Rich Man

There's a looseness here that sounds accidental but is clearly considered — a kind of musical shrug, easy and elastic, with guitar playing that has space between each note and vocals that lean into the words like a good storyteller leaning back in a chair. Ezra Koenig is working in a bluesy, relaxed register that Vampire Weekend hadn't often visited before, the music feeling unhurried in a way that suggests genuine contentment rather than slackness. The song turns over a question about wealth and value — what makes a person rich in any meaningful sense — and arrives at answers that are consciously modest, even slightly self-conscious about their own sincerity. There's a quiet humor in how it positions itself against material ambition without ever being preachy about it, the argument made through tone and vibe as much as language. It belongs to Father of the Bride's broader project of imagining adulthood as something other than compromise or loss. The production has that album's characteristic warmth — live-feeling, textured, organic — and this song exemplifies it without being its showpiece. You'd find this one on a playlist for cooking dinner with someone, or for a long walk without a destination, when you want music that asks nothing of you except to feel that enough is enough. Understated and genuine, which turns out to be the whole point.