Before you see the score and promptly deliver me the oh-so-you’re-too-good-for-Vampire-Weekend-because-they’re-smart-and-preppy? rundown, or a variation of it, know this: I was (and am) an unabashed fan of Vampire Weekend’s debut. The lovability of “A-Punk”? Supreme catchiness of “Campus” and “M79”? Oh Vampire Weekend, you couldn’t have executed that record in much more of a fun manner; hats off to you! The advent of a new decade, though, yields the same band, with a very different product quality-wise, not necessarily sonically. The album’s title is not short for contradiction or contrast, as the light, literate, indie-poppers strive for the same trajectory that catapulted
Vampire Weekend into the hearts and ears of horn-rimmed-glasses-wearing Pitchfork disciples across the Williamsburg, NY area. All remarks about the questionable practices of pseudo-intelligent hipsters aside though, Vampire Weekend employs the same equation as their debut, except this time manipulating it to equal vapid, car-commercial sh
it instead of copious amounts of mindless merriment.
A reoccurring theme is common among
Contra’s opponents-- a certain inability to know exactly why there’s this deep-seeded feeling of irritation from the album, or where that irritation even stems from. Some cite Ezra’s voice. An understandable sentiment, as his raspy screeching seems to reach new levels on
Contra; and this push into the limelight is
not what his substandard vocals needed. On the other hand though, his vocal chords certainly fit the spazz-tastic music very well: it complements the itchiness, evidenced by the intro to “California English,” for instance. Far from mellifluous as it may be, it’s oddly fitting. Perhaps it’s the vapidity of the band’s music that’s so bothersome? I don’t think so. Let’s be honest... who among us is really
that irate over the band’s demeanor, Ezra’s insistence on singing about organic toothpaste and “sweet carob rice cakes?” Stop trying to make a clusterf
uck over VW’s subject matter, music-listening world, because it’s as inoffensive as can be; and most of all, sounds genuine. So once again, where does Vampire Weekend go wrong, if not in their Richie Rich socioeconomic subject matter or in Ezra’s grating spazziness? The melodies. It’s all in the melodies.
Simply put, Vampire Weekend’s tunes hinge heavily on melodies; and there’s not a song on
Contra as catchy and melodious as the fodder that made
Vampire Weekend so intriguing in the first place.
Contra is chock full of songs like “Cousins” and “Run,” pieces that only accentuate VW’s now-glaring weaknesses. I
love the opening scene of “Step Brothers,” where Dale is topping off his nachos with mounds of cheese as “A-Punk” whistles on gleefully in the background. I know it’s vapid indie-pop catered to nod your head, but this isn’t a bad thing. It’s well-executed, it’s catchy. Now, I’m forced to stay alert during commercials. I watch in fear that the next commercial will be a “Holiday”-infused Tommy Hilfiger or Honda ad (or even worse yet, that another corporation has decided to spoil their adverts with VW’s annoying tedium). It’s not that the arrangements on
Contra are merely poorly executed, per se, it’s simply that they’re far too hectic and nauseating-- the irritating refrain in “Diplomat’s Son,” for example. The melodies are uninteresting, and when they fall flat, the whole
Contra tower comes crumbling down.
It’s perfectly fitting then that Contra’s saving grace should come in the form of few, specific songs rather than overarching aspects because these, “Giving Up the Gun” and “White Sky,” are the two moments on the album that Vampire Weekend found that same sweet spot from their debut. Alas, it’s not enough to save them. On top of the bland melodies,
Contra is devoid of any variety, as all the songs resemble near-mirror versions of themselves. With “Horchata” and “I Think Ur A Contra,” the band approaches dangerously close to self-parody territory.
The main theme fueling
Contra (worldly, eclectic, catchy indie-pop) is simple, much like the premise behind the video for “Cousins” (fast-paced and ever-moving, shifting, cameras centered on the same spot), yet they both achieve the same nauseating effect. They’ve run out of fuel, it seems. As hollow as the album art’s eyecandy’s blank stare, (presumably into the vacant abyss where music forms a visceral connection with the listener, which Vampire Weekend left empty), hopefully
Contra is merely a minor mishap in a band that’s proven they have better material up their sleeves.
merry christmas 
