Your Favorite Artist Changed: Vampire Weekend is a “Stranger” on Father of the Bride

Our favorite artists entering a new era is a hard pill to swallow, especially after years of anticipation. I fell down a hole of shock, denial, and confusion when Vampire Weekend returned after a six-year absence with their fourth album, Father of the Bride.

Written by Laiken Neumann

Photos courtesy of Columbia Records

Just like us mere music connoisseurs, artists’ identities are in constant transition, and therefore, their sound is as well. While that should seem like a given, when a long-awaited release that dips its toes into new genres (like folk duets and dad rock in the case of Vampire Weekend), is wrapped in a blanket of anticipation and expectation, it can be a long road to acceptance for the listener.

Months after the release of Vampire Weekend’s fourth album, Father of the Bride, I am finally prepared to rise from the aftermath of the shock wave it sent me through and compile my feelings about it. For the sake of personal context, I should include a brief history of my relationship with Vampire Weekend.

I first heard their musical stylings at 10 years old. Their first self-titled album and 2010’s Contra made their way from my family’s shared iTunes (rest in peace) account to my most prized possession: my iPod. It became an audible escape to latch onto as I entered one of the most unstable periods of my life.

Modern Vampires of the City, their third studio album, found me at the cusp of teenagedom during the summer in which I transitioned from twelve to the seminal age of thirteen. At this point in my life, Vampire Weekend was still making their name in my mind. This album meant everything to me. In the midst of middle school-puberty-hell, I cried my heart out to this album. I’m not sure whether a band made up of men in their late 20s were targeting an audience of raging 13-year-old girls, but I was devoted nonetheless.

As you can tell by my history with Vampire Weekend, I felt a serious attachment to them and their sound. When they failed to release any new music for the next six years, years in which I formed into some sort of blob caught between adolescence and adulthood, I placed them into a box next to my other cherished memories.

When the band announced the release of the fourth album, I was beyond ecstatic. Finally, my Ivy League saviors would return. With the departure of Rostam Batmanglij a few years prior and the growing stretch of time since their last album, I expected some changes in their sound. Yet, with each of their double-single releases leading up to the album, I was not let down. “Harmony Hall” had the “dancing through the hall of the Architecture building” aspect I was looking for, while “2021” included a quirky sample of Haruomi Hosono‘s 1980s synth, equally as somber in sound as the former was joyous. Though upon first listen I had my doubts about their last singles, “This Life” and “Unbearably White,” Vampire Weekend could still do no wrong in my eyes. However, when Father of the Bride, their 18-track fourth album, was released in early May, I was sent into a spiral of confusion.

First came the  shock and denial: two little monsters who whispered into my ears as I gave it a first listen. “You like this,” they told me. “You love this band, you love the singles, you love this album! It is your duty!”

This album had lyrics that were simple and happy, and held a certain degree of cheesiness that I had never associated the group with. To me, Vampire Weekend was the higher education of indie-rock, and their lyrics on this album felt cheap. For example, in “We Belong Together,” the pairing phrases in the verses (“we go together like sound and sight, black and white, day and night”), lack the lyrical complication that I typically associate with the band. Their dive into new sounds caught me by surprise, and felt like a confused project comprised of ideas that had been shelved for years and eventually mixed together.

I was extremely frustrated with my own unsatisfaction. Social media was flooded with praise of the album. I scoured every online publication for some sort of validation of my distaste towards it. I even read the Pitchfork review (I’m sorry), which suggested that the album felt different because the lead singer, Ezra Koenig, was actually happy for once. I was left even more confused with the shattered box of expectations I placed Vampire Weekend in. 

I appreciated the desire to feature other artists on Father of the Bride, particularly the collaborations with Steve Lacy, whose head-turning guitar licks make “Sunflower” one of the catchiest songs on the album. Their newfound collaborations certainly expand their sound. But as much as I hate to admit it, I was not a fan at first of the three duets with Danielle Haim that guide the story of the album. They feel akin to a campfire sing-a-long, which is admittedly not a bad thing, but folky duets were not the Vampire Weekend I have known and loved throughout my teenage years. 

Maybe, as I have recently entered my own undergraduate education, I still connect more strongly to the youthful indie-rock beats of their Columbia days than to the more mature themes like marriage as heard on FOTB. Perhaps the members of Vampire Weekend have entered a new era of their lives, with their descent into actual adulthood characterized by their dive into dad-rock. There seems to be a lack of sad lyrics tucked into playful tunes that I was accustomed to. Instead their sound isn’t a disguise — it truly reflects the emotions their lyrics convey. 

After contemplating it for a month, I have decided that yes, I do like Father of the Bride. I was too caught up in my idealization of the band — still looking at them through 2013 rose-colored Ray Bans — to actually appreciate the strides the album makes. I am still conflicted on some of the tracks; however, every replay of the album offers something new. Perhaps I misunderstood the album at first, and I’m pretty certain I still do not entirely understand it. It’s something for me to explore and grow with, rather than the easy listening experience I was expecting. In that sense, it makes each replay of Father of the Bride all the more exciting.

As listeners, it’s easy to get caught up in the world our favorite artists have fabricated for us. This, however, becomes dangerous when they fade into the static characters you’ve created for them rather than people they are. While some artists lose their shine in heavy anticipation of a new album, it’s necessary to consider them as the humans they are, not some ethereal prophets whose lyrical genius will save you.