The only rehearsal space I could afford
So there's this band called Vampire Weekend that has a great many people chattering - as much about the band's moneyed background as their music. This could be because their totally inoccuous album has all the visceral impact of a wet fart: even Pitchfork's fawning bestowment of BNM admitted, "The result being not 'this is mind-blowing,' or 'this is catchy,' but 'I have listened to this, straight through, four times a day for the past month.'"
But let's get real, kids: this is a classic disruption of enjoyment. No longer can we pretend to be a bunch of starving, societally-neglected, scratchin'-and-survivin' outcasts - not when indie's new It Boys prance about in Ralph Lauren with Ivy League degrees tucked underarm. The cat's out of the bag. I won't mention exactly how many pampered private school brats are in Brooklyn bands, if only to spare their audience grossly feigning shock. But seriously, who the hell imagined anyone other than a clan of trustafarians could afford a loft in Williamsburg?