Vampire Weekend’s latest effort, Modern Vampires of the City, is very strange. Vampire Weekend are renowned for their preppy, peppy afro-pop records, but on this, their third album, they’ve done something a bit different. The first track alone is enough to spell out the difference. ‘Obvious Bicycle’ is a slow, sparse number, with subtle piano work and choral vocals. It sounds like something that Fleet Foxes might have recorded in a contemplative moment.

The record as a whole is more chilled out than their past hyperactive selves. Where the music is fast, it is less self-consciously jerky and more anthemic. Where it is slow, it often employs piano or organ to provide a gently undulating backdrop to the wonderfully wordy lyrics (“stale conversation deserves but a breadknife”). ‘Don’t Lie’ is a case in point, with the quiet thump of drums submerged under layers of harmonies, all singing a refrain of “Listen, don’t wait”. If it wasn’t Vampire Weekend on the album cover, you could be forgiven for thinking this was an off-cut from Beirut’s The Rip Tide.

The lead single, ‘Diane Young’, is a bit of a return to form: an upbeat, quirky jaunt of a song, with a catchy chorus. If your summer isn’t spent singing “baby, baby, baby, baby, right on time”, you have no appreciation for the simplicity and brilliance of nonsense lyrics.

Perhaps the only real problem with the record is VW’s obsession with pitch shifting Ezra Koenig’s voice. He has a wonderful soulful croon (showcased at its best in ‘Unbelievers’). It seems a shame to mess with it simply as a stylistic device. The second single, ‘Ya Hey’, is practically unlistenable as a result. This can probably be forgiven though, on the basis of all that is so very right with this album.

All in all, this is a good record, but a departure from past form. It’s unsettling to hear Vampire Weekend doing something so unlike their past work. However, as long as they remain the literate, sensitive pop-minstrels they’ve always been, that is no bad thing.

Track to download: Diane Young

★★★★☆
Four Stars

One thing that is starkly clear from the opening janglyriff on ‘Things Will Change’ is that this is a band that have bided their time. Named after a Stephen Stills song, the influence of West-coast rockers such as the Byrds and Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young is highly evident. These influences become transatlantic with a languid groove in ‘Waiting on You’, which would sit comfortably in any Green-era Fleetwood Mac output, and the voice of Morrison morphing into Rod Stewart and the Faces circa 1975.

The band also moved to LA to record The Mountain Moves and, with their only direct connection across the pond coming from drummer Tomer Danan, it’s hard to imagine that the band hail from London at all. This is reinforced by the Americana groove of tracks such as ‘Haunted House’ and ‘Picture Show’. The latter in particular evokes images of long, desert highways and lonely gas stations with its twanging guitars and haunting vocals.

‘She’s Gotta Run’ is possibly one of the poorer conceived of the tracks on the album, lacking the subtlety of the band’s other offerings. However, the only acoustic performance on the album, and the closing track, ‘Is It All Worth It?’, stands out as a beautifully, and particularly well-crafted, song with vocal harmonies reminiscent of Fleet Foxes and a finger-picking style lifted from Bob Dylan’s ‘Don’t Think Twice It’s Alright’. Similar odes to master songwriters from times gone by can be seen in tracks such as ‘Making Time’ and ‘Storm Will Pass’ where Morrison’s ragged drawl culminates in a contribution where the Neil Young influences are so overt that it might as well have mutton chops and a cowboy hat.

Treetop Flyers represent a growing trend of looking to the past for inspiration but not being embodied by it. “Looking back now, when I was a kid,” Morrison sings, and on this beautifully put together album, hopefully Treetop Flyers will be looking forward too.

Track to download: Things Will Change

‘it’s sad that you think that we’re all just scenesters – and even if we were, it’s not the scene you’re thinking of…’ 

I’ve never been able to work out which is more objectionable: those who self-define as ‘hipster’ or those who self-define as ‘twee’. The thick-rimmed, obviously-not-prescription glasses vs. the Book, Tea, and Picnic Lovers. There is overlap, of course: the carefully-cultivated predilection for gin, adoration for Wilde, near-intolerable aura of “kookiness”… 

One thing I will say, however: these scenes, terrible as their occupants are, have spawned some truly gorgeous music. What follows is a crash-course intro to the Great Music Of Our Epoch That You’ve Probably Never Heard Of. And by that I do mean – wait for it – pop. But not just any pop. Twee, happy, post-Pastels indie pop. Soon you, too, will be waking up every morning (driving your neighbours insane) to the sound of Sarah Records.

To avoid terrifying the Park-Enders amongst us (this is a community of support), let’s start with something gentle. We’re thinking jangly-guitars-but-light-on-the-synth, lyrics that are unarguably sweet but not so sickly that you want to throw up; a generally unobjectionable aesthetic.

The obvious choice: Belle and Sebastian. Great for anyone who thinks that Juno was the zenith of indie film and that (500) Days of Summer is “just really cute”. Also, however, anyone with ears. It’s so happy. Here is ‘Another Sunny Day’ (I like to think that they took the title from the eighties band of the same name – more of them later! – but who cares, it’s lovely regardless) 

That’s it. That, right there, is the beautiful apex of indie pop – but we’re not finished yet. Rough Trade (a name you’ll come to cherish, if you don’t already) have had their turn, so now to Sarah. Home of the Field Mice, the aforementioned Another Sunny Day (best-known for their debut single ‘You Should All Be Murdered’, which has a very Smiths-esque vibe, though with added misanthropy)… and the lovely St. Christopher:

As Good As Married. How I feel about my relationship with my iPod. There are soft, echoey hints of psychedelic dream-pop in the chorus, but this is the track for sunbathing in the warm and sleepy afternoons of Trinity (please God, please). Take a four-minute (four-hour) break from the library and relax.

Right, now it’s time for the heavy stuff. And by heavy I mean super-light, super-fun, genreepitomising bubblegum pop. The lyrics say it all (“well, you can keep your punk, rock, ska, rap beats and house – fuck me I’m twee”). 

I would also recommend Tullycraft’s ‘The Punks Are Writing Love Songs’, as well as ‘Pop Songs Your New Boyfriend’s Too Stupid To Know About’ (“True he likes the Breeders/He thinks Green Day’s pretty swell/But what about the Bartlebees/And Neutral Milk Hotel?”). 

This list would never be complete without something a bit more violent, of course – for the shy, would-be punk in all of us. You might have heard this one in a Budweiser advert… or Baby Love on a really good night, maybe. 

And we’re all like, how Rousseau depicts man in the state of nature (trying too hard). For an even more recent variation on the twee-punk theme, try Tigercats: 

40 views on YouTube say you’re probably a lot cooler (have a lot more spare time) than anyone who hasn’t heard this song.

To ease us into the more lyrical, melodic side of indie-pop, we have what is probably the best Swedish music since ABBA: dear, dear Jens Lekman. Here’s my very favourite song about the impending apocalypse – ‘The End of the World is Bigger Than Love’. 

He’s got a point. On a similarly heartstring-tugging theme, let’s move to our final band of this rough-and-ready introduction to wonderfulness: expect synths in their dozens, and probably having to Google the lyrics (you’ll never regret it). I give you the best wordplay I’ve heard outside of 90s rap, and the greatest-ever song about having sex in a library. If you needed any encouragement to try, here are The Pains of Being Pure at Heart, with ‘Young Adult Friction’. 

So, thank you for reading – it’s been a rollercoaster ride, and we haven’t even scratched the surface. But you should now venture forth, well-equipped to infuriate everyone with your embarrassingly niche knowledge of indie pop. Dust off your polka-dot skirts/prohibitively tight jeans, steal all your parents’ eighties records, perfect your shoegazing abilities – and stay cool, I’ll see you this summer.

So Made In Chelsea won a BAFTA. Seriously. This is not a joke. This is a fact. One that suggests we all need to sit down and have a long think about the meaning of life. And the future of humanity. Which, given the aforementioned fact, is probably bleak. 

Responses have, predictably, ranged from outrage to…well more outrage. Graham Norton responded snappily ‘They were insufferable before– what are they going to be like now?’ and Alan Sugar tweeted in a fit of jealous pique ‘Young Apprentice did not win a BAFTA tonight. Made in Chelsea won. Can’t believe it.’ Twitter pretty much exploded. 

And outrage is certainly a natural response. Because this is a show which essentially just follows rich people around and watches as they…well…are rich. The characters are fairly vacuous (Millie? Cheska?) when they’re not downright despicable (yes Spencer, we’re looking at you). The dialogue is beyond stilted; apparently being rich negates your ability to speak in actual sentences without using the word ‘like’ every third word. And let’s not even get started on the way they portray their female characters: the whore-virgin dichotomy is so overused it’s actually wearing thin. Everyone took great delight in tearing down whiter-than-white Kimberley, Louise is constantly lambasted just for being in love and crying a bit, and Lucy is presented as a witch just because she doesn’t fall at Jamie’s feet. This is not great TV. On this, I think we can probably all agree. 

But. It is sinfully addictive. Trust me, I know. I’m hooked. And what’s more, its plot may be drivel and its characters grating, but by heavens it’s got good production values. The camera work is excellent. Honest to God, all those serious TV dramas could learn a thing or two. And we have to give them kudos for making the most of shooting in London – true, nobody actually breaks up by a river, but it did mean we could watch the Thames instead of Spencer’s face, which is a blessing indeed. What’s more, the music on this show is amazing. Seriously, what other show on TV will play Alt-J, Daughter, Foals and Bastille in one episode?  And you can’t pretend it’s not popular: 950 000 people tuned into the premiere of Season 5, and it’s Channel 4’s most tweeted about programme (lest we forget, these people know how to work the social media!). 

So what we have here is a show about not really very much, but that looks really good. It’s the ultimate victory of style over substance, which in all honesty, sums up the show and its characters pretty well. The question needn’t be why people prefer slick production over substantial plot, it can be why anybody hasn’t yet managed to combine the two. Because MIC’s competition, in the highly contested category of Best Reality and Constructed Factual was The Audience, I’m a Celebrity…Get Me Out of Here! and The Young Apprentice. Go figure. 

Frost/Nixon is Peter Morgan’s highly intelligent 2006 political play now being performed at the Oxford Union. The play details the famous interview, between David Frost and Richard Nixon, following the 1972 Watergate scandal. The brilliant writing and convincing acting means this complex issue is effectively transferred onto the stage.

The Debating Chamber is completely transformed and actors are on stage before the play even begins. Consequently, as soon as the audience walk through the door, they are made to feel as if they have entered a 70’s television studio. The seemingly effortless scene changes, carried out by the ensemble, means the television set effectively doubles up as an aeroplane, dining room, bedroom and office. A projector hangs from the balcony, providing us with footage from the scandal, as well as live filming of the stage performance.  Despite dealing with a serious political issue, the play has a lightness achieved through the dry humour which ensures it is entertaining whilst retaining its depth.

The acting is superb. Every member of the cast is utterly believable. The play is crafted so the narrator, Jim Reston (Johnny Purkiss), steps out of the action, at frequent intervals, to clarify the various events.  Purkiss swiftly moves between his roles as narrator and assistant, whilst maintaining a consistently flawless American accent. The second half of the play was particularly gripping and Aleksandr Cvetkovic, as Nixon, really came into his own – chiefly through his emotionally charged telephone call with Frost, the night before the final interview. Cvetkovic’s characterization of Nixon showed true dedication to his role.

It must be said though, that one actor really stood out- Ed Barr-Sim gave a five star performance. His mannerisms, voice and hand gestures were so convincing that from the moment he walked on stage he really was Frost. He was believable in every sense and most certainly the presence that held this wonderful production so impeccably together.

Despite being a play about two divisive camps, it exudes a tenderness which we do not often find in such political pieces. Just as Morgan stresses the human side of our monarch, in his most recent production The Audience, in Frost/Nixon he emphasises the concerns and insecurities of the president and allows us to glimpse a softer side of the seemingly self-confident Frost. Although they are fundamental opposites, these two men build a rapport which is beautifully captured through the exchange of a gift in the final scene. 

1. Some Funny

@BT Studio, 9:30pm Wednesday 5th

It’s a new sketch show. Given the current paucity of genuinely funny Oxford comedy groups, there’s a lot riding on this. We’ve been promised hijinks including a severed arm, a cosmonaut suit, an AK47 and at least one musical sketch. You never know, it may buck the trend.

2. Frost/Nixon

@Union Debating Chamber, 7:30pm Until Sunday 19th

This production has been hyped to high heaven, but with interesting rehearsal strategies (separate rehearsals for Frost and Nixon), the crème de la crème of Oxford acting talent and some really interesting subject matter, this ought to be one to watch. Aleksandr Cvetkovic and Ed Barr-Sim will bring the president and the chat show host to life in the Union debating chambers — catch it while you can! 

3. Rockshow

@Phoenix Picturehouse, Thursday 23rd

This is a film directed by Paul McCartney, charting the progress of his band (not that one – calm down!) across America during 1976. If anyone is a massive fan of Wings (really?), you’ll probably want to see this, if you haven’t already.

4. The Seagull

@Oxford Playhouse, 7:30pm Tuesday 21st

Everyone loves a bit of Chekhov of an evening, don’t they? In complete contrast to its first production, Headlong Theatre’s version has been critically acclaimed — not a single reputable source has disparaged it. If critical consensus is anything to go by, this ought to be an evening to cherish.

5. TSK Quiz Night

@Turl Street Kitchen, 9pm Monday 20th

The TSK, gem of Turl Street, must have a pretty good quiz night, right? The concept sounds great — a night in the TSK, with fiendishly difficult questions. Who knows, you may even win something (probably something ethical).

6. Seth Lakeman

@Town Hall, 7:30pm Friday 17th

Seth Lakeman is an English folk artist, a multi-instrumentalist with a penchant for sea shanties and various stomp-along songs. If you’re a Mumford fan, you need not apply. Proper folkies only!

7. Less Than Kind

@Oxford Playhouse, 7:30pm Saturday 18th

This play by Terence Rattigan was lost to the world until pretty recently. Given how much Rattigan appreciation there has been recently, perhaps this may have worked in its favour. A tale of wartime politics (both cabinet room machinations and socialist agitation) and sordid affairs, this will thrill any avid Rattiganian or any regular theatre-goer. If you are stuck for your fix of post-war theatre, you could do a lot worse.

8. Arcadia

@Magdalen College, 7:15pm Friday 17th

This play is cropping up everywhere — it’s on at Magdalen, a different production is coming to the Playhouse next term. Anyway; good play, good venue, good playwright. Go and see it.

9. Scandi-Sesh

@James Street Tavern, 8:30pm Monday 20th

This Scandinavian music night is a monthly occurrence. It’ll be interesting to see precisely what kind of music is represented: whether it’s jumper-wearing folky types (likely), ABBA-like pop bands (slightly less likely) or something weird like Björk (really unlikely).

10. Burning Down the House

@Babylove, 10pm Wednesday 22nd

We’ve tried to resist this, but in the end, it has been in vain. Like a spider being sucked towards the plughole in a bath, we have been dragged towards the musical sinkhole that is Burning Down The House. Anyone with any (dubious) hipster cred will gravitate towards the irony-heavy ‘80s club night. It’s a predictable formula, it’s a little too proud of itself, but it might be a laugh. Stranger things have happened.

11. Armin Van Buuren

@Oxford Union, 3pm Tuesday 21st

He’s a Dutch DJ, with one of the most successful electronic music albums of all time (he’s also a 4th Grade Officer of the order of Orange-Nassau, whatever that is). Now you get a chance to meet and question him about his music, his life, and various other nonsense. I’m sure it’ll be scintillating.

12. Fast and Furious 6

@A Cinema. Somewhere, at some point.

You’d have to be pretty furious (although not particularly fast) in order to write six installments of the driving-cum-thriller series. Light on plot, even lighter on acting, but very heavy on action, this will please anyone who needs to disengage their brain, lie back with a bathtub of popcorn and bucket of diet coke and veg out for a bit.

There were tangible ripples of excitement and many a face was lit with trekkie-based glee. Finally, four years after sci-fi made its comeback with the first J. J. Abrams directed film, Star Trek is back. Fast-paced, funny and action-packed, the latest adventure with the Enterprise crew kicks off in a bizarre, slightly under-developed land called Nibiru, featuring a rather strange population who have what looks like papier mâché faces. Unfortunately for James Kirk, they’re hot on his heels.

Why are we there? Because a volcano of epic proportions is just about to erupt with the potential of wiping out an entire population. There’s no slow set-up here. Spock gets into hot water (well hot lava actually) within the first five minutes. Jim Kirk saves the day, but his violation of the prime directive (not letting people see the spaceship) gets him in trouble with Chris Pike. Will Kirk have to go back to the academy for further training? Is this the end of his career?

Cue Benedict Cumberbatch, who plays the villainous John Harrison: an ex-Starfleet crewmember who randomly orchestrates an explosion at a Starfleet data archive. Although Harrison is declared public enemy number one, it’s not just one big manhunt – there are plenty of other events along the way. We are introduced to stowaway crewmember Dr. Carol Marcus, witness a scene depicting what the Titanic disaster would have looked like in space, and are treated to a scattering of brilliantly delivered Spock one-liners.

The thing about Star Trek Into Darkness is that it somehow manages to cover all bases without trying too hard. It’s by no means faultless: for instance, Karl Urban doesn’t seem to be able to do anything besides frown and stare into the distance, Dr. Marcus has a curiously short-lived and painless broken leg, and the Spock/Kirk bromance is verging on serious over-cheese. Despite these niggles, it doesn’t take away from the fact that this is a worthy follow up to the Oscar-winning first movie with action, humour and a solid cast. Chris Pine boosts his credentials yet again, Simon Pegg provides the laughs with his slightly ridiculous Scottish accent and J.J. Abrams delivers a master class on how to direct an action epic. The Marvel brigade would do well to take note. The beauty of this movie is that you don’t have to be a trekkie or have seen the first movie to enjoy it. My advice: see it in 3D and see it soon.

4 Stars

The coming of summer means but one thing to most Oxford undergraduates: exam season is under way. If the thought of writing several hours of nonsense about something you haven’t cared about since third week of Michaelmas isn’t the most thrilling prospect in your life, you might like some cinematic distraction. Alternatively, you might like to see your fate enacted on screen before you have to go through it yourself. To this cheery end, some of the best and worst exams on TV and film have been gathered in the paragraphs below.

First off comes, predictably, Exam. This 2009 British thriller was so dreadful that with any luck it has disappeared from public memory. In an alternate version of reality, eight candidates sit an employment assessment exam while an armed guard stands at the door. This all sounds like real Oxford exams, even if the dress is less quaint, until you find out that the paper is a mere eighty minutes long, and it doesn’t have any questions written on it. Instead of just rejoicing in this, the candidates make a lot of fuss, call each other dubious nicknames, and eventually work out that there really are no questions on the paper. In a witty twist, “Blonde” is the one to make this realisation and she ends up getting employed. If only real life were as simple as this.

Marginally more dreadful than Exam is Final Exam. Set in Lanier College, one of those American places that teaches useful technical courses rather than how to render Dickens into exquisite Ciceronian Latin, Final Exam sees a bunch of friends being killed off one by one at the end of Final Exam week, generally in the dark of night, always by a psychopath. “Some may pass the test… God help the rest,” went the catchphrase on the 1981 poster. It may have been a turd of a film, but at least its promotional jingle retains some relevance today.

But something jollier to watch might be more what’s needed at this grim time of the academic year. It might even help if the films were worth watching. Brideshead Revisited is always an efficient way of procrastinating for eleven hours. Although a most Oxonian of films, the amount of the 1981 TV series spent in Oxford is refreshingly little. For most of it, Charles Ryder just wanders around the eponymous Brideshead estate, goes on cruises and paints some pictures. It’s a lovely visualisation of what life might have been like if we had decided to leave before becoming finalists.

Lesser known, but equally nostalgia-ridden, is Summoned by Bells, the BBC’s film version of John Betjeman’s verse autobiography of the same name. Betjeman got sent down after failing the Pass School, a set of exams taken only by those who had no hope of getting an honours degree. Depressingly, pass degrees are long gone in most subjects, but you can relive the glory days in this obscure 1976 film.

If only finals essays were as easy as the one in The Breakfast Club, where a gaggle of unruly students are forced to sit down for eight hours and write about ‘who they think they are’. Still, if all else fails, why not make à la Lindsay Lohan in Freaky Friday and hook up with a hot invigilator? They’re bound to let you access the papers after the exam so you can copy everyone’s answers and scribble all over your enemy’s work. If you’re more into preventive measures, you could do worse than follow the example of the great Bart Simpson. In ‘Bart Gets an F’, our spiky-haired hero turns to prayer the night before the exam. Miraculously, a huge snowstorm hits Springfield the next day, allowing Bart an extra day of revision. His study technique of slapping himself around the head every time he gets distracted is definitely worth a try. Or if you’re a Harry Potter fan, you could always pin your hopes on Fred and George flying into the North Schools flinging fireworks everywhere, like in Order of the Phoenix. Oh, and don’t make the mistake of Will in The Inbetweeners. Stay off those energy drinks, unless you’re planning on bringing a spare pair of pants.