Vampire Weekend
Contra
XL Recordings. 10 Tracks.
Rating: 4½ stars (out of 5)

Of all the bands in indie-pop’s recent freshman class, Vampire Weekend seemed destined to be voted most likely to suffer a sophomore slump. As energetic, amusing and catchy as the 2008 debut by this Big Apple foursome was, it was also perilously gimmicky. 

Here were four Ivy Leaguers (VW mates Ezra Koenig, Rostam Batmanglij, Christopher Tomson and Chris Baio met while attending Columbia University) spinning tales of preppie exploits against a world beat backdrop, an unlikely concoction the group audaciously labeled  “Upper West Side Soweto.” That they pulled it off  is a testament to youthful bravado and swell songwriting skills, but the concept didn’t exactly scream “long shelf life.”

So Contra, a consistently delightful and thoughtful 10-pack of boss tracks, amounts to one of the most exciting musical surprises in recent memory.  Nothing on the new album is as instantly hummable as “Oxford Comma” or “Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa” from the debut, but that’s a good thing. Overall, Contra seems less facile than its predecessor, more worthy of scrutiny.  The sound is both wider and deeper, incorporating elements of ska, hip-hop and ‘80s synth- pop and occasionally achieving a poignancy the first album never attempted.

That poignancy creeps into “Horchata,” the enticing opener.  A deceptively breezy tune about a rich dude wintering in a warm clime, it’s punctuated by bursts of African drums and jubilant chanting. The lyrics start out light (“In December, drinking horchata/I’d look psychotic in a balaclava”) but take on weight as the narrator lapses into a wistful reverie. (“Here comes a feeling you thought you’d forgotten…Looking back, you shouldn’t have fought it”)  It’s a sign of introspection to come.

Like “Horchata,” many of Contra’s songs use travel as a metaphor for emotional awakening. The bouncy “Holiday,” which again visits a sunny locale, seems to be about someone trying to escape the worries of the modern world but ultimately realizing there is no escape. (“If I wait for a holiday, could it stop my fear?”) I say “seems” because head lyricist Koenig, a whip-smart guy who writes like the privileged progeny of Paul Simon and David Byrne, sometimes opts for cleverness over clarity.  The dizzyingly verbose “California English” threatens to get lost in its own word storm—luckily, the propulsive melody pulls listeners through.  And I still don’t know what to make of the “sweater on the ocean floor” line from “Cousins,” though that won’t stop me from dancing like a dervish to this infectious ska rave-up.

The album’s two most affecting tracks are also its quietest. “Taxi Cab” follows a forlorn Romeo around Manhattan in the titular vehicle as he bemoans the loss of his aristocratic sweetheart. The urban scenery provides little comfort for the protagonist, who claims he’s “unsentimental” but sounds for all the world like a lovesick fool. A gentle, almost baroque synth melody underscores the melancholy feel. The gorgeous, atmospheric title song ends the album with a whisper even as it employs rebellious images to describe another breakup. (“My revolution thoughts/Your little arrows of desire”) As sad as the song is though, it marks a happy occasion: As the last plaintive notes bring Contra to a close, Vampire Weekend officially passes from faddish to formidable.  Here’s to your junior year, boys.