With each of his arms decorated by a tattoo of a French horn, Zach Condon, lead singer of Beirut, sauntered onto stage – followed eagerly by his multi-talented band members.
Beginning the set with the swooning chill of “Scenic World”, followed immediately by “The Shrew”, Beirut held the complete attentions of each seated fan from the moment they began playing.
Addressing the crowd for the first time as he attempted to fix his ukulele strap with sticky tape, Condon entertained the quiet audience briefly with a rendition of the Irish ballad “Danny Boy” until it was fixed. The explanation that “this is already a disaster” preluded the sentimentally orchestral song “Elephant Gun”.
Later, the airy narrative “Postcards From Italy” wafted vague memories of foreign lives through the venue, and received a warm reception from the encapsulated crowd.
Hazily leading the audience through the track with a faltering weariness, each musician evoked the silent desperation and constructed the triumphant melody through their respective instrument.
As a further confession of his continued adoration of antiquated aesthetics, Condon’s dusty vocals crooned confidently through the baroque brass-and-string melodies.
With their roots planted deeply in Balkan folk music, Beirut have since developed a sleeker, more refined sound in their new album, The Rip Tide. Still, the songs found on their latest continue to resonate the influences of the traditional eastern European melodies, Mexican marching bands, and French chanson that can be found in their earlier records.
Running through the songs “Vagabond”, “Santa Fe”, “The Rip Tide”, “Port of Call” and “East Harlem”, Beirut danced between the undefined geographical positioning of each wandering song, burying any wavering attentions under the patterned persistence of the strings, horns and percussions.
From their acclaimed 2007 album, The Flying Club Cup, Beirut performed “Nantes”, “A Sunday Smile” and “Forks and Knives (La Fête)” to a passionate excitement, and with the crumpling romanticism that the album demands.
Encouraging the crowd to sing along to the songs (if they knew the words), Condon nervously brushed his hair from his face and rhythmically beat his hands against his chest as the sound of the drums pounded through the piercing trumpets.
A symphony of lights flashed along with the music, and flushed the musicians into darkness after each song – intensifying the carefully crafted theatrics of the set.
With their melancholic undertones, smothered with declarative horns and optimistic string solos, Beirut’s songs trembled on the edge of celebratory fervor and collapsed into a restrained sense of nostalgia for a time unknown to the young musicians.
A self-proclaimed dilettante, Condon’s whiskey-tinted vocals were juxtaposed against his multi-instrumental escapades throughout the set: jumping from one instrument to the next, always diverting back to his much-adored trumpet with the ease of an older and more experienced musician.
Beirut’s live performance lacked the heaviness of the records, as each musician reached for the swelling orchestral sounds of the recorded versions and fell short.
The passionate urgency that many of Beirut’s songs are famous for was lost slightly with the stripped-down musical background of the set, and the richness of each brassy melody was dampened in the intimate surroundings.
However, songs from The Rip Tide flourished in this thespian setting – the focused idealism of this album drawing heavily on the aged ambience of the venue.
