Two years ago, I wrote this thing about Vampire Weekend. Here it is, reproduced in all its blinkered glory:
listening to vampire weekend oh god have you guys heard this fucking record i mean it’s not the second coming but it is fun and you know how i am a fun guy who enjoys pretty much only fun things and that these things are universally fun because i deem them so so download and buy the vampire weekend record and dance with me because we are only alive in this moment and it will pass it will PASS people come on
at least listen to “a-punk” which is totally on my myspace page which is totally way cool daddy-o one of those tasty grooves inspired by paul simon’s graceland and the talking heads’ remain in light except its heart rate has been accelerated to unnatural levels because it ate some goddamn spicy food and must say what it needs to say in the shortest amount of time possible or else it will explode midway through and no one wants to be covered in unfinished song entrails so it was kind enough to blow your goddamn mind instead
It betrays all my old writing transgressions. For one, my fascination with improvisation. I felt the need to write from the precipice of a sudden, violent reaction. This has something to do with Jack Kerouac. I don’t know. I was in college once. There is also a sense, in these two old paragraphs, of how I worked my small giggles into the woodwork—I forced a personified song to have gorged upon spicy plates until near flashpoint. I may yet backslide.
