"Catchy, But At What Lacoste?" or My Vampire Weekend Insta-Review

"Upper West Side Soweto"? Sure, okay. Essentially, it comes down to one of the following options:

1. You hate them because of who they are: Whit Stillman-eqsue Ivy Leaguers who "summer" and name drop Lacoste in interviews and Louis Vuitton in songs ("Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa") without being, you know, rappers.
2. You like/love their music, but need to legitimize them on an acceptible artistic continuum, so you try to tie their African sound-foraging to Talking Heads (also unabashedly clean-cut, collegiate, and middle class), instead of Paul Simon's Graceland, a more (blindingly) obvious precedent.
3. You like/love their music, and you feel no need to justify them in a classical rockist sense, either musically or class-wise. In fact, you feel that Vampire Weekend represent the final victory of poptimism, wherein we are able to embrace even the ultra-privileged cultural tourist as an artiste in his own right. The indie serpent swallows its own tail and total nirvana achieved. In a moment of epiphany-induced euphoria you admit that The Darjeeling Limited was your favorite movie of 2007.
4. You hate Vampire Weekend because you find their music and lyrics obnoxiously twee.
5. You hate Vampire Weekend because you think they are "culture stealers" (attribution: Benzino, from the famous Benzino-Eminem beef).
6. You hate Vampire Weekend because they actively and aggressively assimilate African musics, yet still bring zero funk. You are Sasha Frere-Jones, who I don't think actually hates Vampire Weekend, and probably would chastise me for failing to draw a distinction between African and African-American musics. You, or I, am a racist.
7. You hate Vampire Weekend, but you've just read Carl Wilson's outstanding entry in the 33 1/3 series, Let's Talk About Love: A Journey to the End of Taste, wherein he force-feeds himself Celine Dion in an effort to understand her appeal and remove her from the context of cheap shots and snide jokes, but doesn't himself transform into a devotee. You are willing to let bygones be bygones and remain friends with people who do like Vampire Weekend.

Verdict: Vampire Weekend are precisely the kind of band that you will deny thrice before the cock crows. They are proudly and firmly ensconced in the Hall and Oates, Billy Joel, and, yes, Paul Simon slick pop tradition. If you can hang tough through all of that, then you will find their album a pleasant little chestnut that will no doubt sound as good piping out of your minivan's speakers ten years hence as it does through your iPod earbuds today. Listen without shame.

Score: Uh, we don't do scores here.