Beirut - The Flying Club Cup - mp3 review
September 28th, 2007 r8e8rcomI was hanging at my rehearsal space with Trevor the other night. Around 2 AM, realizing how late it was, we figured it was prolly time to leave, but despite the late hour we thought it might be a good idea (read really dumb idea) to get a drink. We bounce into LuLu’s to find a crowd of kids that look like someone forgot to tell them the 80s were over and no one listens to hard rock anymore. Motley Crue’s ‘girls, girls, girls’ was blasting at ear piercing levels framing the entire scene rather appropriately I felt. It was so loud that we were yelling just to hear each other. We head to one of the side rooms and sit down near an open window to escape the cacophony. Trevor is in the middle of telling me about some ideas he has for his website when this big oafy looking guy wearing a Yankees jersey stumbles up the window from outside. He points at Trevor’s beer and says what Trevor thinks is a request for a sip of beer. All I heard was “…Ey……lemme…….”. In all honestly we really couldn’t hear what he was saying thanks to Motley Crue, so we respond in unison with “what?”. He dribbles out some more unintelligible sounds, more like grunts than words. At this point I honestly think he’s retarded, he’s got some mental affliction. Now he’s making the universal drunk sign for a drink, his hand molding itself around an invisible glass, tilting it towards his mouth. It’s clear he wants a drink, and it’s clear he doesn’t need one. He tries to earn it by befriending us and telling us about his night. What comes out is, “……my friends……..”, sweeping gesture with his arm seeming to call attention to the obnoxious group of kids at the bar, “…..greatest night……” Trevor responds to him like he’s dealing with a toddler, “you’re having a great night? aw, that’s great man.”, at the same pulling his drink closer in and curling his arm around it. We both look at each other and start racing to finish our drinks. With little more than a sip to go we’re standing ready to go when the DJ starts playing Journey. This was too much for our drunk friend. He stands up on the bench outside and leans his head into the window, bobbing his head, his big oafy fist raised and pounding the air. Trevor and I chug the last of our drinks and stealthily exit via the side entrance.
While it may sound like an entire Balkan orchestra playing modern songs as mournful ballads and upbeat marches, Beirut’s first album, Gulag Orkestar, is largely the work of one 20-year-old Albuquerque native, Zach Condon, and was almost completely recorded at home. Two years ago, Zach immersed himself in Balkan folk, absorbed sounds, scales, styles, and the sonic joys of a skeletally structured ensemble. Condon was a straight-A student until he dropped out at the age of 16 to travel Europe in a drunken haze, cavorting and partying with the locals wherever he ended up. It was during one of these evenings that he was first exposed to Balkan gypsy music (notably including the Boban Markovic Orchestra), blasting from the upstairs apartment. Condon went upstairs to see what exactly he was hearing, and ended up staying up all night with the Serbian artists, going through albums country by country, note for note. This new album is the direct result of what he learned that night. These tracks are from his upcoming release, ‘The Flying Club Cup, on Ba Da Bing, Oct. 9th.
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