One Minute Review… Vampire Weekend: A-Punk

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I’m sorry gang, but this just won’t do. The next big thing has been served up again hot on the tracks of about 10 other next big things and the emperor’s new clothes have never looked more like a sagging, nude, middle-aged record company bigwig.

Have a listen to the above and see what you think. See if what happened to me happens to you.

Where are you in the song? Just past the intro and a few seconds in? When it started, it was alright, wasn’t it? Sort of like The Strokes doing something in a weird time-signature. The guitar was nicely trebly and erratic – the bassist doing weird things as well, playing a counter-melody rather than thudding out a dirge.

But then the vocals went and kicked in and you realised what was going on. You realised that some fucking record company is trying to flog you a hybrid of the aforementioned Strokes and fucking STING.

I’m not buying it. I’m not illegally downloading it, come to that. This is The Police of the noughties and the horrific vocals combined with the preppy American college garb combines to create a gruesome mixture of curdling influences.

Set your watches for a couple of months’ time when hopefully these great white hopes will have sunk without taste or trace.

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18 Responses to “One Minute Review… Vampire Weekend: A-Punk”

  1. Gilbert Wham Says:

    That’s awful. So awful in fact, that I doubt you can raise even one crazed fanboi from the entire internet to defend it.

  2. Swineshead Says:

    Apparently they’re the talked about band blog-wise…
    But to me they sound like Mr Sting.

  3. piqued Says:

    It’s so bland it doesn’t even deserve discussion. I’m spurning it

  4. Swineshead Says:

    Seeing as you’re only able to discuss music if it is somehow related to Hawkwind, that’s probably not a bad thing.

  5. Napoleon Cockaparte Says:

    Someone’ll moan at you for this. Some youth with his youngness still intact. Some little shitbag in drainpipe trousers (‘skinny jeans’, indeed). Some eighteen year old bastard with a haircut that looks like someone’s had at him with a pair of garden shears. One o’ that shower.

    And their music’s shit. I know who I’d put my money on if Thunder (that’s right – THUNDER) went up against one of these new buggers in a fist-fight. AND IT WOULDN’T BE THE NEW BUGGER, NEITHER.

    Hitler had the right idea, just picked the wrong target, etc.

  6. piqued Says:

    All music can be related to Hawkwind, everyone knows that

  7. Napoleon Cockaparte Says:

    Cor, it’s boring in ‘ere today, what, what? All working are you? You hapless drones. DRONES! ‘Specially that rat bastard Piqued … with his rubbish Hawkwind band. Hawkwind are only remembered because they briefly had Lemmy as their front-man, and had that big-titted fat woman dancing about with her tits out at their gigs. They were shit, were ‘Awkwind – SHIT. Frankly, Piqued wouldn’t know music if it kicked him up his middle-aged arse.

    I’m … ahem … moving to London, by the way. Ahem … cough … cough … is that the sound of galloping hypocrisy I hear in the background? Yes, I rather think it is …

  8. Swineshead Says:

    Well… we’ve haemorrhaged readers what with barely writing anything in ages, so that’s probably why.

    Moving to London?

    OH SHIT!

  9. Napoleon Cockaparte Says:

    My apologies, but blame ‘er indoors. Her company’s in London, her contacts are in London, her friends are in London … so fucking London it is, then. I’m looking forward to that, as you can imagine. You fuckers are going to crash and burn when I get down there. There’ll be no more fancy restaurants and classy nights out for you, oh no. Welcome to the cancerous world of clip joints, strip poker, whores, kebabs, farting competitions, arm-wrestling, fighting, and lung cancer, as the uncouth Northerner lays his cards on the table. I WILL CRUSH YOU ALL.

    (I’m already plannin’ on cooking Piqued a meal of Bernard Matthews Chicken Kievs, then threatening him with severe physical pain if he doesn’t eat the lot – the soft Southern nancy-boy)

  10. Swineshead Says:

    What the HELL have we done to deserve this?

  11. Napoleon Cockaparte Says:

    Don’t blame me. I can’t help it if the missus is foisting a bad tempered drunken yobbo on you, can I? You think I want to end up in that nest of Guardian-reading, liberal vipers? Do I arses like. I was happy tending to my pigeons, racing my whippets, and blaming everything on the bloody immigrants … I bet they don’t even have black pudding down there, do they? AND I CAN WAVE GOODBYE TO DRIPPING SANDWICHES, YOU LOUSY SET OF SUSHI-EATING SWINE!

  12. John Q Wagonwheel Says:

    Winston Churchill’s bruised tallwhacker! To London, you say? Aha, so the orange glow has lured you like a moth. A big, farting, Northern moth.

    Also, this song bores me, I hate NME and skinnily-bejeaned twats make me feel violent. All I need now is a receding hairline, expanding waist and ceaseless depression and I can be fully middle-aged like NC.

  13. John Q Wagonwheel Says:

    I meant tallywhacker, naturally. Not that his whacker wasn’t also tall and deserving of monoverbalisation.

  14. piqued Says:

    My granny used to make me dripping sandwiches, lovely

    THANKS TO YOU LOT SHE’S FUCKING DEAD

  15. Napoleon Cockaparte Says:

    My great grandmother used to pack me off on the National Express bus (at the age of eight, on my own – paranoid modern parents take note: I didn’t die or succumb to the charms of a dirty old man) with two ox tongue sandwiches and an orange. She made sure I’d had no breakfast, which meant I was so bloody hungry on the way down to Lincolnshire that I had no option but to eat them. They were not all that tasty, if memory serves. I still loved the old dear, mind … moustache and all.

    Then she was murdered by Piqued, the ratbag.

  16. Gilbert Wham Says:

    Aaaaah, National Express. D’you remember when you could drink & smoke at the back? I had an excellent bus trip to Oxford once, getting completely wankered on Special Brew with a crazy bag lady. Good times, good times.

  17. Cranium Says:

    I couldn’t get the video to work but I’ve heard similar reviews of this from friends. Sorry about the shameless self promotion here but if you want to hear the real next big thing, grab this. It’s 4 rather controversial songs sung by Big Mouth down the pub, and there’s even a Sting connection and an imaginary bassist who can do nothing but thud out a dirge. Grab it quick cos it’ll be banned soon.

    http://www.craniumsounds.pwp.blueyonder.co.uk/ep.zip

  18. Phat Farm Store Says:

    Phat Farm Store…

    I found your site on technorati and read a few of your other posts. Keep up the good work. I just added your RSS feed to my Google News Reader. Looking forward to reading more from you….

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