V.V. Brown, Travelling Like the Light
On her self-declared “doo-wop indie” debut, the British cutie-pie sounds exactly like the thrift-store clothes she wears – all bright and very vintage. But for all the sugar-laced exuberance the Northampton-born singer-songwriter exudes, she’s actually kind of sad. She’s so good at faking a smile, though, and contrasting her laments with a lively ’50s finish, you’d hardly know. “Crying Blood” is an epitome of that as the shimmying music – sampling “Monster Mash,” and oddly doing it effectively – beams through its misery-is-murder woe. The two opening tracks are similar in that respect, but “Game Over” especially as fierce written all over its la-la-las and funky, rock-leaned sound. Substance is second to the real appeal of Vanessa “V.V.” Brown; she’s more stuck on making bodies dip and sway with her often-irresistible verve than draining brains with deep thoughts. Of the 12 tracks, only two are ballads. Good thing, since they’re both garbage. She’s better when her broken heart is given a Xanax lift, like when she sinks her teeth into the perky pop of “Shark in the Water,” a galvanizing sing-along. “L.O.V.E.” has a cute swing to it, and the slaphappy “Crazy Amazing” feels like it could’ve been cut during the era Brown is vibing. When she’s there, in her effervescent element, her sound is as cool as her look. (Available as a digital download until March 9.)

Grade: B-

Vampire Weekend, Contra
So they’re in their own world again – the fanciful one that thrust the pop-pushing preps’ precious indie sounds into superstardom when they released their eponymous debut two years ago. And what a world it is: as colorful as Oz, and just as oddly charming. Over 10 refined tracks, the New Yorkers assemble songs with worldly washes, dosing them in reggae, Afro-pop and American synth-pop, all tailored like the J. Crew clothes they wear. Like cruising through the clouds, Contra is the breezy big brother to their first outing – challenging their transcendent sound, but never abandoning it. There are the catchy ooh-oohs of “White Sky,” the indie-score sweetness of “Taxi Cab” and a lotta heart in the bittersweetness of “I Think UR a Contra” – all of it’s artfully painted with the whimsy of a dream. Supplementing that is Ezra Koenig’s vocal instincts, fluttering, speed-singing and, on the LP’s hookiest bit “Give Up the Gun,” riding it like a wave. What he’s singing about is just as captivating (strange, too): “She don’t care how the sweets taste/Fake Philly cheesesteak/But she uses real toothpaste.” Hey, it’s their own weird, wonderful world.

Grade: B+

By Chris Azzopardi