Beirut - The Flying Club Cup

Mogstars: 9 out of 10Beirut’s second full-length album sees Zach Condon heading from the Balkan countryside that _Gulag Orkestar_ paid homage to into the carefree café culture of France. Harking back to the exuberant start of the twentieth century, Condon latches on to the optimism of bonneted beaus and fearless flyers of yesteryear, whilst consistently emulating the France that the impressionists tried to mirror. The Francophile elements are clear from the beginning as _Nantes_ slowly creeps into life with chic minimalist beats giving way to lilting horns and gentle caresses of the accordion. All the time Condon absent-mindedly meanders in and out of focus with cascading vocals, pausing only for an interjecting crash of crockery and barked French fury. The result is a relaxing tune that gently carries and intoxicates you like a summer afternoon on the Loire. Leaving behind this dreamy city, it is but a short train ride to _La Banlieu_, where one is greeted by the muffled ramblings of a station announcer, which is soon swallowed by a busking brass band bursting into life. A scintillating, swaying piano melody which glides along, a mere two minute track holding your attention for what seems like an eternity. Yet this utopia is not without its heartbreak. _Ciqout_ sees the lyrics take precedence as a tragic anti-hero roams the streets in a bittersweet waltz that smacks of longing and disappointment. The downhearted troubadour feels fragile and dishevelled, painfully oblivious to the optimism that pervades the wandering joy of the other tracks, the tugging lyrics showcasing the talent that Condon usually lets slide past unnoticed. Yet even in this track, the lurching beat and weeping horns create an absorbing atmosphere. The title track closes the album with a celebratory rally of bursting choruses and rejoicing brass. Drawing you into the flying club fête, you can almost see the bunting as fanciful flutes beckon you forward into the arms of a pretty girl and implore you to swirl across the cobbles with hopes that only the dawn of an era could bring to your breast. Yet the rat-a-tat-tat of the drums cannot help but make you reflect on the industrial warfare that was set to tear this expectant world apart. _The Flying Club Cup_ feels in many ways like it belongs to the past. It is devoid of the cynicism of the modern world, the happy songs burst forth with spirited aplomb, whilst even the more downhearted have a certain…_je ne sais que_… which may even remind some of the late great Marcel Marceau. It is this detachment that makes this album such a timeless record, it is not so much a collection of songs, but rather a showcase of flickering memories, fleeting yet substantial. Mimicking Renoir, details interplay beautifully to create a mesmerising image, a simple beat in the background can transfix the listener as much as the striking melodies, every so often your focus passes on to another intricacy, yet all the while an arresting image pervades. Masterful and mesmerising, this is soars with all the grace and finesse of the airships that inspired it.