Beirut - The Flying Club Cup (Album)
When he was around 19, Zach Condon, went to Europe for 4 months. When he returned to his home of Sante Fe, New Mexico he recorded an album of music that is sonically located somewhere between Paris and Slovakia. He called the album The Gulag Orkestar and released it under the name Beirut. It produced a huge amount of chatter amongst the bloggers around the world and made him an overnight indie darling. He returns with his Balkan shtick on his next release, The Flying Club Cup. It is similar to the debut in many respects, even down to the length. The trademark elements are all here: the ukelele, trumpet, accordion, pot and pan percussion and most importantly, the thick harmonies of Condon's layered plaintiff voice. Both albums start with a short atmospheric introduction which instantly transports the listener to Bratislavan hills. On the new release, there is also the addition of the odd orchestral score, samples from old movies and a fuller production.
Much of the album evokes the melancholy of a late drunken night in a foreign city as result of a broken heart. Though sung in English, the language isn't important. The mood is contained in Condon's vocal body and hooky melodies that sound like a warbling cossack Rufus Wainright. Condon has a great ability of writing tunes and phrases, mostly around a minor key, that take up occupancy in your head and refuse to leave. These can take the form of mournful drinking songs or rousing waltzes.
The gems are dotted throughout the baker's dozen contained on this release. The first few songs are a return to the first album, as if welcoming old friends back. There is then an instrumental filled out by a tinkly piano which then promptly launches into Cliquot, an urgent accordion and snare driven piece. The biggest (pleasant) surprise on the album is In The Mausoleum which sounds like a Dave Brubeck composed soundtrack to a Le Carre novel. The latter half of the song is sans-vocal and the tension, like that of a dark alley way foot chase, is built by the orchestra. It end abruptly and releases into a sweet waltz, Un Denier Verre. Then, the remainder of the album is standard Beirut fare, not that it is bad, but takes the musical train past the same Budapestian stations. But we need go through these places otherwise we wouldn't get home, which is reached just in time before the holiday makes us too weary.
Both Beirut albums are a great place to start for this artist. Flying Club Cup takes a few more listens to get into but it is just as, if not slightly more, rewarding.
