Kurt Vile | Classic Love EP
Kurt Vile’s Classic Love EP is a small, scruffy gem—five songs, two versions of the same track, and a mood that drifts in and out like smoke through a cracked window. It’s unassuming on the surface, but like so much of Vile’s work, the details slowly start to shimmer the longer you sit with them.
The title track, “Classic Love,” isn’t one of Vile’s own, but you wouldn’t know it at first listen. Written by Nashville songwriter Luke Roberts and recorded with drummer Kyle Spence, the song slides seamlessly into Vile’s catalogue. It has his signature laid-back swing, the kind of tune that ambles along like it’s had a long afternoon nap. But don’t be fooled—underneath the sun-faded surface is a sharp twist. “It was a one-of-a-kind classic love,” Vile sings, “just like a sunset, because it fades out… and goes away.”
That line carries the quiet gut punch that makes the song linger—love not as a fairytale, but as something fleeting, a moment that burns bright and disappears before you can hold onto it. The arrangement doesn’t overstate that melancholy, either. Instead, it allows the feeling to hover unspoken, like something half-remembered. Even the guitar solo gets cut off mid-thought, as if the song is stepping out before things get too real. It’s a self-conscious fadeout, but one that works in the context of a track that’s all about impermanence.
Vile includes two versions of “Classic Love” here: the fuller collaboration with Roberts and Spence, and a more stripped-down “kv version.” The latter is less radio-ready, but more intimate—less shimmer, more smoke. Where the original fades out theatrically, the kv version simply trails off, leaving a few delicate guitar notes to hang in the air. It’s the kind of B-side Vile fans will appreciate: looser, more lived-in, and maybe a bit more emotionally raw.
Roberts—who released a string of cult-beloved albums in the 2010s—mostly keeps to the shadows on this EP, contributing guitar and the occasional verse. When he does step forward, like on “Hit of the Highlife,” his gruff voice and sly delivery contrast nicely with Vile’s slacker drawl. “So much for Music City,” he sings. “Sometimes I think it’s just a bunch of cowboys on scooters.” It’s funny, but also oddly tragic—a worn-out postcard from Nashville that’s lost its shine.
The rest of the EP rounds out with a rerecorded version of Vile’s “Slow Talkers” and a cover of Beach House’s “Wildflower.” The former is a bit too polished for its own good, shedding some of the oddball charm of the 2008 original. But the Beach House cover is a beauty—gentle, rhythmic, and more grounded than the dream-pop original. It’s the perfect closer for an EP that’s less about reinvention and more about resonance.
Classic Love doesn’t try to be a grand statement. It’s more of a late-night conversation between old friends, full of quiet admissions and inside jokes. It’s rough around the edges in a way that feels intentional—an offhand reminder that sometimes, the most affecting songs are the ones that don’t spell everything out.
This is music that doesn’t beg to be noticed, but rewards those who do.
