It all started in January (years are like that). It was a cold morning and the office was nearly dead. The only other people there when I arrived were a couple marketing types who seem to relish getting in when everyone else is still asleep. Music was coming from one of their desks; something fresh and young-sounding, with a hint of the exotic. "What is it?" I asked.
"The new Vampire Weekend," he said. I had never heard of the band, but chalked that up to the fact that I am not a marketing type.
He lent me the cd. The album hadn't been released yet, so it was just a promo copy - no pictures, no lyrics sheet, no liner notes. Nothing to give me an idea of the band's aesthetic. There was a brief piece of publicity from Rolling Stone on the back cover: “Guaranteed to make you at least forty percent happier than when you put it on”—an ominous promise of renewed life, of resurrection.
I have to admit that without any knowledge of the band, I was briefly seduced by the music. There was something rejuvenating about it - I attributed it to the lively West African guitar riffs and Caribbean rhythms the (very American-sounding) band members drew on. It all seemed innocent enough at first.
[to be continued]
2 comments:
vampire weekend was ruined for me by their route of introduction into my life, through a hipster-preppy now-ex boyfriend who was not good to me. the first chords of "cape code kwassa kwassa" and his face are indelibly linked in my mind. eugh.
but i'm excited to read about how it links to all the other vampire things!
Post a Comment