A few years back, I was enthusiastically extolling the virtues of my new favourite band. I explained how Beirut’s The Flying Club Cup had grabbed me around the heart, played its accordion in my ear, charmed me with its French/Balkan sound and thoroughly won me over. I insisted that my friend immediately get hold of a copy and listen to it until he felt the same as me. “I went to see them last week,” he replied. I’ve never really forgiven that bastard Ryan Thomas for taking the wind from my sails so efficiently and completely. My love for Beirut has remained undiminished, however.
The Rip Tide is their first proper album in four years – and was well worth the wait. Zach Condon (who essentially is Beirut) has mellowed slightly since The Flying Club Cup – an album which occasionally felt like it was competing for the award of ‘Most Musical Instruments On An Album Ever’. The Rip Tide is more restrained – although it still features some impressively parping horns.
In this more reserved incarnation of Beirut, Condon’s songwriting takes centre stage. There’s something strangely evocative (although I can’t be sure what they evoke?!) about the nine tracks here. They certainly have an air of romance about them, but there’s an ineffable quality to the lush instrumentation and Condon’s sonorous voice which falls somewhere between triumphalism and melancholy and defies description.
Unusually for Beirut, there are actually some singalongs, too. Sante Fe bounces along cheerily, inviting listeners to join in, adding to the sense that this is their poppiest release to date. Occasional sprinklings of electronic add to that feeling, despite the occasionally mournful, introspective lyrics. Despite these concessions to the ‘mainstream’, The Rip Tide remains an idiosyncratic and original album which will delight Beirut fans – and hopefully win them some new ones.
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