Album Review — Vampire Weekend’s ‘Only God Was Above Us’ shatters our rose-tinted glasses

Released April 5, “Only God Was Above Us” — or “OGWAU” as it’s known to the group and its followers — is the band’s long-awaited fifth studio album. 

Throughout the band’s sonic journey, its members slowly left their late 20s, aging into millennial-hood and ultimately going on an extended hiatus. While frontman Ezra Koenig took his long break from music, he left his native New York City for the sun and sand of Los Angeles, forging connections that would birth “Father of the Bride” in 2019. The West-Coast tonal shift in the album — featuring collaborations from the likes of Haim and Steve Lacy — polarized fans with its nostalgic riffs and made-for-karaoke hooks. While Koenig’s soft and eloquent vocals remained, it was certainly a departure from the cold subtlety of their previous work. 

Fans who sought a return to the frantic strumming and esoteric metaphor of Vampire Weekend’s early years received an unexpected post-pandemic gift in June of 2023. Koenig and co. announced at that time a nearly-complete new album which drummer Chris Tomson described in a Vulture interview as “One of our best yet. 10 songs, no skips.”

“Ice Cream Piano'' opens OGWAU and establishes the theme that pervades the album. The lyrics, controversial yet characteristically verbose, lambast the subject for irrationally letting their fear build a twisted, bleak outlook on the world. With a solemn “We're all the sons and daughters of vampires who drained the old world's necks” the track acknowledges these fears, but constantly reminds us with the hook’s caveat “The world don't recognize a singer who won't sing.”

Fittingly, this theme continues in “Classical,” shifting its focus to Koenig’s own trap of nostalgia for the old places and ideas that dominated our past. “Classical” — utilizing a harpsichord-like arpeggio, orchestral bass and choir in its composition — oozes with an ironic pomp. With an un-amplified strum, “Classical” opens itself and also gives itself a break from the cascade of noise that represents its descent into the crushing weight of history’s sins. An eclectic New-York-style jazz solo also accentuates the song’s fears of a “Staircase up to nothingness inside your DNA,” rounding it out to an iconic finish. 

“Capricorn” zooms in, seemingly giving listeners an easy-listening break with distant keystrokes and echoed vocals singing of a stressed workaholic unable to escape a cycle of worry. This false sense of security is broken by a rocket-launch of bass and electronic slams that permeate the second and third chorus. It expertly eulogizes Capricorns’ overshadowed year-end births and their propensity for getting lost in achieving ever-distant goals, with cheeky proclamations of “Listen baby, you don’t have to try.”

The track “Connect” open’s with a ragtime tune that runs itself to a sampled beat from their 2008 track “Mansard Roof,” while the nostalgic pleats of an old electric piano scratch the rhythm section. Koenig’s somber chorals build to a synthy, hip-hop style break for the chorus that ramps up the drums before calming itself once more. This track is the strongest composition in the lineup by far, with its eerie reflections and bouncing rhythms satisfying the distant echoes of the past that the subject simply “Can’t connect.” 

“Prep School Gangsters” does what Koenig does best — East Coast class-commentary. A clean sound out the amp and bass plucks form a charming, intentionally aristocratic, classically-inspired rock profile. The lyrics chastise the exclusionary language of the WASP crowd, with Koenig pulling back his dialogue to represent the “outsider” castes that inherit the sins of people who are, ostensibly, their benefactors. With a simple “Somewhere in your family tree, there was someone dressed like me,” Koenig wastes no time pulling the curtains from aristocracy yet again. 

“The Surfer” and perhaps the most “New York” of all these tracks, generously populated with samples, 70s-inspired urban grooves and a lofi beat that juxtaposes itself with the song’s bombastic big-band breaks. While masterfully piecing together themes of perseverance, the song also sardonically scrutinizes the cruelty of death and the impermanence of status.

Back to the dirt and grunge from earlier in the album, “Gen-X Cops” wastes no time in clenching its fists. With a broken, descending progression through the verses mostly composed of snary beats, separated keystrokes and a following chorus, the track rapidly downs the concoction with unkempt electric slides on guitar. A far cry from the cleanliness of “Prep-School Gangsters,” the song is both a self and external critique — citing the failures of each new generation and the cyclical infighting that ensues with every new mistake. After each new critique, the chorus repeats: “Each generation makes its own apology.” 

Returning once again to thematic sobriety and New York inspiration, “Mary Boone” recounts stories of change and failure, framed in the story of the eponymous disgraced gallery owner. In a Modern-Vampires-reminiscent piano-focused composition, Koenig’s own laments are accompanied by a choir and — fittingly — more participation from an orchestral arrangement. While each verse and chorus stays within this heavenly veneer, an instrumental break immediately couples lofi drum-and-bass with the whole ensemble — now with Koenig leaning more into his piano — beautifully evoking the Holland Tunnel commute central to his story. “Mary Boone,” in its essence, is a story of loss — the loss of innocence that occurs when walls are torn down around the lofty, ignorant tales of youth and coming-of-age.

“Pravda” forces Koenig’s vocals from the other end of the horizon, with a clearer but still emotionally worn conviction. The flamenco-esque arpeggio and light snare bring a bouncy, jungle-y feel to the chorus and an infectious hook. Beneath light plucks of a synth, Koenig speaks of the identity he left behind in New York as he charted his path out West. The lyric “I know what lies beneath Manhattan, I know who's buried in Grant's Tomb. I wonder if they’ll wait a while to wipe away my crocodile” is a cheeky reference to Koenig’s crocodile graffiti artwork and the presence of Ulysses S. Grant and his wife in his grave. The song — satisfying and hopeful — is a love-letter to shedding the pain of the past. 

In a fitting conclusion, “Hope” rounds out themes of acceptance with yet one more shrug at past failures. Far from defeatism, the chants of “I hope you let it go, the enemy’s invincible” aren’t an invitation to apathy, but are instead accompanied by images of resilience and a willingness to carry on with the lessons of the past in mind. Consequently, the composition is upward-inflecting, combining the echoed, nostalgic arpeggios that permeate the album with a full, orchestral rise and repetitive hook that marries all stages of the band’s evolution. 

With a spectacular ending, OGWAU completes its long arc with its own conflicting emotions and offers a lyrical helping hand in an age of fear and uncertainty. On top of this strength, the compositions pulling from every epoch of Vampire Weekend’s history makes these 10 tracks well worth the wait for both new and returning fans. Whether a listener is seeking a crash course in the history of a band, or a 2020s-coded message of perseverance, “Only God Was Above Us” not only succeeds at these goals, but surpasses them.