have they been collaborating with Colin Meloy or something? There's so much annoying junk in this song other than the vocals- African percussion, xylophones, string arrangements, flutes… What a mess.
White Sky starts out sounding like it the theme for Blues Clues or something equally infantile. The chorus of this song is unbelievably annoying; I'd liken it to the sound of a cartoon mouse being stabbed in the scrotum with sewing needles, or a yodeler standing on the summit of Mount Queer. Many people believe this song is about the Museum Of Modern Art, which is fitting, because Vampire Weekend strikes me as the musical equivalent of modern art, not the relatively interesting kind with American flags and miniature urinals- more like the "blank canvas, this is supposed to be a painting?" kind.
Holiday is a dreadful, pseudo-ska affair, and unfortunately the song that made me aware of this band to begin with. I saw Vampire Weekend perform this monstrosity on the Colbert Report, and promptly withdrew myself from the Colbert Nation because quite frankly, Stephen was providing more fodder for the terrorists. There's a live clip of VW playing Holiday on YouTube, where the top rated comment is this:
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wow. the singer has some chops on the guitar. stuff he's doing is pretty technical figuring he's singing as well. if he wrote that song on acoustic first with those licks, i'm really impressed. you can tell they put a lot of work into the album, or payed the right people"
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Ignoring the irony of the last sentence, the first part is insulting to everyone's intelligence when a guy named Muhammed Suiçmez exists. Even I have more technical ability on the guitar than this guy. Maybe I should form a band called "Better Than Ezra."
California English manages to be even more grating than Holiday, a hard feat to accomplish considering that Holiday not only shredded up all the cheese in my fridge, but put it into little plastic baggies as well. I expected this song to be a cutesy exploration of Californian slang, but then I realized how naive I was for thinking that a Vampire Weekend song would have some kind of meaning to it. In a nutshell, this song is a horrible union between Ezra's autotuned vocal spasms and that vaguely African beat their drummer plays all the time. The lyrics contain bizarre and irrelevant references to French Connection, Tom's of Maine toothpaste, Philly cheese steak, and Hapa Clubs (Google them). I can almost envision Vampire Weekend writing their lyrics- "give me a place… a noun… a verb… a type of food…"
Taxi Cab and
Run: The only thing I have to say here is that these are both great methods for getting away from a Vampire Weekend fan, if you opt for "flight" instead of "fight."
Cousins: GOD-AWFUL. The angular guitar intro lulls you into a false sense of security. You think you're diving head first into some Belew-era King Crimson, but nope. Just another half-punk, hall-reggae cesspool of aural pollution. The video is similar to that nightmare many people have where they're running down a hallway but can never quite reach the end.
Giving Up The Gun: Another dull song that sounds tailor made for a car commercial. Apparently, this was originally composed for Ezra Koenig's comedy rap duo, L'Homme Run. You think you're so clever, huh, Ezra? Well, two can play at this game. I think you're a L'Homme-osexual. Why else would you put Joe Jonas, Jake Gyllenhaal, and Daft Punk in the video?
Diplomat's Son: an insufferably dull, synth-driven song about VW's gay Middle Eastern keyboard player (is there any other kind? I'm looking at you, Derek Sherinian) lusting after a man named (Paul) Simon.
I Think Ur A Contra: An aimless wash of New Ages synths and fruity vocals. By the way, why is the name of an ancient Sumerian city-state in the title? Are VW trying to be all deep again?
In light of the abomination that is this album, I have devised a plan by which Vampire Weekend can attain some level of artistic credibility. The bass player will drop dead. Ezra Koenig will make good use of his piercing tenor voice and start singing like Rob Halford; he will ditch his Epiphone Sheraton, and buy a B.C. Rich Warlock with a Floyd Rose. Batman will trade in his 1983 Casio VL-1 for a Korg Triton, and abandon his toy xylophone which only plays a major scale for an elephant ivory marimba which only plays tritones. The drummer will construct a massive drum kit with djembes for toms, and the band will play a novel fusion of hard rock and African music that the media will tentatively dub "black metal." The band will actively begin to vampirize people, and not just figuratively through their music. Finally, they will sacrifice and eat Paul Simon on stage in a Juju ritual so they can absorb his power. Man, I rule.
