Beirut
Gulag Orkestar

A record, but also a book, never has a unique meaning; it opens up to multiple interpretations: an operation of empathy is therefore always necessary, which is highly personal and subjective, to extract feelings and images from the music. That's why the record in question might, for another listener, evoke sensations different from mine.

"Gulag Orkestar" starts with a kind of funeral march, which seems to be played by a village (Balkan) band. In the first piece-title track, in fact, The Gulag Orkestar, a lament (Gypsy? Slavic?) occasionally sneaks in; a faint voice, which unfortunately today reminds us, without rhetoric, of the many innocent lives lost in wars.
The second piece, "Prenzlauerberg," is an atypical ballad, made of accordions that we would expect to hear more while sitting at a Prague restaurant, played by a street musician, rather than reading its review on a blog or listening to samples on debaser, while some unfortunate fellow tries to sell us a flower to avoid starving. More Gypsy melancholy.
But the Gypsies are not just that; and the doors of "Brandenburg" open to the sound of tambourines and banjos, while seated around a bonfire, a group of Gypsies intones a song that speaks of nostalgia, leaning against their caravans, sitting on the hoods of their old Mercedes, while young girls, who are already mothers, dance waving a tambourine.
The tones become more relaxed and laid back (could it be otherwise?) in the romantic "Postcards From Italy," where the trumpets take over. But it is still a sketch, an image in my mind: that of an emigrant who finally reaches the long-desired country; and writes to his loved ones sharing both his joy and his nostalgia and loneliness.
In the subsequent "Mount Wroclai," the coordinates provided so far are mixed into the philosophical concept of c'est la vie and let's just dance. The song has a rhythm that resembles one of the many Native American hymns, which are heard on old battery-operated stereos, in the stalls of Sunday markets. And, while "Rhineland" is a folk ballad in the style of Micah P. Hinson (though not devoid of Eastern European influences), in "Scenic World" - hear! hear! - keyboards make their appearance! The result is, along with trumpets and a nearly Latin rhythm, the most "playful" piece of the album, reminiscent of Jens Lekman's melodies. The last piece of the album, "After the Curtain," on the other hand, brings to mind the laments of Antony and the Johnsons, in the splendid and recent "I Am a Bird."

Finally, as proof of what I wrote at the beginning, I reiterate that music is highly subjective: in fact, Zach Condon, a nineteen-year-old multi-instrumentalist who hides behind the pseudonym Beirut (alongside former Neutral Milk Hotel [NMH] Jeremy Barnes and Heather Trost of A Hawk and a Hacksaw) is from Albuquerque, a semi-desert area in the United States; and probably has only read about the places I mentioned; and has only listened to Eastern music indirectly, or perhaps on some trip; like each of us, after all. Nevertheless, he has produced a decent work, for a debut record; mainly relatable to the indie-pop of "In The Aeroplane Over the Sea" by NMH, without however matching its peaks. A good album (deserving of 3 and a half stars...), considering Zach's young age, which probably stands behind the "all-or-nothing nature of the record": those who love the drama/playfulness of Klezmer music, those who love Gogol Bordello, will also love this record; the others, risk letting out a yawn or two, just like when, amidst many trinkets at flea markets, we find nothing that interests us.