Why do you love Beirut? The question was being posed to me at a house party, one where the host’s superior collection of craft beer had turned me into a blushing and slightly over exuberant conversationalist with all the new cute strangers I met. This new cute stranger demonstrated enough basic hipster fashion trends (Warby Parkers and Japanese Denim) that I knew he’d heard of the indie band Beirut, but for whatever reason, had not come to worship them like I did. By answering his question “Why do you love Beirut?” I would have to craft my argument in an eloquent and fun fact-based manner, maybe even provide this information with a few coy half smiles, to reveal that I too had more secrets to reveal.
Alas, my drunken reasoning that night didn’t amount to any romance with said hipster disbeliever, but I did wake up the next morning perplexed that I had recounted this conversation so many times. Why did it seem like so many well meaning music fans, even well read music fans, had not been bitten by the Beirut bug? How do you explain to a stranger how a band can follow you through different states and countries, falling in and out of love, and still magically feel relevant in 2015? Did the band’s dramatic pairings of Balkan brass melodies, mixed with ukulele solos, guided by soaring vocals not captivate their wanderlust ambitions?
Perhaps not, but Beirut has been my musical companion for almost a decade and I believe a North American tour is in the band’s near future. After they premiered two new songs in 2014 “Rumeli” and “No No No” at Brooklyn’s Northside Festival, I’m hoping there will be 2015 tour announced soon (and maybe even a few new fans will join me on the dance floor). So lets see if I can take you on a journey of exploration and appreciation of Beirut that befits this glorious global fusion band whose eclectic sound is both intoxicating and cathartic.
I was immediately drawn to Beirut when I first heard them in college. After spending many years obsessed with Wes Anderson, I was already captivated by any artistic opportunity to escape the drudgery of real life for stories of a more beautiful and poignant world. Beirut’s cinematic grandeur of multi-instrument melodies paralleled the movies I had come to love for illustrating basic human experiences of love and loss in a fresh and more contemplative way. There was a maturity and curiosity to Beirut’s music that amplified those common themes I was currently struggling with in college. Living out of state was my first real taste of independence and Beirut’s music beautifully showcased that sense of adventure mixed with self reflection and doubt that I grappled with on a daily basis. The European and Latin American flare of Beirut’s music added a color of romance to the challenges and victories of early college life, thus helping me stay hopeful that adulthood would soon turn into a beautiful and poignant experience.
The first Beirut song I fell head over heals for was The Penalty. This beautiful ballad was introduced to me by a friend who played the Ukelele-based tune by campfire one cold and starry night. Before you sigh and make a snarky comment about Moonrise Kingdom, I would like to remind you that this was 2008, so chill the f*** out.
The Penalty is a great Beirut primer because the listener is introduced to lead singer Zach Condon’s soaring and penetrating vocals with minimal instrumental distraction. His lyrics are lightly complemented by a Ukulele melody (that is surprisingly un-Hawaiian) and finishes with the support of an accordion and drums. Ukelele is a cornerstone of Beirut’s sound due a childhood injury that rendered Condon unable to play the guitar. The Penalty provided me with solace in college, a refreshing sonic source of simplicity in the ever more complicated adult world. It is a great song for gentle reflection or dozing off after a few too many IPAs.
After getting hooked by “The Penalty” I dove in my typical intensive research mode and learned about the fascinating history of Beirut the band. It began as the brainchild of New Mexico native Zach Condon. He created 5 solo bedroom recordings after dropping out of high school; these recordings eventually turned in Beirut’s first EP, Gulag Orkestra in 2006, with the help of Jeremy Barnes from Neutral Milk Hotel. To illustrate the band’s early Balkan sound listen to “Postcards from Italy” which I love for it’s hauntingly beautiful sound that showcases Condon’s talented ability to play trumpet, euphonium, mandolin, accordion, various keyboard instruments, as well as ukulele (did I mention he is also adorable? SWOON). This song is a perfect example of Condon’s efforts to pair old world European instruments with melancholy lovesick lyrics that were instantly relatable. From the same EP the song “Scenic World” denotes Condon’s interest in electronic mixing, and his ability to play with this art form while still holding on to his gift for lyrical story telling with cinematic ambiance. This EP was a fantastical beginning for a band that would soon sweep us away in dreams of adventures abroad.
After the initial EP Beirut matured from Condon’s bedroom side project to a full fledged 8 piece band in 2007. The band’s maturity and cohesiveness is showcased in the song “Elephant Gun”. The combination of electronic drum machines mixed with European brass instruments is tantalizing and intoxicating. As an aging adolescent it was comically easy for me to relate to 20 year old Condon as he croons “If I was young, I’d leave this town, I’d bury my dreams underground…”. Only now as I reflect years later do I see how ridiculous this would sound to the well sensed music critics who baffled at Condon’s Hemingway-tinged romanticism and cynicism at the time. But luckily Beirut ignored the press and carried on to release the band’s first full length album,The Flying Cup Club, later that same year.
By the 2007 release of Beirut’s album “The Flying Cup Club” the band had moved from fringe indie band with global influences to a major music attraction that was touring the country. It turns out I wasn’t the only college student discovering their sound by campfires and dreaming of Wes Anderson themed backdrops.
The Flying Cup Club begins with a disorienting 20 second intro of fog horns, but quickly gives way to “Nantes” a beautifully uplifting melody befit the procession of a king. This album format enriches the cinematic theme that helped me fall for Beirut in the first place, if Wes Anderson were to ever film a romance tale in France I’m guessing he’d chose some of these melodies for the soundtrack. “Sunday Smile” would start a scene of sweeping views of the French countryside while “Fork and Knvies (La Fete)” would accompany a lake boat ride scene in which the protagonist confesses his love to Feolinia, his third cousin visiting from Prague. French Wes Anderson movies aside, this album is still my favorite of all Beirut’s history, and a milestone in the band’s history of legitimizing their unique sound to the world.
Not to be outdone, two years later in 2009 Beirut dropped another EP “March of the Zapotec” which further baffled critics because it highlighted traditional Mexican music and completely ignored Europe all together. It was as if the band had become bored with their major in “European History” and instead opted to study “Latin American Studies” just for the thrill of it. This EP includes a full piece traditional mariachi band and a seemingly Franco-phile departure from their previous sound. Condon’s obsession with brass instruments can be seen in the “The Akara” and I often wondered if this departure from European music was simply another “F*** You” to the music community that had only just recently learned how to classify Beirut’s eclectic sound. Foot stomping aside I think that March of the Zapotec was a demonstration of the band’s reverence for different music cultures in the Americas, but it left fans like myself feeling a bit confused none the less. I longed for Beirut’s old sound, but knew that their unpredictability couldn’t guarantee I would hear that again.
In 2011 I had the delight of seeing Beirut perform many of their early hits live for the first time in a cramped music hall in Washington DC. Since their last album I had graduated college, moved back East, and was begrudgingly trying to accept adulthood realities that were less imaginative and “world changing” than my liberal arts dreams had hoped. In many ways Beirut’s release of their 2011 newest album, The Rip Tide, was exactly the musical remedy I needed. A soundtrack to stoke my sense of adventure and romance, a melody to crystalize my hope for a less corporate future. The album was published on Condon’s new record label, Pompeii Records, an independent label that demonstrated Beirut’s hope to create uncharacteristic music in an uncharacteristic way. Lucky for me, this album was unlike their Mexican EP and instead a more mature version of their early brassy, lavish sound that had captivated me all along.
The first time I heard the title track of The Rip Tide, “A Candle’s Fire”, I felt a rush of excitement and anticipation. Like a visit from an old friend, this song harkened back to Beirut’s classic orchestral melodies, but felt a bit newer and cleaner, like the trumpets had gotten polished and ukelele had gotten restrung. The album continued with the familiar dramatic emotional range of songs, but with an unfamiliar regional focus – this time on the US. For once Condon was paying homage to his homeland instead of some romantic locale abroad, as if adulthood had taught him to appreciate his roots a bit more.
Only four months after that show I left DC to set down some new roots, while using The Rip Tide as my steadfast musical compass. I hummed along to “Vagabond” as I rode the train through Boston and dreamt of my impending adventures on the coast. One cold and starry night in Maine I listened to “Goshen” on repeat for two hours as cried my heart out – finding solace in piecing together the lyrical parallels with my own life, easing my heartbreak with the song’s poetic reverence. By the end of the year I was headed back to my homeland on the west coast, and Condon’s soliloquy to his hometown “Santa Fe”, felt quite fitting to reflect upon during the plane ride.
In 2013 I saw Beirut perform at the Fox Theater in Oakland. I gathered up my closest friends around me in the audience as I sang along loudly, teared up often, and soaked up all the musical grandeur like a sponge. It was a transcendental experience to be sure. Beirut’s musical mastery is something that can’t be easily described, not even by a super fan like myself who feels such a deep and visceral connection to the band’s music. But even if you haven’t fumbled into adulthood alongside Zach Condon and his band of miscreants I’d think it’s worth giving Beirut a listen. Its’ not often that a band with Southwest roots integrates such diverse and foreign sounds from Europe, Mexico, and even Hawaiian instruments to create such a powerfully beautiful musical experience. It’s a unique sound that speaks to the adventure seeker and wanderlustful music lover in us all.
Except maybe that cute hipster.
To celebrate this day of magical mystery, and to balk at all the fear mongers out there, I’m delivering to you a celebratory new playlist. As a reverent lover of Friday the 13th (along with my 
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Happy Passover, Easter, and March Madness dear readers!
Music On My Mind 