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Vampire sunday return having a shaggy, sprawling album that is double about rebirth, contentment, plus the reclamation of light.
The next from the beginning, Vampire Weekend were winners: charming, relatively lighthearted; Columbia students one year, festival headliners. That they had precious sweaters and smart jokes; they had written with wit and fascination with the tapestry of privileged life; they carried on their own having a sparkle that is almost infuriating. However they had been additionally manic, strange, and provocatively cross-cultural, combining up electronic dancehall and sequence parts, Latin punk and raga with techniques that didn’t quite fit. And despite their trivial politeness, there is one thing profoundly antagonistic about them, the vestigial bite of residential district young ones whom was raised loving punk and hardcore but never ever quite felt eligible to its anger, the indie-rock band bent on splitting up the monopoly stone held over guitar-based music.
With time, they expanded bigger, denser, much more serious. Their 3rd and final record album, 2013’s Modern Vampires for the City, felt nearly haunted, every line filled with allusion, every room full of weird, processed sounds. Perhaps the silences crackled with old life, a poster for town road stripped away to show the fragment of poster underneath. It felt, accordingly, just like the band’s then-home of the latest York, an accepted spot in which you can’t take a stroll round the block without experiencing like you’re bothering the dead. Read more