[.ca] Flying Club Cup

From Amazon.com:
Beirut's second LP purportedly takes inspiration from French chanson of yesteryear (as opposed to the Balkan folk of yesteryear). Bandleader Zach Condon has found a new home in Paris, and a new muse as well, quickly absorbing fodder from the likes of Francois Hardy or Jacques Brel. The music remains quite recognizably Beirut--in all its oom-pa glory--but the production value is stepped up a notch. It's through the dense arrangements that it reaches new heights, this without question being the fullest offering yet. The band appeared on Owen Pallet's (Final Fantasy/Arcade Fire) new album in exchange for the use of Arcade Fire's Masonic church studio, along with the exotic pile of instruments within. Pallet ended up contributing several string arrangements and the band made full use of the studio. The result is a truly orchestral take on the simpler gypsy stomp of Gulag Orkestar or the straight-up eight-piece live band of the Lon Gisland EP. Opener "Nantes" features a perfectly broken organ and introduces the wealth of percussion that continues throughout the album, as well as some samples of French TV or radio (the most explicit Franco-features are these sampled tidbits). Waltzing glockenspiels give way to a celebratory, raucous chorus on "La Banlieu." "Un Dernier Verre" features a skittering, jazzy piano bit (in 3/4 time, natch). The Flying Club Cup lacks the immediate hits that made Gulag Orkestar explode (like "Postcards from Italy" or "Mount Wroclai"). It works as an album rather than just a collection of songs. It's a more pensive presentation--dare I say it: more mature. Beirut remains mind-boggling work for a 21-year-old, and it's exciting to watch Condon's musical palette expand as he gathers the life experience to match his voice. --Jason Pace

what melody will see him in my arms again?:
Beirut have always been all about Europe. Ever since Zach Condon started mingling electronica and indie-rock with traditional East-European music, his little band has been redolent of the old world. And though "The Flying Club Cup" has a more modern flavour to some of its songs, the feeling of wistful, melancholy nostalgia still hangs heavily over these exquisitely orchestrated pop tunes. Think early twentieth-century France, as seen through sepia photographs and a band's sad tunes. It opens with a haunting chorus of wailing horns, before switching to the smooth, swaying melody of "Nantes." Condon sings mournfully, "Well it's been a long time/long time now/since I've seen you smile/and I'll gamble away my fright... and in a year, a year or so/this will slip into the sea..." It's much the same throughout the remaining songs, which tend to be bittersweet in tone, with a backdrop of horns and stately pop rhythms. Mellow dance tunes, Eastern European marches, mournful accordion-piano ballads, and pretty folky tunes. Not to mention, of course, combinations of all of the above. In the second half, we're even graced with some upbeat songs -- the twittering violin and swirling melody of "In The Mausoleum." And the sprightliest music on the album is "Un Dernier Verre (Pour La Route)," a peppy pop tune that sounds like something Snoopy would dance to as the World War I flying ace. If I were to compare Condon and Beirut to any other artist, it would probably be Sufjan Stevens -- polished, multilayered music with rich vocals. But the music of "The Flying Club Cup" is all nostalgia, bittersweet and weariness, mingled with a rich, over-the-top quality. It's so much BIGGER than Beirut's past work -- in sound, in scope, in feeling. Not to mention that the sound here is a bit less Balkan -- think electro-indie mingled with vintage pop melodies, then filtered through an old French radio. Lots of mellow accordion, mingled brass, rattling drums and tambourine, an acoustic guitar, some twittery fiddle melodies and a nimble, energetic piano. Here are there, a gentle layer of keyboard is laid over it all. Condon's voice is the clincher -- this guy is not only a great musician, but he has a smooth, rich voice that slides through the music like a satin ribbon. And his songs are evocative and stirring ("A plague on the workhouse!"), with plenty of feeling ("what melody will lead my lover from his bed?/What melody will see him in my arms again?"). Beirut's second album is a stunning artistic triumph, draped in classic melodies, exquisite songwriting and sweeping instrumentation. "The Flying Club Cup" flies on its own.

Simple, mesmerizing beauty.:
Beirut is Zach Condon, a 21-yearold prodigy from New Mexico who has never been to the Lebanese capital, nor even the Balkans, the region whose gipsy folk sound coloured his remarkable debut album, "Gulag Orkestar". On the latter Condon's whimsically named band worked up their rhythmic clangour with the help of borrowings from Balkan gipsy brass. I don't mean Slavic street theatre like Gogol Bordello, but the more subtle approach of bands such Kocani Orkestar, from Macedonia. On the CD -- recorded at his parents' house in New Mexico -- Zach Condon sounded like a pretentious trust-fund boy gatecrashing an Emir Kusturica film set, but there was no doubting his talent. By the end of the year, Beirut had become one of the most compelling bands around. Having rambled through lo-fi electronica, doo-wop and Balkan folk music, Zach now attempts to conjure a feel of France in an album inspired by an old photo of hot air balloonists setting off from the Eiffel Tower. The horns and fiddles remain but now Beirut seem fuelled by vin rouge and absinthe as Condon's muse moves on to France. The gusto with which he tackles his theme is infectious, and it is hard to be cynical when the clichés come packaged so elegantly. Queasy accordions, fruity brass and rustic percussion do the job nicely, but this is an album of wispy moods and atmospheres rather than a collection of songs you could really take to your heart. Wary of accusations of being a mere pastiche merchant, this time France being the theme -- at least he has lived in Paris -- this means waltzing accordions and horns, plucked strings and Condon's tremulous voice , a dramatic, stirring sound that is miles away from anything else coming out of the North American indie scene. Because a piano accompanies the ballad "Un Dernier Verre" and because Condon has expressed admiration for Jacques Brel, some American fans think "The Flying Club Cup" a portrait of France or, more dimly, "Europe". This is a misapprehension. Condon picks up traditional elements and remakes them. If you cram an accordion, guitar, violin, double bass, drums and three pieces of brass into a narrow stairwell, as Zach Condon does in the video for "Nantes", the term "layered" is inadequate to describe the consequent sound. The tense piano loops of "In The Mausoleum" and fluttering flutes of the title track stand out on an album that entirely succeeds in its goal of whisking the listener to an enticing new places. My highlights : "Nantes", "In The Mausoleum", "The Flying Club Cup" and "Le Banlieu".

beirut - flying club cup:
More than three minutes into the Lon Gisland EP's "Elephant Gun", the horns pause, and the song lingers on a few of Zach Condon's syrupy syllables before returning to Beirut's strongest melody. It's the sound of Condon and his band shedding its layers of self-packed cultural baggage. As Pitchfork's Brandon Stosuy wrote earlier this year of Lon Gisland: "Condon has shown that, yes, there are songs behind the international flavors, that his work would be interesting even if he kept the trumpet at home." Surprisingly, Condon's horn remains in Brooklyn for the bulk of his sophomore album, The Flying Club Cup. Condon himself returns to France-- the place where he was first exposed to the Balkan music that colored much of this debut, Gulag Orkestar. It's clearly a place he loves. "Once we got there, we kept trying to go to other places, but we didn't feel like traveling so much as being in Paris," he said when I interviewed him a year ago. It's reflected here, with both Gallic brass and accordion and song titles that reference French cities and locations. Crucially, however, Flying Club Cup would be a triumph even with those layers stripped away; that's not to say that the cultural patina obscures the "real" songs underneath, but its removal allows us to sidestep mind-numbing questions about authenticity and intention. Flying Club Cup deftly showcases Condon's gifts: "Nantes" sounds exotic without directly referencing a particular era or feeling, and "A Sunday Smile"-- despite being about specific people and places-- evokes universal sensations such as sleepiness and warmth. "Un Dernier Verre (Pour la Route)" and "Guyamas Sonora" show off Condon's increased love of piano-driven pop songcraft-- as well his band's frequent trick of introducing the best part of the song (here, the way the lithe percussion and ukulele contrast with the heavy accordion and his vocal layering) three-quarters of the way through. "In the Mausoleum" begins with some "Come On! Feel the Illinois!"-ish piano (Sufjan Stevens playing the U.S. cultural cannibal to Condon's worldly connoisseur), but what I like best is the violins, arranged by Final Fantasy's Owen Pallett (in conjunction with Beirut's violinist Kristin Ferebee), which are strong throughout the record and provide a perfect, light-as-lashes counter to Condon's thick instrumentation. Vocal layering is another Beirut gift, but it also weighs heavily on each track, which is appropriate when nearly every song is about feeling weary or old beyond your years. But despite the well-traveled themes, Condon's vocal melodies, as on standout "Cliquot", are still dangerously romantic, veering closely to musical theater. Condon also does well by "Forks and Knives (Le Fête)", where the instruments hold back to give him more room to sing. And here, once you get past this spent-cigarette, empty-hotel story he's selling, it's obvious that what Condon lacks in lyrical ability, he more than makes up for in prosody. He has an impressive flow, a delicate glide that perfectly compliments the oft-commented-upon exoticism that tends to divide Beirut listeners. On The Flying Cup Club, and maybe on all of Beirut's records, this exoticism takes the form not of alienation but of a search for a familiar place within what seems (or sounds) unfamiliar, difficult, or repulsive. It's the process of searching that untethers the record from any limiting sense of place, be it an Arrondissement in Paris or a village in the Balkans. -Jessica Suarez, October 09, 2007

Atmospheric:
The Flying Club Cup contains the most compelling melodies and arrangements of songs inspired by French folk and popular music. Coban's addictive voice and the backing vocals are backed by an appealing instrumental mix that including horns, fiddles, piano, violin, viola, mandolin, brass, accordion, strings and layers of percussion. The sound is cohesive and authentic, for a full impressive sound on these beautiful tunes. My favorites include In The Mausoleum, Cliquot, Nantes and the title track. The mood is introspective, even sad at times, but engaging throughout on this unique and remarkable album. Repeated plays are advised, as the album slowly releases its layers of sonic beauty.

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