Beirut

Geography is important for Beirut's Zach Condon, a 21-year-old Brooklynite who won the indie world over with his trusty ukulele and 2006's modest Balkan experiment, Gulag Orkestar. Relying on the aid of Neutral Milk Hotel's Jeremy Barnes, the record's Eastern European mixture of acrobatic vocals, brass and hand-pounded percussion somehow sounded both antiqued and contemporary. Indeed, the music could have just as easily been lifted from an Emir Kusturica film (an admitted influence), as from the cutting room floor of Barnes' gypsy-tinged side project, A Hawk and a Hacksaw. Old or new, however, it was firmly rooted on a distant continent, a characteristic The Flying Club Cup shares.

But while Gulag looked to the Balkans for inspiration, Condon's latest is a Francophile's wildest dream. Draped in the ornate arrangements of Final Fantasy's Owen Pallett, and drawing from a different French city for each outing's motivation, Cup casts its focus on a much grander scale. Here, Condon branches out from the trumpet to the warm baritone of the euphonium, while adding organs, squeezeboxes and Pallet's ear for fetching string theatrics to his armory. The effect is immediately noticeable, like a weight lifting from the frontman's shoulders.

On Gulag, Condon's songs often sounded mournful. But not here. Instead, Cup is a world of romance and high drama. "Forks and Knives," a prime example, opens playfully with string trills and lithe keys, only to spill into a stately waltz. Elsewhere, "Cherbourg" borrows Yann Tiersen's accordion, and sends brass to dance atop the bounce alongside Condon's arresting voice. As usual, of course, the most remarkable aspect of the Beirut ensemble is this twirling, cabaret-style Stephin Merritt baritone.

But for all the evolution of Beirut's sound, the album's highlight still comes courtesy of Condon's trusty ukulele on "The Penalty," a thin, quaint number whose melody flirts with the chorus of "Sweet Caroline." Simple moments like these make the beefed-up sound elsewhere on the record seem somewhat over-the-top. But when digested as a whole, Cup is a logical next step for Condon, and a delightful listen.

—Robbie Mackey
10.09.07

Credit Zach Condon for not acting his age. While many 21-year-olds are working on finishing up their undergraduate years, Condon is making albums. And not just any messily-recorded-in-the-garage (or GarageBand) albums, but fully developed and composed and realized albums. His first full-length, under the name Beirut, Gulag Orkestar, with its Eastern European-inspired horns and strings, a kind of Neutral Milk Hotel-meets-gypsy field recordings, was adored in the indie rock world, and its successor, The Flying Club Cup, is an even more mature accomplishment. Though not as immediately catchy as his debut, The Flying Club Cup contains a sense of intrigue that pulls the listener in beguilingly, twisting and swaying and marching its way through the romanticized ideas of the Balkan town, the rustic Southern French village, the small Italian trattoria. It's elaborate New World indie pop that tries to touch the Old as best it can. Flügelhorns and accordions and mandolins line the 13 songs here like old bricks, Condon's voice rising elegiacally over in layered swells, tired and wise, inspired by, but not limited to, the rich French musical past, from Tino Rossi to Jacques Brel. Because Beirut plays music that feels like it's been reflected off a long and storied life, there's the possibility for unearned pretension to appear, but there's a real sincerity, and a sense of life, that finds its way into the songs here. Condon and his collaborators (which include Final Fantasy's Owen Pallett, who even sings on the lovely "Cliquot") have not forgotten the kind of jocularity and community inherent in the folk traditions they pull from, so even as violins, organs, and harpsichords play dramatic and acute melodies and the vocals ascend to a feverish intensity, that feeling of being in the back of some tavern, passing around dishes and glasses and singing aloud with your compatriots, is present, and keeps things grounded, more real. "In the Mausoleum" balances syncopated piano with minor melodies and an ominous upright bass, while both "Guyamas Sonora" and the title track use dramatic horns to convey a kind of triumph in the prosperity of the tradition. It's thoughtful and fun and sophisticated, utterly alluring, another fantastic success by Zach Condon. ~ Marisa Brown, All Music Guide