Beirut - 'The Flying Club Cup' (4AD) Released 08/10/07

Zach Condon is, already, a musical colossus. At 21, he’s surely the youngest man ever to completely dominate a genre. He owns Balkan pop. He arguably invented it, but he’s certainly the leader. You’ve got A Hawk And A Hacksaw, Gogol Bordello and Devotchka among others, but none have managed to capture the world’s imagination like Condon. 'The Flying Club Cup', like 'The Gulag Orkestar' before it, is a culturally significant romp through grief, goulash and gaiety. It’s fantastic, unstoppable and impossible not to be consumed whole. And it’s more of the same, to an extent. It’s stripped back a tad, but when you’ve power over spellbinding mirage of ideas and accordions, only a fool would change their direction.

Advancements from record number one include: more strings, piano and religious imagery, wiser lyrics, and a distinct nod to French-ness. (Many of the song titles are French – ‘Nantes’, ‘Un Dernier Verre (Pour La Route)’, ‘La Banlieue’). ‘Cliquot’, for example, asks of St Peter: “What melody will lead my lover from his bed/What melody will see him in my arms again?” It’s suggestive, for sure, and the co-vocals between Condon and Final Fantasy’s Owen Pallett are delectable. They sound orphaned angels. The plucked strings on ‘Forks And Knives (La Fete)’, meanwhile, sound understandably like that of Pallett, who’s an ever present on the record. The crispness of ‘Guyamas Sonora’ is potentially of his making, too. On this basis alone, he’s a valuable addition.

Despite clear differences, all of the eeriness and world-weariness of Orkestar remain. The projected misery is what gives Condon’s work its tint of fascination. It’s so aesthetically pleasing, orchestral and beautiful that his melancholy must almost be pleasant. Then again, he’s a maestro at expressing himself. And it’s perfectly reasonable to be aware of misery without being miserable yourself. The last minute of In ‘The Mausoluem’ is perhaps the record’s most perfect moment. The strings ache with energetic, agitated solemnity. The backing (what sounds like) organ and basic drumming are so expressive that Condon doesn’t need too sing. It’s a powerful example of a more stripped down band. There’s less theatre and it prospers because of it. ‘Cherbourg’ boasts a simple accordion riff, a tentative three-drum rhythm and Condon’s directness: “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you smile.”

Beirut as a group manage to capture everything that Michael Palin hasn’t in his most recent beige-trousered Eastern European adventure. That might be unfair to Condon’s new found French influences – allegedly: Francois Hardy, Charles Aznavour, Jacques Brel and the country itself – but there’s a definite lineage from his journey from Orkestar to where we are now. Maybe it’s just the smells, feelings, anxiety, excitement, joy and wonder that go hand in hand with sucking up the life of new places and people. Condon is this decades ramblin’ man.  Totally apolitical and utterly in tune with the highs and lows of the human spirit, 'The Flying Club Cup' is a terrifyingly good example of modern song-writing.