“It’s really hard to even talk about the internet without seeming instantly corny,” Ezra Koenig told Pitchfork recently, “even the word ‘blog’ sounds a little grandma-y.” He should know. The Vampire Weekend singer and lyricist gave up on his own Blogspot site, Internet Vibes, seven years ago, as he finished up his English studies at Columbia University (the final post’s title: “I HATE BLOGGING”). But before he graduated from the ye olde blogosphere, Koenig held forth on a vast array of topics—from geography, to Wellington boots, to music writer Robert Christgau’s allegedly unfair critique of Billy Joel’s oeuvre—looking at everything from a incisively self-aware, curious, and optimistic angle. What's most impressive is the way he’s able to connect art and ideas from different eras and continents into a kind of ecstatic worldview. One particularly inspired ramble spins an analytic web from a friend’s visit to Morocco, the history of the Strait of Gibraltar, a 1984 interview between Bob Dylan and Bono, the film The Secret of Roan Inish, and National Geographic’s famed Afghan refugee cover—and not only does it make sense, it’s written in a way that’s funny and smart and completely inclusive. Pretty good for a 22-year-old kid from middle-class New Jersey. Now 28, Koenig’s creative medium has changed, but his omnivorous cultural appetite has not.
Take “Step,” the third song on Vampire Weekend’s third album, Modern Vampires of the City—the record that is already forcing one-time haters of this band to rethink their entire lives. At its core, the song reads like an ode to obsessive music fandom in which the object of Koenig’s affection is “entombed within boombox and walkman.” Modest Mouse are name-checked. But the sense of infatuation extends beyond a list of influences and is embedded into the music itself. The chorus and parts of the melody are borrowed from wordy Oakland rap act Souls of Mischief’s “Step to My Girl”—which itself samples Grover Washington Jr.’s version of a Bread song called “Aubrey.” But “Step” avoids back-patting nostalgia and debunks bogus generational hierarchies while using the past to inspire the present. It’s also melancholy, with Vampire Weekend musical mastermind Rostam Batmanglij surrounding Koenig’s musings with lilting harpsichord ambience. Because, as we know, music is a young man’s pursuit. “Wisdom’s a gift but you’d trade it for youth,” Koenig sings.
Still, Vampire Weekend make a damn good case for wisdom all across Modern Vampires. Yes, this is a more grown-up album. It largely trades in the Africa-inspired giddiness of their first two records for a sound that’s distinctly innate and closer to the ear. There’s more air in these songs, more spontaneity, more dynamics. The overarching themes—death and a dubious sense of faith—are certainly Serious. But you never feel like you're being preached at while listening to this album. Koenig and company are probably more clever and gifted than you, sure—but they’re not rubbing your face in it or anything. Their message is one of collective understanding and betterment, and Modern Vampires is the kind of album that’ll have you googling for Buddhist temples and Old Testament allusions at 3 a.m. while listening to reggae great Ras Michael (who’s sampled on opener “Obvious Bicycle”). Now, you don’t have to get obsessed to enjoy this music, but it’s presented with such care that you can’t help but want to learn about its deeper meanings. So while Koenig gave up a potential teaching career to take his chances as a rock singer, he’s still doling out knowledge in his own way.
Though the record often traverses in darkness—the zipped-tight “Finger Back” alludes to historic atrocities and brutality while “Hudson,” easily the band’s bleakest track to date, imagines an apocalyptic Manhattan—there’s also hope here. Partly because Vampire Weekend seem to have internalized all of the positive traits of their internet-soaked generation while resisting the ugly ones: They’ll offer jokes and humanity on Twitter without navel-gazing; they’ll play a concert for a credit-card company while roping in Steve Buscemi for promo videos that are no-shit funny; they’ll use the tools of modernity to expand their universe rather than contract it. And then they’ll go ahead and crack your heart in two.
Along with the more lived-in sonics, Modern Vampires has the band taking a leap forward into emotional directness. Koenig and Batmanglij truly seem of one mind here, as the vocals and music interact with each other in an effortless flow. While skronks and snares pop on “Diane Young,” the singer matches the live-fast intensity hit-for-hit. The song is a dissection of the 27 Club rock’n’roll myth, where Koenig’s voice on the sly “baby, baby, baby” bridge is manipulated to intoxicating effect.
Then there’s “Hannah Hunt.” In some sense, it seems like Vampire Weekend’s entire career thus far has led to this one song. It begins with the hiss of wind and some vague background chatter—the sounds of the everyday—before it’s all quickly tuned out in favor of Batmanglij’s piano and bassist Chris Baio’s upright plucks. Koenig comes in soft, telling of a couple on a cross-country road trip. His details—crawling vines, mysterious men of faith, newspaper kindling—are sparse, delicate, perfect. And then, after two minutes and 40 seconds of quiet beauty, the song blooms, and Koenig lets it absolutely rip: “If I can’t trust you then damn it, Hannah/There’s no future/There’s no answer/Though we live on the U.S. dollar/You and me, we got our own sense of time.” On an album preoccupied with the ominous ticking of clocks, this is the moment that stops them cold.
Koenig has said in recent interviews that the band’s three albums make up a trilogy. “Hannah Hunt” could be a sobering continuation of Contra’s Springsteen-ian “Run,” where two people decide to up and leave their known lives in search of some sort of American transcendence. There’s also a perilous chandelier at the center of new track “Everlasting Arms,” perhaps a callback to the hanging lights that cover the band’s debut LP. And the Modern Vampires font is the same exact one used in a trailer for Koenig’s absurd-looking college-era werewolf movie, from which Vampire Weekend got its name. These little links are not only satisfying, but inevitable. After years of engaging with anything and everything in reach, Vampire Weekend are now a primary source in their own right.
