Even With A Number One Album, Did Vampire Weekend Avoid The Sophomore Slump?

From the beginning, Vampire Weekend have seemed to live a charmed existence. They were shot for the cover of Spin magazine before their debut album even came out (the only time in Spin’s history this has happened); they appeared on Saturday Night Live just six weeks after the eponymous record was released; their songs landed on high-profile soundtracks; etc. And of course the reasons for these achievements were clear. The debut was full of irrepressible, literate pop songs laced with arresting, albeit esoteric, allusions and jaunty melodies; plus, it was simply fun to listen to. After such success, the obvious questions arose: Will Vampire Weekend avoid the sophomore slump? Will the second record be as enjoyable? Will the band grow in their sound? The answer to all those questions is a resounding “Pretty much.”

To put it briefly, Contra is good. The Paul Simon comparisons are still fair (“White Sky”), as is lead singer Ezra Koenig’s own description of the group’s sound as “upper west side Soweto” (“Diplomat’s Son”); the band show they can still write zippy pop songs (single “Cousins”); the obscure references still abound (nearly every song); and multiple tracks sound like the band is making an effort to mature sonically (“Horchata,” “I Think UR a Contra,” and the album highlight “Taxi Cab”). The problem is, sometimes the growth sounds forced. “Horchata” is enjoyable enough, but could be better arranged. The sampling of the chanting children on “Diplomat’s Son” works, but is also a bit on the self-conscious side.

The most nagging detail on the record, though, is neither the arrangements nor the new sounds; it’s the thread that connects the imagery. The first time around with Vampire Weekend, it was simply pleasant to hear nods to the Oxford Comma and darjeeling and bus routes in New York; and these images felt natural—the genuine effusions of an intelligent songwriter. This doesn’t seem to be enough this time. Koenig has traded in cool professors and escapes from Cape Cod for revolutionary thoughts, diplomats, aristocrats, and uniforms outside the courtyard gates, almost as if Contra is a shot at a concept album. Still, Koenig also reminds us that he is fully aware of the band’s place when in the liner notes he offers thanks to “suburban punks everywhere.” Which begs the question, are we supposed to listen to the record and develop an almost bourgeois sympathy for the revolutionary, or is this all some grand allegorical plane from which to build tales of lost love and musical roots? Koenig turns an ironic phrase in “Holiday” when he narrates, “She’d never seen the word bombs/She’d never seen the word bombs blown up/To 96 point Futura.” He follows this up with an AK…on a yellow Day-Glo t-shirt. “Taxi Cab” provides the reflection, “In the shadow of your first attack/I was questioning and looking back/You said, ‘Baby, we don’t speak of that’/Like a real aristocrat,” which could be far less about literal bombs and far more about pangs of the heart. And it’s entirely possible in “Giving up the Gun” that the rifle hits Koenig sings of are simply a metaphor for an old guitar he used to hear “at a seedy bar/Where skinheads used to fight.” Add to this the fact that the cover has the feel of a wanted poster, and suddenly a contra could be a pretty blonde in a Ralph Lauren polo, and not a South American freedom fighter.

Perhaps none of this matters. Perhaps we are still supposed to simply enjoy the tapestry of melody and language the band weaves. But perhaps more significant is that the ebullience is not as consistent on Contra as it was on Vampire Weekend, and that Contra doesn’t present anything so revolutionary that any former naysayers will be won into the VW fold. Still, it must be said, the album gets better with each listen, despite its flaws, and it certainly fits the group’s milieu. What is more, one will certainly find themselves humming the songs after the fact, but maybe not with the same enthusiasm.