Gallipoli might promise visions of European sophistication and exoticism, but its already well-explored musical terrain makes it feel much more familiar.
I occasionally step back and wonder how Beirut came to be so well-loved by indie music fans. Their Balkan folk-influenced music bears little resemblance to the shaggy-haired rock, grizzled Americana, or glitzy synthpop that you’d typically associate with “indie” nowadays. I remember playing their debut Gulag Orkestar in front of an unsuspecting friend who asked “what is this, polka?” Beirut’s founder and frontman, Zach Condon, knows his way around a keyboard like many of his contemporaries, but has a niche fondness for the ukulele and flugelhorn. Clearly an outsider band in many ways, has Beirut’s music been groundbreaking enough to transcend established musical boundaries, or do indie fans appreciate Beirut solely out of a love of the obscure and a desire to appear worldly?
Based on Beirut’s fifth album Gallipoli, the answer is “a little bit of both.” Take the title track for instance: it’s an excellent song, one whose strong horn melody and marching beat make for a very triumphant sound and feeling. However, reading about Condon’s inspiration for the song involves a tale of how he stumbled upon the track’s namesake village in southern Italy, “and followed a brass band procession fronted by priests carrying a statue of the town’s saint through the winding narrow streets behind what seemed like the entire town.” It’s a somewhat fantastical anecdote that would make the Decemberists blush, but its full context from the album announcement currently on Beirut’s official website pushes things into full-blown pretentious territory. After all, it’s hard not to groan at an album press release that namedrops no fewer than five European locales Condon spent time in, and contains lines like “It felt to me like a cathartic mix of all the old and new records and seemed to return me to the old joys of music as a visceral experience.”
This sentiment summarizes the album Gallipoli; it’s very good, and easily a step up from 2015’s terse No No No, but it falls short of Condon’s extravagant visions for it. Gallipoli might promise visions of European sophistication and exoticism, but its already well-explored musical terrain makes it feel much more familiar.
Granted, there are several high points on Gallipoli that would make it onto a “Best of Beirut” compilation. The single “Landslide” is driven by the band’s trademark Farfisa organ operating at its most upbeat, and Condon sounds deceptively optimistic while singing “there’s a landslide back home, pity I can’t hold on.” Going back to the Italian namedropping, “I Giardini” combines a steady drum beat with Condon’s voice reaching the logical conclusion of its distinctive boozy crooning. “Family Curse” opens quietly with drum machine and horn, but halfway through is joined by a multitude of other synthesizers that make it sound as if a full orchestra is present. Speaking of synthesizers, “We Never Lived Here” utilizes electronic instrumentation for a great background effect that contrasts the more classical horns and piano, with some violin and snare joining to make it into a grand (penultimate) finale.
Just as often though, the specter of Beirut past appears, and makes you think you’ve heard this all before. For instance, the opening track “When I Die” features a simple horn melody that vaguely resembles “A Candle’s Fire” from 2011’s The Rip Tide. Going back further, the ukelele strumming and Condon’s crooning on “Varieties of Exile” makes it sound like a more hi-fi version of “The Canals of Our City” from debut Gulag Orkestar. Even the peppy melody of “Landslide” feels a little like that of The Rip Tide’s “Santa Fe.” While a comparison to these past excellent tracks isn’t an insult at all, it does raise the question of how much variety Beirut can do while adhering so closely to its now firmly established style.
Gallipoli does occasionally wade into uncharted waters, and there’s a few sections that are surprisingly experimental for Beirut. “Gauze für Zah,” starts ordinarily enough with Condon singing over a shuffling piano melody, but just over halfway through it transitions into a very intriguing ambient piece. The instrumental “Corfu” has a Latin tone to it, despite being named after an island in Greece, and its guitar-driven melody is fairly unusual for Beirut. Closing track “Fin” is Condon’s most overt step into electronic music since his 2009 Holland EP. However, some of Gallipoli’s more adventurous moves might make you want to retreat to the comfort of horns and Farfisa. The abrasive synthesizers of “On Mainau Island” make for a pretty repellent track overall, and its distorted backtrack effects are more Bibio than Beirut. As nicely as “Corfu” begins, it ends with a crescendo of eerie noises that feel out of place and kind of dampen the whole thing. It’s good that Gallipoli isn’t entirely the usual fare from Beirut, but there is a line between “interestingly ambitious” and “what am I listening to?”If I had to describe each Beirut album to date, it’d be pretty easy before Gallipoli. Gular Orkestar was the central/eastern European one, The Flying Club Cup was the French-influenced one, The Rip Tide had some American and pop tinges, and No No No was simple and concise. Gallipoli exists in a peculiar limbo, borrowing heavily from its predecessors and introducing some new sounds, but not enough for it to really be distinguishable. Beirut might be very eager to tell you all about their most recent European travels and experiences, but you might find yourself thinking “you’ve told me this one before” and tuning out a little.
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