Marquee

Sink your teeth in

By Chris DeVille

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People react to Vampire Weekend in one of two ways. Some decry these Columbia-bred lads as plunderers, preps in polo shirts and pastel sweaters pilfering the polyrhythms of Afro-pop. Others praise a young quartet with a knack for clean-cut, carefree pop ditties, calling their self-titled debut one of the best releases of the young year.

Both summations are accurate, but like the Strokes before them, the deafening hype about this seemingly harmless band inspires people to take sides. Where you stand likely indicates how hard you like to think about music.

Yes, Vampire Weekend are children of privilege who sing about butlers and "bleeding madras"; yes, they're cribbing stylistic tics from a culture they have nothing to do with; and yes, they've been proclaimed the latest Greatest Band Ever by online tastemakers. If those contextual factors annoy you, fair enough. This music is not as monumental as hype suggests.

Those who judge Vampire Weekend on merit alone are likely to be pleased anyway. They take the kind of music that sells iPods and dress it up with Paul Simon's diamond shoes, the Talking Heads' nervous twitch and splashes of orchestral grandeur here or there. The result is quite populist for the handiwork of East Coast elites.

Put it this way: Don't approach this new breed of yacht-rock looking for grand meaning, and you'll find a good time instead.

February 7, 2008

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